because I can--

I am posting again.
even though I had nothing to say,
and still have (nearly) nothing to say--
post until you feel like posting.
growing up Mormon,
they taught us "when you don't feel like praying, pray until you do."
so...
I think this is making good use of that training.
don't you?
maybe in honor of that lead-in,
I'll even write about the first time I gave oral sex.
On BYU property, even.
to a boy who later served a mission.
personally I'm shocked that he caved like that.
he left for his mission two days before my wedding.
I always sorta thought that meant something.
yeah, dumbass, maybe this: THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL YOU TWO ARE FUCKING AGAIN.
purdy much.
anywho.
it's a long story, but i'll cut to the good part.
we were talking,
about being rebel-children in this land o' zion.
about being 19 (him) and 21 (me) and premaritally sexually active--
in our pasts.
both of us here, trying to be "good".
Becky was there, too.
in fact she introduced us.
so we were all just talking about our different experience levels,
and I blurted out that I had never had or given oral sex.
(I had leapt out of my virginity for a brief spell at the age of 19, but ran straight back to the churchy thing)
he was...
enthralled.
we exchanged banter,
to the affect of "ya gotta try it" and "i'd love to".
heh.
he was really a lot of fun, in general--
not just fucking hot.
we all laughed and had a great time.
then a few days later, we ended up over there again
(carefully planned, I'm sure)
with a movie.
becky left.
Seth and I got under a blanket.
on the couch--
since members of the opposite sex are not allowed in the bedroom area of byu apartments.
we "watched" the movie.
you know how sometimes when you kiss someone it's good, and nice blah blah,
but then sometimes....
the kisses alone are so fucking amazing that you lose all control of your will power, brain fuctions, bladder--
uh, scratch that.
anywho, that's how it was.
he ran his fingers along my arm and left trails of burning embers.
our mouths worked together to drive us both into a state of frenzy--
both of us on the edge of orgasm.
he asked if i was ready...
I was.
I knelt down next to the couch and helped him out of his pants.
I had never looked at a real live cock before--
my one sexual partner had been me proving something to no one, and I had been too scared to look at it.
so there it was, hard and red,
erupting out from a cloud of hair.
becky had given me a few tips, as had my friend Julie
(hers were screamed, by the banks of a river, surrounded by trees--
punctuated by intense bouts of laughter, but proved to be sound advice, nonetheless)
and he offered some guidance as well.
a few minutes later, I was gulping down my first taste of that delicious stuff I've cum to love (har, couldn't resist).
and he was exclaiming over my aptitude.
"for a first timer?"
No, you're just good.
On the drive home, through the blackish summer night-turned-pre-dawn,
a song came on the radio,
and made me laugh out loud.
still makes me smile every time I hear it.
Collective Soul, "December"
turn your head and baby just spit me out
I giggled because I didn't do that.
god DAMN that boy was sexy.

so anyway.
here's why days like this are annoying the hell out of me:
sunny and warm, turns to cold and rainy.
how the fuck am I supposed to dress my kids on a day like that??
also, I'd like to know how they manage to time their ass-wiping needs (literally) with my food consumption.
every damn time they yell "mommy, i poooooooped!"
it coincides with me putting something in my mouth.
you'd think it would make me lose my appetite or something.
but, no.
no such luck for me.
and yes, I still wipe their little bums.
works out better for everyone, ok?
another reason that days like this suck,
is that I removed all my window coverings, in preparation for the shutter guy.
they're not going to make it.
at least not to put all the shutters up.
they better fucking start with the master bath.
I am NOT doing a live shower cam for the whole neighborhood(free of charge)!
I mean, jesus.
two enormous windows, showcasing my glassed in shower.
so, yeah.
I'll take shutters for 2, please.
something with a view.

In order to have something new to say

I would have to DO something different occasionally, right?
yeah, that's what I thought.
well, yesterday, I drove all the way down to my kids' old doctor,
an hour away,
just to have my susicions confirmed:
NOT PINK EYE.
but at least I got to see the even-cuter-than-mine pediatrician,
because he had an earlier appointment free.
3 peds in that office.
3 distict styles of hot.
this guy is brand new--
damn cute.
like, "stick him in my pocket and take him home" cute.
our real doctor was brand new when my sis in law stumbled fortuitously across him--
spreading the word quickly that her ped was a little hottie.
and had only been at it a few years when my little nuglets made their grand debut,
so of course I jumped on him.
er.
jumped on the chance to take my kids there...
especially since his office was on my street.
and the other dude is older, but darkly handsome as well.
did any of you care?
I mean REALLY.
oh well.
at least I had something to say.
I never promised you a god damn rose garden, though, so ya might wanna lower those expectations, m'kay?
I said "somehting to say", not "something good/interesting/worthwhile" to say.
so fuck off.
or join me in a little house call fantasy...
german measles or something,
and i'm beside myself with worry,
so hottie McDoctor examines and treats child, who then falls asleep.
i'm still worried, though.
heh.
so he has to console me.
oh yeah, mama, just like that.

and it won't stop raining here.
the flooding has started,
so maybe all the fucks who kept saying, "It's a desert, you can't complain about rain!" will calmly and efficiently go fuck themselves.
need a hand, asstards?
I may have only lived here for 11 years,
but I still know "too much water" when I feel it
splashing down the back of my neck
seeping through my shoes
nearly drowning me, because I can't stop looking up.
just kidding.
(about that last one.)

