green

Legos. Take apart and put back together in another fashion, build something new. Pretty colors, build cars or buildings.

Sticks. Little towns built out of sticks and leaves, in the dirt. Dig little rivers, build shelters, and see how many days it lasts.

Bricks. Heavy, mortared into place, not to be moved till a larger force factors in. Sturdy and weather-standing, built to stay.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. I'm rambling really. Something about permanace. Something about how as we grow up, the toys we play with deserve more commitment, more dedication.

The thought is in here somewhere, roaming about in my mind, taunting me with snippets of clarity, then wandering off again. This could also be ADD or tequila talking.

I know I'm forming coherent thoughts. In my mind. They're just not translating to the little letters on the keyboard.

Art. The cuts I carve into the wood are there. The colors I paint can change. I can leave a piece for days, or even months as the case is tonight, and come back to it, and pick new colors to go with. The cuts stay. I can add more, but can't take away what is there. The colors can change up until the moment I put the sealer on and declare it "Done!".

So that gray and red combo I had started, basically sucked, and it's now greens and grays.

More tequila. Or I need to open a window.

Like rabbits

Muscles screaming. Bodies sweaty. Close proximity.

Candles flicker, lightly scented, like spice. They line the walls, the windows, the top of the dresser. The room heats up, or is it the way you slide your fingers across my shoulder? I reach up, kiss your lips as my fingers start pulling at the buttons on your shirt. Your hands roam free under my camisole, eventually moving the silky top up and completely off my body. Skin to skin, chest to breast, there's something completely erotic about being half dressed, about standing in the middle of a room full of candles, about the shadows dancing across your face, the intensity in your eyes.

I just want to feel you, touch you, roam my fingers across your chest, down your arms, intertwine my fingers with yours, then pull your hands together and tie them to each other with the scarf from my hair. I do. I feel, I touch, I roam, then I tie your hands together and watch the smile spread across your face. All mine. I can do what I want. This thrills me. This scares me. I lean down, unzip your jeans, pull down, taking your boxers with. I feel charged. I'm walking around in my jeans, brushing my breasts against your arm, against your back, leaving you nude and at full attention, leaving my nipples at full attention as well.

I can do anything I want. You want me to. And I have no idea where to begin.

Do I start here, across your back, kissing my way across the tight muscles as I work my hands around your chest and stomach, turning you on with anticipation. Or do I start here, gently pulling your legs apart, dropping to my knees and taking you in my mouth, having your eyes roll back in your head as you try to keep standing.

Either way I'm going to turn you on, and tease you, and do my best to make you moan and beg. I like it when you want more. I like it when I'm watching your face, when you're ready to burst, when your eyes darken and you yell. I like that I push you to this edge, and you lose your last drop of self-control. I like that you reach for me, drop me to the bed, pull my jeans off, and take me like I'm yours.

I am.

Yours.

Take me, run your hands down my body, slide between my legs, I want to feel the weight of you on top of me. Take me, run your hands across my body, let me get used to your touch, turn me on with every movement, every slide of your fingers as you grace my belly, move to my waist and pull me to you.

In to. You.

On to.

You.

Rhythm kicks in, suddenly we're dancing, sliding and sweating together. Passionate and frantic. Laughing and moaning. Tender and intense.

Don't let go.

Don't let go.

Do not.

Let go.

Let go. Pull me close, I wrap my arms around you, hold on and let go.

Simper and sigh. Delicate movements, don't go anywhere, sweaty, salty, and breathing hard.

Catch your breath. The night is just beginning.

day-light savings

Wait a minute! Time change already? Where the hell did that come from? I mean seriously, why do we still do this? It's a 24 hour world, and when we turn on lights to work inside, day or night, it defeats the energy conservation purpose of that one measly hour that will in turn screw up everybody's time table for days.

Bleah. Rant over. (for now) Now, do we go forward or back? Guess I'll find out later when the tv show start coming on.

body pillow

To curl up, cozy beneath the blankets, body to body, creating our own warmth. I want to be held tonight. I need to be held. I need to be touched.

To lay, side by side, my back pulled into your chest, legs bent, slightly tangled in the sheets, slightly tangled in each other.

Slow deep breathing, arms resting on hips, resting on ribs, resting on chest, resting on belly. Hands holding each other, fingers gently moving amongst the palm. My thumb rubbing up and down on yours. The placement of your hand, draped over my body, right there in the center of my belly, the center of my being, and I trust you enough to place your hand here, trust you enough to take care of me, to protect me, to keep me warm.

The slight tickle of your warm breath against my neck. The rhythm of your breathing lulls me into a comfortable place, my eyes just get too heavy, I close them and drift to sleep. I'm comfortable here, I'm cared for here. This is where we are. This is where I feel I should be.

Tomorrow we can worry about the bills. Tomorrow I can clean the kitchen. Tomorrow I'll wear the heels to bed. Tomorrow we can fuck like rabbits.

For tonight wrap your arms around me, pull in close, and hold me. Just for tonight.

some traits are best left to the ancestors

Temper. And only family can push those buttons in just that way, you know, that way that makes you want to pull a "Thelma & Louise" and drive off a cliff screaming. Drives my blood pressure up faster than the steam from my mac n' cheese can fog up my glasses.

A simple statement, "Will you help momma out tomorrow?" turned into a full-blown screaming match about who does what, and who doesn't. No wonder my little brother moved two hours away, he doesn't have to deal with this anymore. Gah!

I could find his faults, my middle brother, just as he can find mine. I admire his wife, she really does reign him in as best she can, but temper is one thing we ALL got from my grandfather. That and Bolshevik eyebrows, these wild, thick, unruly eyebrows. At least I can tweeze my eyebrows. Can't do that to my brother.

I remember being little, and hearing my dad blowing up over one thing or another, and going and hiding in my closet, with a book. Many times. Many dents in the walls the next day. Many topics I mentally filed away to never bring up again if I could help it.

I remember my brother yelling at our little brother one day, over something that set him off, and I reached over and slammed him into the wall and yelled at him "You're acting just like daddy! Stop it!".

My dad eventually got help. Lithium is a wonderful thing. I sometimes wondered if I needed it too. I definately think my brother does.

I usually am not so quick to provoke. I don't think. I guess my friends would be the ones to tell better than I could. How do I go up and ask them... "What do you think of my temper?" Yeah, they'd either laugh or stare at me like I'm from another planet.

It is a delicate subject. One most people don't discuss. Certainly not in my family. Like the pink elephant in the room. But who wants to talk about anger, what sets you off, how do you re-center yourself? My aunt does to my uncle. I do to my dad. Tell them to chill, take a breath, whatever, it's not worth it.

I do know I get road rage. But I totally blame that on the poorly timed lights and people who choose to pull in front of me instead of into the empty lane next to me. Thank goodness my drive to work is exactly 11 minutes, and mostly on the highway.

And I get real short when I don't eat. That's a whole metabolism/low-blood-sugar, can't think straight, don't ask hard questions, just put food in my mouth thing. Thus my purse is always well equipped with granola and fruit bars.

Anyway. Temper being the sparking point, as I grew up I tried to be a pacifist. Tried to keep the calm, tried to keep from pissing anybody off. On the rare occasion when someone yells at me, friend, family, boss, I feel like I'm 10 again. Hiding in my closet. Yeah, psychological issues, I know. Try to be perfect, don't provoke anyone, and it will be good. I hate arguments. Discussions are different. Discussions are when people are talking, bringing up various points, explaining things. Arguments are heated and one person trying to get the others to see their point of view, to see that they're right. When it gets heated I prefer to walk away and cool off than to stand there and say or do something I'll regret.

