PHETASY: The One That Got Away -
Fifty Shades of Cray: Part 1
Bridget Phetasy

By Bridget Phetasy
Published on 03.27.13

"A (wo)man travels the world in search of what (s)he needs
d returns home to find it."
~George Edward Moore

"A (wo)man travels the world in search of what (s)he needs and returns home to find it."
~George Edward Moore


1. This is single-handedly the longest I've gone without posting on this website since her birth 7 years ago.  I must say that it's been a nice break, but I'm definitely suffering the side-effects of not writing.  A bad case of CRAY.  Too many thoughts.  Too many decisions to make. All disjunct yet somehow, interconnected. 

2. It doesn't help that I hurt my back surfing and have been temporarily grounded after running around with boundless energy like an absolute spastic for six weeks, so I'm going to do my best to write an uncensored, no-deleting-allowed, list of my trains of thought as they leave the station.  I'm not really even sure where to begin.  So I'm going to start right where I am.  Paradise.

3. "Paradise" is a song by Coldplay.  A dreadful song that haunts me wherever I go and reminds me of a man who treats me with the cool indifference of a Sydney trustafarian.  It's the sound of being gay.  Or lame.  Either way,  I hate that song.  From the bottom of my heart.  That song is dead to me now.

4. Also LAME.  Me.  For being such a slacker about writing during these journeys.  I just wanted to go AWOL and take it all in.  Now I need to be held POW and forced to pour it all out.  My brain is overcrowded with ideas all competing for attention.  I've held off this beast for long enough.  Now that I've let her out of the cage, all I want to do is write.  I can only stave her off for so long before I enter a cave of production and let her devour the page.

5. But before I do that I suppose I should see some more of Sri Lanka.  I came to this sleepless beach town six weeks ago and never left.  I began the New Year raging, and I've been on fire ever since.

6. In fact, my skin boiled and blistered and I literally shed a layer.  Actually that was just a bad sunburn.  I feel asleep in the high noon rays of our life-giving star
the second day I was here.  Something I don't make look sexy: sunburns.  Only a ginger can get away with that one.

7. Ya know what else a ginger gets away with?  Being CRAY. 

8. "Cray" is the uber-irritating slang word that's been cleverly ebonicsized to replace the already-too-long-at-two-syllables-word, crazy.  Usually used in the context of "that bitch is cray". 

9. People who use hipster urban slang like three things: 1. Kayne West 2. Coldplay (secretly) 3. Wearing sunglasses inside.  You should avoid these people (see: Brooklyn, San Fran, Portland and parts of Los Angeles). They are usually offended in places like Williamsburg when I wear THIS t-shirt; simultaneously taking themselves way too seriously and losing their minds to magical hippie thinking that has nothing to do with reality and everything to do with their Cooler Than Thou dogma. 8th level vegans.  They don't eat anything that casts a shadow.

10. Sunglasses at night is a big thing in Sri Lanka.  At first I thought it was really LAme.  Then I realized it was really practical when the sun comes up and you are getting ready for round two of a party.  If they don't know themselves, it's because they're tripping their balls off on acid.

11.  I did acid once when I was in my teens and I hated every minute of it.  I thought my throat was closing and my friends all looked like monsters.

12.  Now I'm afraid of acid.  Which makes me want to put it on my "List of Fears to Conquer" for 2013.  What really freaks me out is that being afraid of acid is basically being afraid of your own mind.  The ninja in me wants to slay that belief. 

13.  On the 2011 "List of Fears List" was surfing.  A fear I am currently trying to conquer.  Although the Indian Ocean is definitely winning that war.  My full-body bruises, sore ribs and near paralyzation make me think surfing may fall into the category of "fear that's keeping me alive" instead of a "fear that's keeping me from living".  Perhaps acid belongs here too.

14.  Which leads me back to my pathetic realization at 34 that, I'm probably never going to be an uber-cool, acid-dropping, surfer chick.  At the moment I'm just a old rag doll being pummeled by a giant washing machine. 

15.  I was never good at any of the things that cool kids were good at.  Making hideous clothes look fashionable.  Making skateboarding look easy.  Making glasses look sexy.  Eating lunch with other people...

16.  But imagine if I really took right to surfing and never got hurt.  Just took off and ran with the addiction like so many others before me.  I can pretty much guarantee I wouldn't get much writing done.  Ever again.  I'd just be chasing the surf around the world, living my dream as an acid-dropping badass.  Sadly, I'm more suited for the dorky, no-coordination-required, writer life anyway, given the stats: Number of injuries I get surfing (30 out of 10) vs. writing (0 out of thousands).  

17.  Which reminds me, ladies, there are two types of men out there.  Men who give you multiple orgasms and guys who can barely give you one.  I think it goes without saying who to steer clear of in that department.   