I got the sweetest advice last night,
from the sweetest girl.
and she served as a reminder that people's names can affect who they become.
her name is Joy.
and she radiates it.
sure, she gets pissed at stupidity, like the rest of us.
or has a bad day occasionally.
but, she's just so even tempered and all-around happy.
it's fucking cool.
my theory is that people's parents choose their name,
so think about the kind of person who would choose the name,
and then think about what kind of parent they would be.
I met a girl named Trinity once.
she kicked ass.
why?
because someone who would name their daughter Trinity, 25 years ago,
KICKS ASS.
obviously there are plenty of us with all-american (read: boring-ass) names who have overcome the handicap to be pretty damn cool ourselves, but...
can you imagine what a fucking vampire slayer I could have been if my Mom hadn't used "short and easy" as her main criteria for name choice?
what if I had been called
Layla
or
Fiona
or
Lola
or
Sam(antha)
or
Victoria
or
Alexandra?
would I be a different person?
and would the reason be the name,
or the person who chose the name?
I'm happy how I am--
and with the SuperMom that I have,
but it's an interesting thought.

so I had a really cool thought in the shower.
but I can't remember it.
of course.
oh yeah!
I was wondering about all the marriages where the sexual scales are tipped sorely out of balance--
which seems to be the majority of marriages.
My own marriage has seen a period of time where that was the case,
and most people I know in real life or on here,
have an imbalance, as well.
in my personal experience,
it is more likely to be the woman who has lost interest,
and then it's usually after child bearing.
this i understand.
hormones change--your body changes.
i sure as hell didn't feel sexy with all that extra weight,
and stupid stretch marks.
(god damn twins)
but, no matter what the cause, or who has dropped the ball
er,their pants?
oh--their interest!
it is a devastating thing for a couple.
I was wondering about the way we are each sexualized, as teenagers and young adults,
and the way that impacts the sex life in a marriage.
for me, sex was always something forbidden,
something mysterious,
something to seek after like a thief in the night...
something to hunger for,
and never quite be satisfied.
the thrill of the chase,
the adrenaline of not knowing what would happen, etc.
it definitely took me a while to adjust to such vast monogamy implied by marriage.
which is not so say that i was a raging slut before i met my husband,
because i really wasn't.
i was a late bloomer, due to my religious beliefs,
so i was only sexually active for about a year and a half before i met him.
but I never had much of a long-term sexual relationship before him.
in fact, his was the first cock I ever saw...er....
in an unaroused state.
it made me giggle.
anyway, it's still something I miss--
the heat of those early encounters,
the excitement caused by not knowing what the hell was going on,
or whether I'd actually "score" or not.
(ok, that one was easy to figure out: they were BOYS.)
anyway, I'm just wondering how deeply this sort of thing affects us.
like, would the world be better off if we weren't all such little sluts?
only have sex with someone you're in a long-term thing with,
or religious zealots' preference: married to.
it is a much better kind of sex, more deeply satisfying,
when you are committed to the person, in love with them, and when there is trust.
(ya gotta have trust to let someone tie you up, right??)
but I still crave that other kind sometimes.
anyway, the question is:

your thoughts?

It's a beautiful fucking day in the neighborhood

so top that, fuckers.

I had
crazy weird awesome
dreams last night.
involving all sorts of bloggers,
even if they were all oddly out of place.
I was being interviewed on The Late Show--
by Pisser.
I was telling her about my real life meeting with Red,
during a commercial break.
I got the feeling she thought we were lame.
(and no, Red, it was nothing like that)
and then there was my husband and I going to dinner at Blank's* house--
his blonde wife kept giving me disapproving looks,
and his SIX(??)kids were cool.
he, however, was asleep on the floor, in assless chaps.
and the fun doesn't stop there, folks!
I set my husband up with Didamo,
(even though she's a lesbian)
and then freaked out when he had sex with her.
well, yeah--nothing odd about THAT.