I did do that once. L & I had a fight that last night we spent together. I honestly cannot remember what we fought about now. And I got up and took a walk on the beach in the middle of the night in December. I definitely cooled off. But we didn't get to have make-up sex, we drove in silence, and said goodbye at the airport. Is 10 months too long to have make-up sex?

Back to the topic at hand. It's exhausting to fight, to argue, to yell. It's draining. That adrenaline rush, the fight or flight response. Goes away, leaves you tired. Yeah. I'd almost rather never speak to my brother again than risk getting into another screaming match. Because with both of us sharing that fire DNA, it's gonna happen.

rick-rack

Relaxation.

Slow long stretches to release the twisted muscles in my shoulder. Deep rotations to appease my hip that is threatening to pop out any time I take a step. Roll my neck, massage right there along the spine where it's tighter than a rubber band.

Found out that I don't have 2 classes left. I have 14. Apparently I hadn't been paying all that much attention. Which isn't all that unusual. So. Tension has doubled. Just in the realm of homework. I'm making A's, I just need to step up the pace. And it means I won't get my degree for at least another year. Ok then.

Plans get changed all the time. Why would this be any different? Sigh. Well. Then. There it is.

Oh, don't read this wrong, I'm not depressed or upset about this. I'm just trying to figure this stuff out in my head, like how much longer these classes will take. Like will I choose to stay in my current position because the pay is good, the benefits are great, and I can do homework at work? Will I choose to go ahead and move next summer anyway? Hmmm.... maybe I'll just take off for a beach somewhere and learn how to surf.

Ponderings.

Like where my ears are. Found out I did not leave them in Georgia. So the hunt continues.

Like what color scheme I want to use on this next canvas. I'm thinking blues. Haven't done a blue theme in awhile.

Like wtf the Black Eyed Peas are singing, if you can call that singing, about. I don't consider myself too old school. I do listen to most alternative music, I like techno, electronica, backbeats. But who writes that sh^t and calls it lyrics? My brother who listens to this stuff would try to explain it, but some things I just don't get. Don't worry, I don't get most 80's music either. I don't get adjectives or objective sentences either, or why coffee smells so good but tastes so bad. That's just me.

Anyways.

Introspectiveness pops out of thin air sometimes. Run into someone you hadn't seen in a few years. Reminders of what could have been. Wonderings of what could have been. Deciding that where I'm at right now is pretty darn good. It may not be perfect. I may not be perfect. I used to try to be. Sometimes I still do.

I've gotten to experience alot. I got to be a radio DJ, and I got paid for it. Minimum wage, but it was fun. I've modeled clothes, and done commercials. I managed a restaurant and bar. And met some of my bestest friends. And I figured out along the way what I do like. Figured out I like my classes. I like art.

Ahh, that's just my personal life. Like what I do. Wait, that didn't come out quite right. I really don't know how to explain. I'm not sure I can even explain it to myself. I guess the best way is that all this stuff, all the things I've done or experienced, are just parts of the whole. Parts of me.

This part of me, over here, is confident and happy, a little bit o' attitude, and always a bright shiny smile. And this part, over on this other side, is the introvert, quiet and contemplative, constantly thinking, constantly drawing and writing, usually in my mind.

Again, the balance. The light and dark, the yin-yang, the push-pull, the give-take.

Ahh, too much thinking and contemplating for tonight. I'll leave it for another day.

I've lost my ears

I can't find them. Have you seen them?

I know I had them last year. I know I wore them to hand out the candy to the little kids.

But I can't find them.

I have looked in the boxes that I packed away seasonal clothes in. I did find a sweater I couldn't remember where I put.

I have looked in my closet. Why would my ears be in my closet? Oohh, if I find my ears I'm wearing them with this skirt!

I have looked under my couch. There are a bunch of magazines, a handful of unfinished books, and a couple of paintbrushes. No ears.

I have looked in my yarn box. Again, why would my ears be in the yarn box?

I have looked in the organizer for my markers and paints. Hmmm, that's where those paintbrushes go.

I have looked on my bookshelves. I realized I have way too many books I've already read, and still no ears.

I have looked in my suitcases. Because I wondered if my ears wanted to take a vacation. Because I wore my ears last year when I was in Georgia. Because I'm not sure if I left them in Georgia or not. Did I pack them?

Hmmm... I'll keep looking.

I have looked in that box that I just toss odd things into. Found .78 cents. Found a cd. Found a belt. Found a bottle of lotion. Still no ears!

I like these ears. They're fuzzy. They're pink. I've had them for five years. I wore them when I bartended. I wore them to hand out candy to kids, to serve drinks to adults.

They would totally go with that skirt for Halloween!

I think I'll post a missing ears poster. Put out an APB. Whatever an APB is. It just sounded like what they say in the movies. "Put out an APB on a pair of pink fuzzy cat ears, last known location Georgia one year ago."

Maybe someone has scampered off with my ears. If so, then I'll either have to wear my purple bunny ears, or go out and find new cat ears.

I miss my ears.

hot chocolate syrup

"hot chocolate syrup"

work in progress


Weather chills through sweaters. Cold winds whip my hair around my face, knocking the brittle brown leaves off the trees. Bundle up to go outside. Peel off the layers and cuddle by the fire inside. Sip a large cup of hot cocoa. Must have marshmallows. Little ones. Melting into the sweet chocolate heat.

Or

Cold wind howling at the windows. Two hot and sweaty bodies wrapped together in front off the fireplace. Gentle drizzle of chocolate syrup across my stomach. Sweet nuzzling, tickling as you lick it, as you lick me. Tender shudders intermingle with giggles as you make your way down my body. I pull you back up, kiss the chocolate off your lips, my turn to lick you.

give me soma that ol'e timey religion...

"Kick off your shoes, sweetheart."
I smirk. "Maybe later."
"Well, come on in, I'll get you a drink. What do you want? Beer, wine, soda?"
"Umm..." Tempting. I haven't had anything to drink in a few weeks. "Ok. Wine. Whatever red you have."
"Sure darlin'." I love the way he rolls darlin' off his tongue. Simple and sweet. "Anything you want."
He moves quickly around the bar, pulls down a glass, pours a merlot, all the while watching me. I glance around, admiring the decor, pretending to be oblivious to his gaze. Nice tables, big comfortable chairs scattered and arranged for conversations. It's a nice place, a relaxed bar, not a smoky pub. Quiet tonight. I take the wine he offers and sip on it as he goes back to the bar. He turns the tv off and kicks the music on, low and relaxing. He takes his beer and sits across from me, watching me. I do kick off my shoes, and prop them up on the coffee table between us.
I hold my glass, twirl it a bit, and look up at him.
"Do you pray?" I ask him.
He blinks, draws in a breath, pauses then answers "Are you asking out of curiosity, for peace of mind, or to start a discussion?"
I smile and take a sip. "Curiosity. I have an insatiable appetite for knowledge and people and their thoughts. So. Do you pray?"
He smiles back at that and says simply "Yes." He offers no explanation, so if I want one, I'll have to probe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The church I grew up in used to scare me more than the monsters under my bed. Built by my great-grandparents, almost literally. Great huge ceilings, long hallways, classrooms and prayer rooms. Built in the 20's, the 30's... old, big, dark stained glass, tan limestone. Plenty of places to play hide and seek after choir class was over and our moms hadn't picked us up yet.

