Afallenvenusian - A Fallen Venusian
More Posts from Afallenvenusian and Others
May 9, 2025
I'm easily inspired. I'm learning to accept it.
I spent most of 1992 wanting to be Catwoman after seeing Michelle Pfeiffer in Batman Returns (look it up kids). My notebooks from the 2000s echoed the metaphors and similes I absorbed via Big, Jay, Nas, and the like. I spent three days with my sister-in-law last year and heard her Southeastern Ohio/West Virginia twang in my voice the week after.
I don't even do it on purpose. I have a clear sense of self and yet, at the big age of 41, I'm as impressionable as I was in 1992. 'Tis what it is.
Why did I feel the need to say that?
Oh. Because thanks to Human Design, I see that's just how I am. I can fight it or I can learn to ride the waves that flow out of me without shame.
The latter sounds more fun.
That's a lot of preamble, but I needed to clear my throat for what I really want to do today: dispense some age-old wisdom like the elder millennial auntie I am.
(incoming....)
May 12, 2025
The weekend was good to me.
My mother and I celebrated Mother's Day at our favorite Spanish restaurant, over garlicky grilled octopus, glasses of crisp Cava, and a flurry of Formula 1 yapping. She's been brave enough to watch the 2021 season (I refuse) and couldn't stop marveling over Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton nearly killing each other several times over on track.
We've had our ups and downs. As she nears retirement age, I can accept that she's a great mother now for whatever she lacked in my childhood. It doesn't erase the bad, or make up for it really. But I have to give her the chance to be good to me now, so should I have to care for her at some point in the future, I can do so out of love. Not bitter obligation.
Saturday was spent out and about in my neighborhood. In the morning, I took my cheap Vivatar digicam to the Farmer's Market while I sipped coffee and people watched.
It reminded me of sitting on the porch as a kid. Hearing loud music from cars thumping up and down the block, watching neighbors tend to their yards.
Stopped home for lunch then headed back out for a quick glass at my Neighborhood Wine Bar. As Mike (the grumpy owner who's become an adopted uncle of sorts) poured the last of a Sancerre he’d sampled with other customers that afternoon, he remembered the name of a woman who accompanied him last time he went to Croatia. “It was Kathleen,” he said. Apparently, one of his other frequent travel companions had to refresh his memory.
(Michael and his travel companions are a long story. For now, just know this man is a 71 year-old Gemini who, up until recently, had a solid roster of eight to nine women, all at least 15 years younger than him. And I know this to be true because I saw them all at his 70th birthday party, hanging out like sister wives.)
Seeing that Mike was kind of over it for the day, I jaunted over to a new Italian spot I've been meaning to try out. And had — hands down — the best mussels I've ever had in my life. The broth was... good lord. I had to order some Focaccia on the side to make sure I didn't waste a drop. The bartender was so amused by my theatrics (listen, I love good food and am not shy about it), she comped one of my two glasses of wine.
I will definitely be back.
Next month. For the rest of May, we have food at home.
May 8, 2025
Thanks to the Motrin cocktail required to sleep through my cramps last night, yesterday feels like a hazy blur.
I sent the link for my new (private) Substack to four friends. Each was excited to see me writing again, but will they read it? Time will tell. Either way, putting work into the world felt good.
Caught a lecture about the origins of my local art museum last night. As I'm prone to do, I had a friendly chat with a stranger at the bar while I waited for the lecture to begin. Coincidentally, she works in an industry adjacent to my own. We had a few common acquaintances. We also shared deep pride in our city as a cultural hub (Top 10 art museum, Top 8 orchestra, second (or third) largest theater district in the nation — put some respect on our name) and perfect food city. #ClevelandRocks.
The lecture was interesting and informative. A perfectly fine way to spend an evening. By the time I got home, PMS fatigue had your girl down bad. I ended the night with repeat watchings of Lewis Hamilton and Charles Leclerc doing a logistics-themed escape challenge and if I thought they couldn't get hotter, I was wrong. Fine ass race car drivers doing math and problem-solving...
Good lord.
My boss is back from out of town today, ending my emotional reprieve (last week was a week — I needed space). I'm soaking up the silence until he arrives.
Until next time.
The path forward is power—not through proximity, but through possession. Not by begging men to be better captors, but by becoming better architects. Women have to start designing their lives with intention, rejecting every dependency that leaves them voiceless, and refusing to perform weakness just to feel safe. Because safety bought through submission is a scam. It’s a temporary peace built on the condition that you never grow.
From: What's the holdup on getting rid of patriarchy? | ensainte
(Finally. A young lady who writes like she goes outside.)
April 8, 2025
It was all fine and well introducing my mother to Formula 1 last year. I bought the F1 subscription. She binged the entire Lewis Hamilton Mercedes era over the break. Our bi-weekly phone calls turned into F1 podcasts. We're bonding! Planning a trip to the Vegas Grand Prix later this year. Little did I know, three races into 2025, I'd have to deal with a drunk 70-year-old on a two-hour phone rant about why was Suzuka so fucking boring and wtf is Ferrari doing to her baby, Lewis Hamilton and calling Max the GOAT is racism.*
Stay tuned, friends. I may have made a grave mistake.
On my 4,287th viewing of Ayesha Faines' Sage Masterclass (RIP, Queen), it's finally hit me that I am not the uber corporate, always level-headed Sage but the "owns and speaks her truth" Sage. Combined with being a dominant Lover who seeks connection, my nature is more "yapper" than mysterious Sophisticate. This is fine. I can turn on the mystery when needed. Otherwise, I need to give it up, turn it loose. I am who I am.
It's weird when your 52-year-old cousin looks at you, 41 with the graying temples to show for it, and waxes nostalgic about your appearance and mannerisms being the same as when you were three? Right? Ma'am? 25% of my hair is gray. What in the actual fuck are you talking about?
Last year, a friend (who doesn't watch the news) gave me shit because I didn't like how the geopolitical climate looked for a group trip to Paris in 2026. And well...
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[*] My mother is an American Black woman who lived through the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X. She's allowed to think everything is racism.