18. Orgasms are great.  I can't get enough of them, which is why at a very young age, I learned how to please myself.  Every woman should.  It's empowering.  It's necessary.  And as a highly sexual woman who's not ashamed or afraid to admit it, I always say: an orgasm a day, keeps the bitterness away.  I love writing erotica.  I love being nude all day.  I love getting naked and being photographed.  After years of coming to terms with the downsides of being part of the largest minority in the world (there are many downsides), I've FINALLY fallen in love with being a woman in my body.  I want to share my revelation with the world.  And my tits.

19.  I get a hard time for this.  "You don't need to do this," people will say.  "Why?  Why do you do post naked shots of yourself online for nothing?  Is it:
A.) Deep-rooted psychological dysfunction, low self-esteem and daddy issues. (fruedism)
B.) That I TRULY, genuinely detest clothes and all of their sinister manifestations and connotations i.e. winter, shopping, shame... (realism)
C.) I'm just a naked clown who enjoys being naked clownish and pushing that button. (exhibitionism)
D.) I do it for the women who can't, under burkas with bruises they didn't ask for. (feminism)
E.) All of the above? (life)

How about I scribble in F.) Who gives a shit? (me)

20.  Something else I didn't ask for--to get a moral lecture about how "smart women don't need to get naked".  Well, I just saw Lena Dunham's tits and I certainly didn't ask to see those. (She's the creator and star of the HBO show Girls)  No one gives her a hard time.  In fact, they lift her upon their shoulders and call her brave.  Is this just because she's not that traditionally "hot", so she can get away with getting naked and being smart?  I call bullshit.

21.  I've been watching Girls while I've been laid up.  Lena Dunham makes me angry because Girls should be funny and it's not (and it's the only show we have on our iPad here in Sri Lanka and I really need a laugh).  She's Hollywood's new Diablo Cody with hipster lingo and "edgy" material. But then again, I also hated Sex In the City.  Come live a day in my life and I'll show you what "edgy" is.  It's having to return a $4 bottle of wine because you're down to your last $3.

22.  Women on the other hand, I love them.  I should explore that.  I'll let you know how it goes.

23.  Now I'm thinking about sex again.

24.  Okay, I'm back.  The reason I get so angry at shows like Girls or Whitney is threefold:  1.  Clearly, I'm jealous.  2.  I know I'm capable of doing the exact same thing.  3.  I should at the very least be writing for those shows.  I am inspired by Lena because although she may not make me laugh, she's pushing boundaries and making waves.  I respect that.

25.  But I know that the creators single-minded focus and drive is 99% of the reason they are where they are.  I, on the other hand, have been spreading my writing between fifty different mediums, gallivanting all over the world and living my seasonal life in quarters. 

26.  When put in that context, I can't help but ask myself how I'm ever going to go back to the grind of LA traffic, the dull frustration as a mistreated waitress and the never-ending sexual harassment and crushing morale defeat that comes from the stand-up comedy circuit.  But when put in that context, how can I not?

27.  Which brings me back to Paradise, which is currently functioning as a bit of Purgatory while I sit with the questions that torment me.

28.  Again my brain returns to sex.  Just the phrase "sit with" makes me want to sit on someone's face.  I'm doing my best to remain classy, but being bedridden (as we've seen before) really brings out the feisty in me.  And I promised to be honest.  Well, sorry.  This is my brain NOT on acid.

29.  Okay I'm trying to stay on point.  The problem is that I have a life in LA I'm still paying for--but not living.  Which leads me ask myself why I'm wasting resources on a life it seems I let go of almost two years ago?

30.  Fear is the first thing that comes to mind.  1. I've never had a base in my life and to finally have created one after 30 years, gives me a peace of mind I've never had.  2.  Years ago I went bankrupt and so getting things like cars and apartments, although not impossible, are much more difficult to acquire.  3.  I've invested a lot of time, effort, resources and believe it or not, FOCUS, into my dreams and it feels like a cop out to just piss it all away and live a directionless live as a gypsy. 

31.  Right around the time I'm pondering all of these limitless options, I get word that my father is in the hospital.

32. old so and so.  All of a sudden the beach life seems absolutely ridiculous and shallow.  I feel far away and helpless to do anything of value.  All I can do is float in the Indian Ocean and try to tap into the source and send my dad love and light.  While my firefighter brother sleeps in the hospital with him.  Yeah.  I'm a douchebag. 

33.  We all have our family roles.  Mine is Black Sheep Hippy Slacker.  This moment far away, made me realize and confront one of my biggest fears.  That I won't achieve what I know I'm destined to achieve in time for my father to see it, because I can't direct my enormous amount of creative energy in one direction long enough to realize my potential.  Because for the most part, I've been a spectacular disappointment.  A shining star with the ability for greatness using that power to fabulously self-destruct.