Every Sunday. "Yes, you have to wear a dress." "Yes, you have to wear socks." "No, you can't wear tennis shoes." "Sit still." "Sit still!" "Quit pushing your brother." "Go hang your robe up."

Wander the halls. Many dreams over the years have been here, the green carpet in the hallways, the staircases that seem to go on forever, the shadows when it's all quiet and I'm helping my dad lock up after he was resetting the chimes. Chimes that rang every hour. Chimes that I can hear from our house three blocks away. Chimes that I can't quite remember anymore, but the instant I hear them I know.

There's this room upstairs, you'd almost never know it was there. In the middle of the hallway, it splits off to a short hallway, with two bathrooms and a usually locked door. A cleaning closet maybe? Nope. A small room. The teenagers used it, when they skipped the church service, to go sit and talk in. It was carpeted, had big throw pillows, and a folding chair against the wall under the high window. The secret? The wall was false. You could stand on the chair and climb over the wall to an even more hidden hole in the wall. No bigger than a person or two, but it was secret.

That was the appeal. That was the spookyness. That was the scary part. I mean, why did these people 50, 60, 70 years ago, build this false wall into a small room, hidden upstairs, in a church?

I always thought there were ghosts there. That they just wandered around, sat in on the services, hung out in the choir room, and listened to all the prayers we said to God. Maybe they were the message service, taking notes, condensing it all to give to God.

To me church was a little scary. I hadn't been back in years. One day I went, I'm not sure why, maybe a funeral for someone I once knew. Some things had changed. It looked smaller. The new stained glass windows were in honor of my great-grandparents. There was a wall with crosses that people had set up as a memorial. Simple and fancy. Small and large. Wood and metal and glass. I went home and cut and carved and painted a cross of my own, to donate, to honor family.

No more dreams. No more scary rooms. No more spookyness. Although I still prefer to pray in large open spaces.

blood boiling

Humming teeth. That strange faint vibration that hums through my back teeth, working it's rhythm forward into my mouth.

Anger.

Rude condescending man, insulting me, insulting my intelligence, insulting my work, the very work he'd asked me to do. It wasn't satisfactory to him, it wasn't even par, it was the extreme end of horribly wrong. And he let me know it.

And all I could do was stand there and let my teeth hum. Mad. Upset. Angered. Blood pounding in my ears.

The buzzing in my jaw. I clenched my teeth. Then I opened wide. Would not go away. Like I'd been standing in front of 50,000 watt speakers at a loud rock concert. But no ringing. Like I'd been chewing gum all day. But my jaw wasn't tired, it was humming.

Passion.

The last time my teeth hummed was a thorough kissing. One of those where I could see his eyes darken that moment before our mouths came together. Intense where we couldn't get enough of each other, like we tried to lick, suck, taste, bite, and breathe each other in. Hours, minutes, days, seconds later, we come apart, standing there, looking at each other, eyes shining, and my teeth are humming. Tense and timid vibrations through my mouth, and his tongue was gone.

Lips bruised, chin raw from his stubble, awareness heightened, heart pounding, blood coursing through my veins, and my teeth were sensitive to every bit of it. The thrumming resonated in my ears, floated through my jaw, matching the fierce need and desire.

Sensitive.

Aware of all I'm feeling. This isn't a painful sensitivity. This is vibrancy and thriving sensitivity, reminding me I'm alive. Reminding me to breathe, to slow down, because all of a sudden everything got too fast. Bad or good, I needed to calm down.

Balance.

Yin-Yang. Light and Dark. Balance. Bring the blood to a simmer, and then cool it off. Feel the anger, then release, like a fish you can't keep. Feel the passion, then savor, like a good meal. Know the difference.

Spark.

Both intense. Both burn in a deeper fire. Thriving in the touch of spark to bare soul. Charging the actions with the purest of decisions, the honesty that was hidden pours forth. Releasing the emotional depth. Lights the way, clearing the air. When the fire burns this hard, this fast, this deep, this bright, it cannot be contained.

Spirit.

Hum. Hum away. Vibrate inside. Dance outside. Whirl around. Express with words. Punch something. Heat the air. Pop loose. Feel every single thing, every single emotion, every single thought. Feel and let go. Let go and breathe. Breathe and just be.

Audrey Hepburn soothes my soul

Ahh, much better. A glass of wine, "My Fair Lady", and yes, the pinks do kick up the greens.


"Show Me" from My Fair Lady... rings true, eh?

Words! Words! Words! I'm so sick of words!
I get words all day through;
First from him, now from you!
Is that all you blighters can do?
Don't talk of stars burning above;
If you're in love, Show me!
Tell me no dreams filled with desire.
If you're on fire, Show me!
Here we are together in the middle of the night!
Don't talk of spring! Just hold me tight!
Anyone who's ever been in love'll tell you that
This is no time for a chat!
Haven't your lips longed for my touch?
Don't say how much, Show me! Show me!
...

I feel like I'm in Neverland, surrounded by Lost Boys, looking for Peter Pan.

And Tinkerbelle is off on either a cruise or on an acid trip, and has no advice to give.

Ok, well not really. I just feel lonely tonight. Left messages on a few friends voicemails, and since it's Saturday, I'm guessing they all have fascinating social lives cause no-one's called me back.

I did catch A at home, but even her Saturday night was full with trying to get WildChild to quit doing headrolls into the kitchen cabinets and go take a bath. She has a more entertaining Saturday night than I do. Although she did offer to trade with me...

I don't know. I'm in a mood. Not a funk, just a... mood. Like I'm a little bit antsy from sitting all day at work. I want to dance. A little bit hungry. Cookies. A little bit lonely cause I don't want to go out to a bar, and most of my friends live in far away places, and email and phone calls can only help so much. I want a hug. I want laughter. I want conversation. A little bit tired of green paint and am looking to mix in pink, just to kick it up a notch. Because you know, green and pink together have such a wild and crazy time.

And a little bit frustrated stemming from Boat sending me another mix cd, and "inviting me to drop by" while he's in training at Bliss in El Paso next week. Texas is big, remember? El Paso is NOT a day drive for lunch. And for pete's sake, oh please help poor pete out, YOU DIDN'T WANT ME, REMEMBER??? We went different directions, have severely different beliefs, and have extremely different wants out of life. NO. NO. NO. NO. And for good measure - NO. I do not want to spend the rest of my life with you, Boat, because I am a different girl than I was six years ago.

And I love someone else, who yes, happens to be stubborn, too, and who may or may not have moved on as well, but I don't know that yet, because we haven't talked. Who is an artist, who is a hard-worker, who used to listen to my stories, who used to make me laugh, who used to make me melt, who... oh, nevermind. I think I'm fooling myself. I love him, care about him, and haven't seen him since December.

I have a four day weekend coming up in several weeks... do I fly out there to see for myself? Or do I just go find some singles ski package in Colorado? Or take off for a trip to Vegas? Sigh. Neither of those sound appealing alone. I want to go see him. I have either got to close this book for good, or see if we want to work it out. I hope for the latter. I fear the former.

Meanwhile. Meanwhile I finished reading another chapter for class, have finished another chick-lit book, painted my toenails red, started another knitting project, cut several large pieces of wood to work on, and am almost bored with my own life.

And apparently, wait for it, this is where the Lost Boys come in, I am really attractive to married men. I mean Whiskey is one thing, I enjoy flirting with him, I enjoy talking to him and that's it. But I got hit on twice this afternoon, and today was a slow day so we didn't have that many people come through, and they were both married men! On a normal busy day I don't think about it, I work customer service, and I flirt with everyone. Yeah, it's a compliment, but please, how hard is it for the single men to hit on me? I didn't realize I was that intimidating, except when you have your wedding ring on, you feel powerful enough to get past those intimidating vibes.

Gah. Rant. Just frustrated with most of the male species. At times entertaining, but today is not one of those days. Today is one where I'd really like to slap a few, and kiss a few, and send a few on their way. Oh hell, what I really want is to get laid, and whomever this Peter turns out to be does not have to speak. Cause likely whatever he says will set me off, and not in a good way.

the psyche and the psychology

It still amuses me to see peoples reactions when I tell them I worked as a model. Even more amusing is the reaction to the fact that I also worked as a nude model for art classes.

Shows the differences in how people think. And feel. And react. Always watch the faces. Surprise is the best one. Then there's horror. There's disapproval. There's intrigue. There's hope. And there's humor.

I was living in San Antonio, loved the art scene from what I'd seen of it, and answered an ad one day for a nude model for an art class. I got paid decently well as a part time job, met alot of neat people, and learned alot of techniques for drawing and painting while I was getting paid for it. I can sit still for a long time, and have great muscle and bone structure. I am good at it.

But it's not the same as stripping or "dancing". VERY different reasons for being in a club vs. being in an art class. I've made friends with artists. I think the human body is beautiful, and hell, I prefer mine naked rather than clothed any day.

The stigma. The same attitudes and beliefs that people tell me is wrong to drink, or wrong to have tattoos, or wrong to have pre-marital sex, is the same to tell me that I should keep my body covered. Sorry. Not gonna happen.

The fascinating thing, and this is where psych 101 and Freud come in, is the male perspective, and the male questions. Pyro and Whiskey and I were chatting tonight, this subject came up, and I wouldn't be surprised if it brought other things "up" as well. Questions arose (pun intended) "Don't the guys hit on you?" "What if your body reacts?" and of course "Will you undress right now?"

Really? I mean it does entertain me that this is a turn-on for men, but come on. I sit so still in one position that my legs routinely fall asleep and my muscles cramp up. These are students who are drawing the shadows, the lines, the muscles, the movement of the human body. This is not sexy in my book.

Oh, who am I kidding? I enjoyed the art and creativity, seeing how the students painted or drew my form. Vanity of a sort. Still not easy. Still not sexual.

I flip back through my portfolio, photos from shoots done years ago, lifetimes ago, movies-in-my-mind ago. I was offered a scholarship for my acting and I turned it down. I placed up to second in various competitions. I love the feeling of being on a runway strutting my stuff. I love being onstage and having the character come out so well, I don't even see the line anymore. I love the dressing up for photo shoots.

But...

I was invited the other day to the set of an indie film that is shooting locally. It was.... surreal. Because I've done the indie film thing a few times, been through the torture of hurry up and wait, take after take, ok, on to the next scene. And I was a visitor here, standing around, chatting, met the actors, met the crew, all very nice, even got hit on by the actor with great brown eyes who was in a TV movie a year or so ago. I didn't see it. But he was nice.

And I left after about an hour. Part of me wanted to stick around, watch some more, hope to be an extra or something. I didn't. I left. I felt good about myself anyway, realizing I don't need the attention. I don't need it. It still feels good, don't get me wrong, but I'm not basing my life on that anymore. I quit the audition circuit years ago because I got frustrated with it. I got tired of it. It wasn't for me anymore.

While attention is still something I crave sometimes, sometimes I'd rather just be the fly on the wall.

But the attention I wish for now is more intimate. Not a whole audience, not a show audience who are out there critiquing me on my smile, my step, the arch to my back, the slouch to my shoulders. Not the lighting tech who says I need more makeup I'm too pale, or the costumer who has to tape me into fake boobs to give me a "lift", or the director who wants me to feel the emotions of being a mime.

I want the attention of one person. To know I make him smile. To know that he wants to hear what I have to say, what I think, what I see. To know that he likes my body naked or clothed. To know it's not always about sex. Not always...

But getting naked and covering our bodies in paint and making love on a new canvas, that's a pretty damn hot reason in my book...

Ok, so I do need a little attention. For the creativity of course!

holes

I feel like I have a hole in my back. A big one. Like a knife. Like a gunshot.

And I know I have a hole in my stocking. Those I can replace. Later.

Meeting today, sorta feel as if I was stung multiple times by a silent jellyfish. (Total Bridget Jones' refrence there)

Thank god everyone is now gone, I can lick my wounds and deal. But it still stings.

O heaven, were man But constant, he were perfect!

I love Pepperidge Farm. I really love them. Why? Because they have these delicious cookies that are dark chocolate chunk. But even better than that? They now dip them in chocolate, too. OMG. Mouth-wateringly perfect. Almost better than an orgasm.

Almost.

Ok, now that that's out of the way....

I spent way too much money today on clothes. There was this sweater, silk and black, it called my name, and it looks really damn good on. And then there was this skirt, all pink and black and short and flirty, and then another skirt, and then another sweater....well, you get the idea. But I was shopping with my mom and bought her a few sweaters too, so I feel totally justified. Really.

And to make the justification even more worth it I cleaned out my closet. T-shirts I haven't worn in over a year, tank tops I didn't wear once this summer, a blue dress I look at and honestly cannot remember why I own. Sweaters and shirts and pants that are too big for me, things I used to like baggy, things that can now go to another home. See L, I did learn something.

There is a catharsis to cleaning out the closet. Shoes went too. And I boxed up some things I can't bear to part with. Things like a t-shirt from the landscaping store I worked for that had a flag on the back that says "Battle of New Orleans", a joke shirt the company did, but I want to keep it after all that's happened down there. And work shirts of my grandfather. They are good to paint in anyway.

And this cleaning binge has taken over. For a little bit anyway. I worked on my bathroom cabinet, getting rid of mostly empty lotion bottles, hairclips that were broken, hairbands where I've completely stretched out the elastic. Razors that are well past their usefulness, and nail polishes that went all chunky.

Then paperwork. Magazines sorted and either to the recycle bin or to the cut and paste stack. Bills sorted by date due. And homework and workbooks shelved....

And that brings me to a short rant about my online classes. They told me today that I can no longer take my online classes online. I have to use the worksheet and mail it in for grading. WHY??? Because they tweaked their system and since my books are over a year old, they said it would be too much of an inconvenience to update their testing availability to accommodate my books. And since I've already paid off my student loan for this, and since I have 2 more classes to take before I can graduate, I am NOT HAPPY about this. Grr.

But I have pretty new clothes, a clean closet, organized desk and bathroom cabinet.... breathe. Zen. Of some sort.

In other news.... wait, I haven't got any. I'm still employed. I'm still doing my homework, grr, anyway. I'm still single and a hot night out was dinner and shopping with my mother. I've found a CEU class for my massage therapy certification to keep me updated, I'll take it in November. And I've decided to try out NaNoWriMo.... because I am enjoying spilling my thoughts into words here, and think this will be either a) a good challenge, or b) a helluva lot of fun.

Maybe next I'll organize my books and cds and paints and brushes.

HA! Yeah, right.

Perceive slight hold

Soft.

Tender.

Slow movements.

Fingers wrapping delicately around, tangling, intertwining with each other. Into each other.