34.  I'm always riding the rails of disaster anyway.  Success will only raise the heights from which I can fall, so I should definitely go for it. 

35.  Been listening to heaps of Mumford and Sons.  It's been repeat since this past fall.  Marcus Mumford what did she do to you?????  Whatever it was, your words are saving my ass right now.

36.  Everything I've chosen and rejected has led to me directly to this moment.  Where I sit in a janky guesthouse on the beach, sleeping on what basically feels like boards of wood, writing on a borrowed computer when I in fact have a sweet pad in LA, a brand new laptop and a comfortable bed.  I can live like a King here for a quarter of what I'm paying per month in the city.

37.  Time to woman-up and grow a vagina.  I need to pick a reality.  Or go cray. 

38.  Purgatory can be a fate far worse than Hell.  At least in Hell you know where you stand.  When you're in Hell you can shrug and say, "Oh well, I have no choice."  Too many options can be almost as debilitating as none.  The important thing I have to remember, is that in Hell I would do anything to get those options back.  I must be grateful for all of my options and   carefully consider my life choices in order to avoid yet another Hell-of-my-own-making.  Which is exactly why I choose to ignore cultural phenomenons like Jersey Shore and Fifty Shades of Gray.

39.  Fifty Shades of Gray, is a horrible piece of garbage and reaffirms my fear that humans have lost the ability to discern between something that's food for the soul and something that's poison.  Three points: 1. Reading that book will absolutely make me a worse writer than I already am, so I stopped after 4 pages I flipped to in the middle.  2. From this reading I can assume she knows nothing about BDSM, the rules or the community.  It's not something you're forced into.  It's all about respect first, then degradation. 3. Am I the only one who wanted the guy to be some 60 year old and not FIVE YEARS older?  That's barely an age difference at all. This guy is just a sick fuck who likes to abuse women.  Speaking of which…

40.  Rihanna just came on the ipod.  Even here in the backwaters of the world, we heard Rihanna went to the Grammy's with the Giant Douche.  Allow me a rant if you will: Rihanna you are a fucking buffoon.  You're a disgrace to women everywhere with your pathetic behavior.  You're one of the most influential women in the world at the moment and THIS is the way you wield your power?  You get back together with a man who beat you to a pulp and then tattooed that image on his neck?  Girl.  Get some fucking therapy.  Get some self-respect.  You might be fearless, but you're clearly as insecure as a B-list celebrity on Twitter.  And a lot of people think you're a badass because you "just don't give a shit".  But your just don't give a shit attitude sets a horrible precedent for little girls who IDOLIZE YOU, everywhere. You're choice is selfish because you refuse to take responsibility for the message that choice sends.  You could have anyone in the world and you choose a piece of shit, douchebag who treats you like his whore.  Congratulations.  The only difference between you and every other doormat is that you get to cash in on being a love junkie.  Mark my words, that man will destroy you.  Whitney was 10x the singer you are.  Learn from her mistakes. 

41. I remember where I was when Whitney died.  Wait, no I don't.

42. Where was I?  Australia?  New Zealand?  I guess the last time I even wrote a peep, was when?  Holy shit.  I was sitting in a villa in St. Tropez.  Hahahahahahahahahaha.  That's HILARIOUS!  I can't even believe how much shit has happened since then.

43.  The very, very, very short version:  Last July, in the midst of visiting the "Zoo of the 1%" -- I freaked out.  For many different reasons, all of which I've currently been doing a lot of personal work around.  Money.  Dependence.  Freedom.  Struggle.  Ambition. Love.  Reason. Passion.  Two days later I'm back in LA for a week.  Then to Chicago to see my best friend's, fresh-out-the-oven, newborn.  Then back East for three weeks for a huge family wedding/family reunion.  Back to LA for 2 days and then hit the road for the goat farm.  Back to work on the goat farm and then hit the road as soon as I got off, leaving Christmas Day.  Spent a week in and around Colombo and then head south to where I am now. 

45. I'm pretty sure the last six weeks here on the beach, is the longest I've sat in one town without leaving it since April of 2011.  No wonder so much is coming up.  The weather has been gray and rainy and, well, tropical for the past two days.  For the first time in a long time, the sun has not shone in days. The air feels agitated with potential energy, but sluggish and heavy.  Much like I'm feeling.  A storm is brewing.

45.  It's not time to go yet, but the time is quickly approaching.  India beckons, with her millions of Gods, billions of people and magical energy that sticks to a being.  Whenever people arrive here right from India, you know it immediately.  They're electric.  I need that.