Brush of skin to skin. Gentle rub of thumb to wrist.

Tender.

Heat.

Sliding up the forearm. Almost ticklish. Almost desire driven.

Not almost. It is desire driven.

Skin tingles. Skin coming alive. Begging for the next moment. Begging the next press of the hand. Begging for the next caress of the palm. Begging for flesh on flesh.

Electricity.

Suddenly nerves come alive. Dancing. Waiting. Begging for release. Hot pink flush to cheeks. Eyes bright with hope. Ears alert to every whisper. Every sense awake and welcoming to every stroke.

Needy. Needing to feel more. Needing to be more. Already more. Needing to release the awareness. Needing to scream. Beg. Moan. Whisper. Grasp. More.

Release. Let go. Catch of breath. Catch of hope. Again hope. Hope. Desire. Satiate. Palpitate.

Graze of lips to lips. Graze of lips to cheek. Graze of lips to neck. Grasping hair. Grasping arms. Grasping muscles. Pressing muscles. Pressing bodies. Pressing flesh to flesh.

Hold. Release. Embrace. Depart. Press. Pull. Caress. Unleash.

Tender. Gentle. Wrist to thumb. Arm surrendered. Fingers dancing. Skin stirred. Stirred up.

Thriving. Imploring. Pleading. Praying.

One kiss.

Melting.

Lips to lips. Mouth to mouth. Grasp tight. Hold close. Turn two into one.

Thriving. Spiraling. Blending. Dancing. Embracing. Breathing. Touching.

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.

I live in a slightly fuzzy world.

Not pocket-lint fuzz. Not extra sweater fuzz. Not two-day haven't shaved fuzz. Not belly-button fuzz. Not Georgia peach-fuzz. Not caterpillar fuzz. Not moldy cheese fuzz.

This is peripheral fuzz. This is not being able to see clearly fuzz. This is everything having a slight blur around the edges fuzz. This is being blind. Technically anyway.

I have gone back to wearing my glasses instead of my contacts. And I have successfully worn them for over two weeks now, and not been called "four eyes". Except once, but the person who said it had glasses on as well, and he was being a dork.

This is an amazing thing in my book. The last time I wore glasses was in junior high, before my doctor, or mother would let me wear contacts. Should have been wearing glasses since I was little. But those huge brown plastic frames, my god what was my mother thinking? So, no, didn't wear them. Till 7th grade. When I'm sitting on the front row and still can't see the math problems on the board, my teacher said don't come back to class till I had glasses. And those were brown plastic too. Fit the geeky girl image well. No, just accentuated the geeky girl image.

These are decent. I mean I am blind. My prescription is 9.75. You know those reading glasses you can pick up at the drugstore? Yeah, those cute little frames, simple little glasses? Those are a 1 or a 2 or maybe a 3. Mine are the proverbial coke bottle bottoms. Except these are extra thin, which cost extra of course, and small wire frames.

I'm still adjusting to the depth differences, as the contacts sit directly on my eye, and the glasses perch about half an inch away. And I still feel as if I should be taking off my sunglasses when I walk into a building.

Putting on makeup is a different challenge, as eyeshadow and eyeliner are magnified and look dorky. Dorky is not a good look on me. Taking a shower is now something I do blind. I feel better about my body already! I can't see the flaws and imperfections! Doing my hair is still a guessing game, that hasn't changed.

But I no longer feel ugly when I wear my glasses. Either that or I don't care anymore. Nah, I just don't feel ugly and geeky and still in junior high. I feel intellectual. I feel smart. I feel good. And my eyes are no longer bloodshot. Bonus.

This has brought about ponderings about how well I see anyway. Or what I see that's really important and matters vs. what doesn't. Because my focus is now pulled in, and well, focused, on what I'm working on. And everything else has a faint fuzzy edge to it. Which means to me it doesn't need my attention, I need not worry about it.

It's a different perspective. I don't feel like I'm hiding behind my glasses, I feel like saying this is the real me, take it or leave it. This is the part I didn't share with guys I was dating until we slept together, then they'd see "the real me", the girl with glasses. And I always feared they'd take one look and see the insecure jr. high frizzy haired geek, and run. Hell, I always feared they'd run anyway.

So be it. I've become the person who will now only wear the contacts for special occasions. And I'm saving my money for surgery. Because I may not worry about what others think anymore, but I still want to wake up and see the person sleeping next to me.

Jesaus Christ on a crutch, I'm so glad I have my vibrator.

Local news top story tonight was "Syphilis Outbreak". I am so laughing my ass off at this, because

A) CDC usually receives 3 reports a year, and recently received 26 reports from this area. What? You mean this ain't normal? This swelling in my d*ck don't just mean I'm horny? I'm sorry honey, I did'n know that whore was infected.

B) The local news can make this their top story, with "disturbing images" warning, but they can't put it up on their website! The official looking reporter, up there with the TV station logo and his microphone, saying "It began with someone looking for a little fun, a prostitute, a customer, and a night of sex in exchange for cash. The end result an outbreak of syphilis..." All for the ratings, ALL for the ratings. Who's the prostitute now?

and
C) This is a community that has voted 63% IN FAVOR of teaching a bible class and an ABSTINENCE ONLY sex-ed class. HA! "No we don't want to encourage our children to think sex is a good thing." But if they're gonna do it, don't you think they should at least be SAFE?

All I can say is we really need a condom store in this city. And then I'm gonna keep laughing my ass off, it's the best exercise I've had in months! And I don't have to pay for it...just the batteries.

stupid directions

Stu-pid directions on the stu-pid microwaveable pot pie box, it actually burned my pot pie. this sucks. I can't stand well-done toast or even medium done hamburgers, and now my chicken pot pie has burn marks. grrr.

Halloween must be on my mind, I think

A: "We got home late, because the Dairy Queen lost our order, and Uncle M had to go check, and anyway we just got home a little while ago. We just got out of the bath, and now I'm waiting on WildChild to go to sleep so I can put on a mask."

*crickets*

Me: "Umm, mask?"

A: "Yeah, I'll put on a mask and watch some more of ER on DVD, only two more episodes of the first season to go, then I'll get season two this week."

Me: "You're going to put on a mask and watch ER?" Now I'm really worried. She figures this out.

A: "You know, one of those self-heating facial masks. What were you thinking?"

Me: "You don't want to know. Something to do with Halloween maybe. OR that you are spending way too much time alone with your child and need to get out and interact more with adults..."

She starts laughing, I start laughing.

A: "That may be so, but you thought it first."

seasons and sanity

The moon rose, beautiful white, so bright and full. It washed the prairie grasses a lovely pale hue, making it look as if there was a blanket of snow all around. So soft and pretty, comforting in a way. A precursor to Winter? I wish.

Almost. Talked to L today, he said "I heart Carhartt." He's getting overalls for working in the cold to come, and he's in NY. And here I am having a hard time trying to convince my boss that the air-conditioner does not need to be on after dark cause the chill has already set in at night.

The other fun about the weather changes? Let's see.

I don't have to shave my legs as often - pants and tights and stockings - yea!
Hot cocoa and hot tea.
Fires in fireplaces and snuggly warm fluffy blankets.
Slow-cooker meals that simmer all day and smell delish when you walk in the door.
Boots. Warm fuzzy boots, knee high leather boots, short ankle boots.

Yeah, give me a few days below 40 and I'll be asking for tank-top weather again... but till then.

ADD

I've got ADD tonight for some reason.

No fewer than 5 tabs on my safari window are open, to 5 different news stories or such, all amounting to "Copyright Bird Flu Getty Art museum is now open in theatres with symptoms ranging from fever to literary artists."

And I'm eating, waiting on paint to dry so I can finish some detail work, and watching movies I've seen before.

I think I'm multi-tasking, but I'm not entirely sure.

I've got it!

At least I think I do. Somewhere between stretching my back out last night and falling asleep, the realization hit me.

Mystery.

That's why Whiskey is attracted to me, and why L got tired of me.

The daily life of things, my moods, his moods, work, it became routine. L saw the frizzy morning wake-up hair, saw the grungy laundry-day t-shirts, saw the messes I made with papers and books all over the place...

Whiskey doesn't see any of that. At least not wth me. He may see it at his home, but sees me in a different environment, where I'm charming and put together all the time.

It makes sense.... mystery.... huh.

"And now for something completely different"

I sit and stare at the blank canvas, the bare material in front of me. And I begin the internal, or is it eternal? debate with myself of what to do with it.

Fear or complacency?

I liked the out come of my last few pieces, so do I begin this the same? Use the same techniques? The same design templates? Same color schemes?

Or.... maybe... I can go in a different direction. Which would be where?

I sit and look at the paints, wondering what colors to use, flicking my brush over my knuckles like I used to flick my baton when I was in twirling class.

I can't ask the paints. Although I do talk to them.
"River blue, you look particularly pretty tonight."
"Crimson, you look ready for a party."
"Pineapple Yellow, would you like to be included in this one?"

Sadly these are all one-sided conversations. My side.

And I end up with more possibilities. I know the bare beginning is all open to changes, and only each stroke of the brush, each line put down, then and only then, it changes the destiny of the painting. But it must begin somewhere.

It must begin with me.

No matter what the paints say.

visceral

Dictionary reference:
Pronunciation: 'vi-s&-r&l, 'vis-r&l
Function: adjective
1 : felt in or as if in the viscera : DEEP (visceral conviction)
2 : not intellectual : INSTINCTIVE, UNREASONING (visceral drives)
3 : dealing with crude or elemental emotions : EARTHY (a visceral novel)
4 : of, relating to, or located on or among the viscera : SPLANCHNIC
- vis·cer·al·ly /-r&-lE/ adverb


Visceral - too many images on too many crime drama shows on too many channels, or too many untold stories of the er, too many images of torn flesh, bloody muscles, broken bodies in pain. Too many images that flash through my mind, unbidden, scaring me.

A car wreck on the road tonight. A head-on collision. Lights. Sirens. And too many local news cameras, all vieing for the same shot, the blood on the pavement, the torn flesh, the mauled metal of the cars. Too many images that they put on the tv, when it happened just down the street, when I saw it in reality....

When I lived it in reality....

Twisted metal, broken glass, pain in my arm, pain in my hand, pain in my ear, pain in my eye, opening my eye, seeing the ceiling of my truck, the overhead light, the swath of brown-red blood across the tan cloth.

Cold, soo cold... it's December, of course it's cold. This can't be happening. It is. It did. Cut the metal, jaws of life. Place me on a backboard. This thing hurts more than the pain in my arms, let me off. No, you may have more damage done. But my back hurts. It may be broken. No, it's because it's strapped to a piece of fucking wood, flat, when my spine is NOT flat or straight, it curves, oh, for god's sake get me off of this! Can't do that.

Helicopter to the hospital. ER. Still cold. Here, here's a warm towel, does that help? No, I tell you what, you take the towel out of that warmer and put me in there, will ya?

Several hours, they finally call my parents. Several hours and they start sewing me back together. They've kept me strapped to this god-forsaken board for several hours. They've kept me awake for several hours, making sure there's no concussion, no brain damage, asking me what state I'm in, who the president is, what happened when I wrecked. The police love this, I'm sure. They tell me I'll get a ticket for failure to control the vehicle, and a ticket for going into oncoming traffic, and I'm sure he said something else. I laughed, as I was in severe pain and this is what I do when I'm in pain, I laughed. Oh yeah, I failed to control the vehicle allright, it just took off with out me.

The doctor comes in, to start bandaging my broken body. He tells me the x-ray revealed my ankles were broken. Really? How can that be? I wiggle my feet all around, bending them back and forth, he says, I guess not, must just be scar tissue. Yeah, I jumped off a lot of fences when I was a kid, I was in dance classes. Instills more confidence in him.

My hand is too swollen to tell what's broken, so they just wrap it. I ask about my shoulder, what about it? Oh, just from being pulled from the seatbelt. Wait... it's my right shoulder.... please explain that one.... more confidence, really. Then he starts to stitch my eye back together. I tell him I know what he's doing, I know he has to do this, and I know it's not really like my eyeball, just my eyelid, but I'm going to scream anyway. And I do. And I have a damn good scream. He says knock her out.

My parents came down the next day, I finally got to go home four days later. I didn't drive for another two months.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Ya think? I still get anxiety attacks when I drive, when there's turns, when I see images like that... that pulling in my gut, that clenching of my ribcage, the pounding in my ears...

So much since then, so long ago. Try not to regret, try not to re-live. Try to avert my eyes, don't watch the news. Try to breathe. Just breathe.

go figure

"You're drawn to each other now like a magnet to the fridge."

I just found this fortune cookie quote..

crayon lines

So many things I say in my daily life, I censor. I try to be pleasant, nice, especially to the customers, usually to my co-workers, except when a certain one pisses me off by telling me how to do my job.

But when people ask "How are you today?" I know they don't want to hear the reality, that my chest hurts when I breathe, that a certain co-worker is pissing me off, that I'd rather be on a beach drinking a margarita. They want the small talk of "I'm fine, how are you?", or "Just peachy."

Which in a way is fine. In a way.

Because I don't really want anyone looking too close, getting to know me too well. I don't want them to look at me and say "Oooh, you have a flaw, get away from me." Fear of rejection. One that always kicks in in an intimate situation especially. But that's not this.

I know I should have a better self-esteem level, but it's there, hiding out, telling me "They don't want to hear all about your life." Thus I write.

I know it's ridiculous. I know truthfully everyone is really self-absorbed with their own worries of themselves, probably thinking the exact same things even, and too wrapped up inside to care about someone else.

And that brings me back to lines. You know, all those crazy lines we draw for the categories we place other people, other ideas, other attitudes, other ways of living, those boxes we put them in. With those lines.

Where do we come up with these imaginary lines? Why do we come up with them? Why. Who says?

And if we can build them where we wish, if we can categorize how we feel, then why can't we erase those same lines and enjoy the wide open spaces. Enjoy the interactions with people of different ideas and thoughts and ways of life. Enjoy the freedom from restrictions we place on ourselves.

Even if we see and know the flaws in others. Even then, when we see the not-so-shiny armor, when we hear the secrets, when we see the reality and the life. Even then, can we listen and not judge, not offer advice? Can we not back away, slowly?

All those rules. Usually passed on from parents to children. Passed on from friends. Passed on from strangers. From society's standards.
You know, the ones that say "You have to have a degree."
"You need to settle down and have a family."
"You really should get a respectable job like at a doctor's office, not playing around being a silly DJ."
"Here, read this book, I loved it, it's so great."
"Don't wear skirts like that, you don't want people to get the wrong impression of you."
"Why do you sleep so late? Why don't you get up early and accomplish so much more with your day?"
You get the idea.

So. What if I completely throw out all those "rules"? Those "lines"? What if I say to hell with everything, and deal with the repercussions later? Say what I mean, right then and there?
"Quit telling me how to do my job, I'm perfectly capable of doing this on my own."
"No, I don't really think this book is good."
"I LIKE being a DJ."
"Bite me."

Would be nice. Ok, would be the coming of the apocalypse.

No, this is not a justification rant so I feel better about whatever the hell I'm doing with Whiskey. As much as it could be fun, I will not cross that line. And per a discussion we had tonight, I will not treat him as a distraction either. He feels things too. But I can't just go with the sextoy scenario either. No fuck-buddy arrangement. So, to the bane of most men's existence, I think I'm gonna opt for friend.

And another line comes to mind. The one where I look at L and at Whiskey and see alot of similarities. Which is probably why I find him so fascinating, because he's here and L's not. What is it? Personalities? Attitudes? Thoughts? Whatever those unnameable traits are that draw me in.

Well, I'm drawn.

Could say something about needing an eraser here, or a new sketch pad, or paint to fill in the lines, or how I use crayons and the waxy layers show under each other.... but I'm not sure how. Maybe I'll think of it later.

torn. hello???

ahh...

He says call him burnt. I don't think so. It's a macho thing I guess, but to me it's a bit depressing. I think... I'll call him... Whiskey. There. That sounds better doesn't it? Ok, well this is MY world, I'll call people whatever I damn well please.

Honest flirtations. Ok. Not so honest flirtations. Lots of innuendos.

I think it's the spark that's attractive the most. The fire. And the humor. And the imagination. No, wait, that's my imagination, going into overdrive. And all I can do is write about it.

This... is so.... almost.... I don't know.... soap operaish?

Scene -
Office, daytime, cute girl, behind desk, answering phones, helping people in lobby.
In walks rugged and cute man.
They smile at each other, they flirt, happy music in background.

Scene -
Nighttime. Respective homes. He's with his wife.
She's alone, but talking on the phone to her best friend. Best friend has no better advice than "Don't even think about it." Too late, she's thought about it.
She also still loves the man she hasn't seen in 10 months, and is truly hoping they'll work things out. She thinks current cute man at work is more a distraction.
She is torn between a hot?, maybe?, affair, and the man she really loves.
Can she have this affair, not break her love, not bring trouble to cute man's life, and not break her own heart in the process?

Scene -
Tune in, oh, later, whenever I can post, to see the next chapter in this one.

No. Seriously?

Conversation tonight... yeah, my job can be pretty entertaining at times, today was one of those... me, only girl on duty, with three guys, boys, men, umm, male species. Slowish day. Amongst the randomness and laughter, they actually did get some work done. Then we all sat around and talked.

Male one, DA: comments on how absurd it is to convict the female teachers who have sex with their teenaged male students.
Male two, let's call him Pyro: adds his comments like "You can't rape the willing."
Me: "Wait a minute, the physical reaction is not the same as an emotional reaction."
Pyro: "No, you don't understand."
DA: "If there's sex, we're willing. You know those teenagers are like, 'Hell yeah!' " or something to that effect...
Me: "Wait a minute, they're young, this could scar them, be emotional damage - "
DA: "Emotional damage? These are teen boys, they're home every night slapping the sausage and thinking about that teacher anyway, so if this teacher actually has sex with them, they're lovin' it. They're telling the other guys all about it."
Me: "No. Seriously? What about emotional damage, later, after the fact? What about it being a power position, she's using her power over him, to influence him..."
Pyro: "Again, you can't rape the willing..."
DA: "There's power where you have to do something you don't like just to get what you may need, but come on, these are guys, they want sex. Yeah, if it was a man having sex with a girl, then yes, convict, but these are guys... we want sex."
Me: "Seriously?"

I just did not get it.

But, that's why I'm female. I don't understand the male mind.

Then DA said: "We think about sex every eight seconds."

Well. Alrighty then. This is a whole perspective I honestly never thought about before. Because I did approach it from the emotional/mental standpoint. Seriously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My appetite was obviously a bit bigger than my body was ready for. So, back to oj. And virtual chicken soup. And dinner tonight was Rosa's bean burritos with red sauce... that cleared my head for about 15 minutes.

But as opposed to feeling crappy, I dressed up a little today. Ok, enough to get noticed and make me feel better. What can I say? I like how I feel in stockings and heels....

That's one thing I have figured out in the male mind anyway... how to turn them on. (wicked grin)

The rest of the fun has begun.

I'm now into the coughing stage of getting better, where a vise wraps itself around my ribcage a few times an hour and I cough till I can't breathe.

Not much sleeping happening last night because of this, so I read. Finished a book, started another. And am really tired, but so well informed now. Don't ask me about what, I don't remember it all. I think I just finished that book to finish it....

On the upside... my appetite is coming back. Burgers and pasta sound wonderful right about now.

Now must go invest in some small country to put fuel in my car and go to work. Oh, and stop at the post office, and pick up some more vitamins... and batteries.... better get going. ;)

"What is there, like a coaster stuck to...my butt or something?"

Seemed everyone at work today was asking if I partied too hard or drank too much last night.

Was I hungover? No. Just tired. Still recuperating from my body deciding to shut down this weekend.

I even asked the medics if they would give me an IV... although it's probably a good thing they didn't... finding my veins can be a real bitch.

And yeah, those slight dizzy spells were not fun.

So I'm eating a bowl of chicken soup. This and a handful of crackers and a ton of oj is all I've eaten in two days.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turn left? Turn right? Here's where the dilemma ensues, ladies and gentlemen.

To the left.... mystery, humor, sensuality... or at least my perceived feeling of sensuality, ahh, but there's an invisible line I will not cross.... and if that line wasn't there - oh, hell yes!

To the right.... trust, humor, familiarity, hope, and my heart.... at this point.

All I can say is that I know I'm ever so slightly horny, and my vibrator just ain't cutting it. I swear this has led to my desires taking over my actions. Ahh, but I do enjoy wearing a garter belt and stockings, and heels, and skirts, and.... there I go again!

Back to umm, a coherent thought not involving sex or vibrators or sensuality or touching or kissing or

(slap!)

Yeah, I'm here.

I know it's just temporary lust. Maybe. Based on physical attraction. Maybe. But, hell, don't most relationships start out that way?

But I want all this with someone else. And, if in time I find out I can no longer have that life I want?.... then I'll re-calculate my options. Then.

Till then.... keep to the center lane.

And buy more batteries, damnit!

ugh

I have left the comfort of my blanket to go get oj and go pee. Other than that, I'm as cozy as I can be, with a sinus headache, achey shoulders, and a fever that comes and goes.

But I'm on the upside of feeling better, cause I'm making bad jokes.

And I've spent the past two hours surfing random websites, window shopping if you will. I had planned to be useful today. Really. Instead I slept on and off all day, and am now just watching tv and looking at pretty coats, sweaters, shoes, stockings, whatever wanders across my computer screen.

And it crossed my mind earlier, when I was feverish and chilly, that I hate being alone when I'm sick. I want someone to bring me the oj, make me chicken noodle soup, even if it is from a can, and turn the ceiling fan on when my fever breaks.

Am now accepting applications for someone to take care of me when I'm sick. Will only be employed for a day or two, two to three times a year. The rest of the time can be spent cleaning my house, massaging my feet, typing up my homework, and making me come. Applications must be submitted with pictures, essays, and a set of recommendations from friends and family. Those who dip, have bad attitudes, wear leather, smoke in the house, slap my ass, and make rude comments need not apply.

Any takers?

Butterfly realizations

My legs are heavy. I'm walking away from a man who is drunk and an ass. I wish I could run, but it's all I can do to keep moving one step at a time.

He invited me over, a party with his friends. Another girl made obvious distaste that I was even there. I left. Halfway hoping he'd be a man and come after me, halfway hoping he'd forget I was ever there, and could leave peacefully.

I walk down the street, heading back to my home. Heavy legs won't let me run. He does come after me, drunk and yelling how "It's ok, I want you there."

He reaches over and kisses me, as if to drive his point home. I push him away, and continue walking. His friend comes after him, says "Let her go man, she's not your type." "Thank you" I silently say.

And as I'm walking, a small blue butterfly comes up, flitters in front of me, and I pause, hold out my hand, waiting. This small beautiful blue butterfly land on my knuckle. It tickles, but I dare not move. Blue, like the sky at sunset, blue, like a pair of eyes I'd seen before, blue like light shining through a glass vase. So small, so perfect, so gentle, he climbs over and around my clasped hands, gracing me with his presence. And I feel fine. I feel calm.

I walk on, my legs no longer heavy, but now I walk slowly with this butterfly, not wanting to disturb it's wanderings over my hands.

Then I realize he's still behind me. I walk down a street, comeup to a fence with people working in the yard. Moving horses and cattle. I see two ranchhands by a gate, walk over, and just watch quietly. He starts up behind me, I look at the ranchhands, one fair, wearing a cowboy hat, one darker skinned, with blue eyes, like the butterfly.

I look down at my hands, the butterfly is gone. I immediately look all around, hoping to see where it took off to, but no luck. The ranchhands have noticed me by now, I make a small comment like "This guy is following me." They look at him. He gets the hint and turns and leaves. I look at the ranchhands again, say "Thank you" and turn around and leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Isn't it odd how fever dreams seem so real?

Gentle Force

Physical.

Attraction.

Pulsing electricity through my body, igniting into sparks when I touch your shoulder, your arm.

Bodies so close. I hear my breathing speed up, matching yours. I feel my heart beat faster, a pounding in my chest.

I am memorizing your face, every line, the stubble on your chin, the curve of your eyebrows. And your eyes. Oh, god, your eyes alone. The way you stare at me, the intensity I already feel doubles.

It's all I can do to not kiss you. To not press my body against yours. To not melt my lips into yours. Not yet.

The sexual attraction, the flirting, the banter, the pursuit.... now, face to face, standing in the middle of a crowded room, all alone.

I glance left, looking for space, a place to go, together. You take my hand, pull me up next to you, my arm brushes yours as you drop your hand to my back, right above my waist, and guide me to the side.

No words spoken. No need. I know what you want. I know I want you. I know that this will be.

Exit through the doors, a quiet hallway, I look over my shoulder, straight at you, grab your arm, twirl you around me, and press you up against the wall. Pinning you with my body, I wrap one leg around your hip, the other I slide between your legs, loving the fact that I so noticeably turn you on. I smile, you smile, your hand works it's way up my back, my hand pins your other arm to the wall by your head.

We are this close. This is the spark for the match. Lips come together quickly, hungrily, nipping, sucking, joined by teeth and tongues dancing in and out.

Our bodies find the rhythm, touching, pressing, trying to blend into one, adjusting clothes, adjusting positions.

You grab my other leg, wrap them around your hips, and turn me around so I'm against the wall, you pressing into me.

Kissing. Groping. Kissing. Licking. Kissing. Moaning. Kissing.

I look up, see you watching me. This turns me on even more. I pull away, pull back enough to say "Let's go. Now."

You agree. Thank god you agree, otherwise I'd have to find more ways to persuade you.

Somehow we leave, somehow we make it out the door, to your car, and to your bedroom. Somehow our clothes have been left in your hallway, and you lift me onto your bed, gently laying me down, pressing your body to mine, and the choreography begins again.

And all I remember is your hand on my waist, your tongue in my mouth, your eyes watching me, your smile, and the way you adored and touched my body. The way your fingers brushed my breasts, the way your tongue licked my stomach, the perfect weight of your body on top of mine. And all I remember is letting go, enjoying every moment, and holding on for dear life.

dance backwards, in heels

See, I put on a skirt, and I want to dance.

When I was a kid my mom made me wear shorts under my dresses because I would run and play and the dress would never stay down. I'd rather draw on the sidewalk, play in the mud, run amok, whatever...

So as I grew up, I pretty much quit wearing skirts and dresses if I could help it. Oh, theatre is one thing, being in character, playing a part. I wore togas, mini skirts, ball gowns, and hoop skirts.

And yeah, I'm most comfortable for a night out in a jean skirt. I like having pockets. This bothered L, for some unexplainable reason, he didn't like pockets on skirts, at least on me. :)

But for work I have four or five skirts that do not have pockets, that have enough sway and movement, that make me want to dance.

And I kinda do. I'll swirl around once in awhile. Groove to some song that gets stuck in my head.

And when I wear heels, it's even more so. That little bounce in the walk turns into choreography.

And now it's cooler, I have this long skirt... well, let's just say I really, REALLY, want to go salsa dancing.

Now if only I could find a man who's not afraid of the dance floor.

What's mine say?

I still read your horoscope.

Not daily.
Just whenever I pick up the paper.
I flip though the comics.
Scan the horoscopes.
Read mine.
Then I read yours, to see what kind of day you're having.

Is it an 8 day? A five star day? A two star day?
Will the heavens smile upon me in all I do?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have a box full of those fortunes from hundreds of eaten fortune cookies over the years. I plan to use them in an art piece. Someday. Till then I keep collecting them.

You are talented with your hands.
Many opportunities are open to you, seek them out.
You will be successful in everything you work at.
What the wise do in the beginning, fools do in the end.
Talents that are not shared are not talents.
It is impossible to please everybody. Please yourself first.
Your labors will bear many rewards.
A free soul never grows old.

I sit. I read. I ponder a bit. I stick the little piece of paper in the box with the others. I have a box of fortunes.

I just wish I could share them with you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I called you today. You called back. This in itself amazed me.
We talked. Work. Business. School. Life. Daily stuff.
I told you I care for you.
You said you care for me too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gemini : Make this romance happen. If you want something, you have to go out and get it.
Sagittarius : This is a perfect day for checking in with the big picture and making big plans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All the little pieces of paper. All the words on the page in the newspaper. All the horoscopes and fortunes in the world.... nothing makes me feel as good as hearing you say "I care for you, too."

middle of it all

Ahh. Sitting down. Borrowing a computer. I have been up since some time before dawn. Same as yesterday. Will do again tomorrow. And bed does not happen till midnight.

Beautiful weather. People are polite. Pilots are actually polite. Vendors seem happy. And planes are up in the air.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The re-enactment of "Tora Tora Tora" is going on now. Getting ready for more blasting. I really think the blastards have the best job out here. They sit, drink, watch planes and blow up things.

The newspaper reporter rode with me for a bit, I showed her some behind the scenes stuff, introduced her to my grandfather. He was out here when they were still the Army Air Corp, in 1942, when they built these airfields for training. My grandfather, my dad, my aunt, me, plus alot of friends we've gotton to know over the years, all volunteer for this. It's tiring but fun.

Back to post. I'll write about the macaw, the flirting, the offers for dinner, and the aches in my ankles later.