I have GOT to stop eating before bed.

ok, so my kids are missing preschool today.
AGAIN.
I haven't had that little slice of heavenly alone-ness in almost 2 weeks.
lots of running around for family stuff last week,
hubby out of town for a couple of days (back now)--
all of this wears me out.
well, if it wasn't for the constant babble from my matched set of baby-loves,
I would probably be a lot more sane.
(I can hope, at least)
it's just so hard to maintain a train of thought...
when they barge through my quiet little grove of pondering,
over and over and over,
leaving debris of suddenly disconnected synapses in their wake.
oh well.
maybe I should just stop fighting it...
what need do I have for thoughts, anyway??
heh.

at least I got a little shopping done yesterday.
purchased a couple of CDs
Joss Stone is as amazing as I had hoped--
even if I could never have imagined how she would sound.
and Jack Johnson finally made it into my collection.
there is something happy and good about them both--
perfect springtime/summertime music, I think.
so I spent a loooooooong time trying to find my software for my mp3 player.
never found it.
so I downloaded drivers and applications--
still won't work.
hubby will look at it.
when he has time....
siiiigh.
time.
we need some.

* just sort of realized that dream was kooky enough that I should ask permission to link the poor soul who stumbled into it against his (and my!) will. heh.

Happy Stutter Day***

verbally, as well as phsically, a stutter-filled day.
good-ish workout.
sort of "bleh", really.
saw someone I used to work with.
imagined saying "hi", but didn't.
remembered the funny jokes,
his girlfriend and her pierced tongue,
their shared history of addiction and NA--
her relapse.
he looked well, and I remembered his kids would be
grown.
teenagers, all.
and I didn't really mind not saying 'hi',
even though I usually love running into old friends.
I guess maybe I've finally learned to let go--
of the casual friends, at least.
then I caught a glimpse of green arms--
intricate ink, so alive and bright.
I caught my breath, and pushed my eyes to the attached face.
and looked away quickly,
blinking.
very familiar,
and yet much taller and thinner--
and in entirely the wrong state.
but.
very...
attractive.
he noticed me noticing him--
out of the corners of my eyes, and through lowered lashes.
he kept himself in my line of vision,
on purpose?
perhaps.
I can't help what my mind shows me,
tells me--
feeds me.
I imagined him.
naked in his long skininess,
and how hot the heat between us might be.
or might not, realistically.
but the playroom chick came to get me.
they didn't believe me that twin B has allergies,
and insisted that if it was pink eye he had to leave.
it's not.
but whatever.
I was almost done.
with my workout...
it was a jarring return to reality, however.
and as the boys selected their candy from the machine,
sexy beanpole walked out the front door.
we were just behind him.
as I turned to buckle a child in a seat--
my eyes fell on his,
in his car, the next row over.
he watched me smile down at my child,
then drove away...

moments.
we live life in moments.
hundreds of thousands--
millions--
of moments, all piled together.
sometimes there is a tangible space between moments,
sometimes moments overlap furiously, breathlessly,
or intertwine--
each moment still precious as its own entity,
but enhanced by those moments around it.

I've lost myself.
I think I'm riding shotgun, in the dusty cab of a big rig.
across the ocean.
I hope I'm not changing stations on your favorite songs,
or falling asleep when you need my conversation to prop your own lids open.
I am being lulled by that growling rumbling beast of an engine,
the smell of diesel permeates my clothes and hair--
but you could still taste roses on the skin just beneath my ear.
and sitting across from me in a diner, at 4 in the morning we would laugh,
and fight over the ketchup that neither of us uses.
to run the back of my hand across the night's stubble on your chin--
a thousand days of summer, I would trade.
yeah, I miss ya.
yeah, I pout like a little girl when I realize others miss you, too.
but.
they don't have as much to miss as I do, I remind myself gently.
and you'll be done with all that, soon...?
soon.
ugly word, in all its vague splendor.
soon.
soon should mean tomorrow--
today.
next week, at least...
hey, no one ever accused me of being patient.
or having too little passion,
or dreaming too briefly, too narrowly, too monochromatically.
and that is as it should be.
I love that we each have our own set of standards...
even if I'm the only one who's right.
heh.
well.
I will go now.
since no one's commenting these past few days anyway.
ya lazy fucks.

___________________
*** is it just me, or does "Stutter" look most deliciously like, "Slutter"?

I can't stop posting

this is usually a sign of severe mental instability.
or at least boredom.

I should be loading up the car to get to the gym for my 12:30 appointment.
but I'm not.
I'm sitting HERE.
chomping at the bit
pacing
aching?
wondering
floating.

had a fantastic shower.
yes, like that.
I nearly blacked out, actually.
don't usually treat myself quite that well,
but it was a good thing for a monday morning.

I'm running in a 5k this weekend.
erg.
am I ready?
nah.
do I care?
course not.

it IS braless Monday.
just until I put my shoes on.
er.
because at that time I will also put on my sports bra.
which reminds me of how fucking LAME some girls are,
by wearing god damn push-up bras to the gym--
hello???
or, in fact, anything but a sports bra annoys the shit out of me.
it's not a pick up joint, girls,
so wash that nasty make up off, and put on a bra that will protect the tender tissue of your breasts and keep them perky well past your 30th birthday.
stupid bitches.

ahem.
and now i'll go.
gracefully?
doubt it.
oh, and just because I haven't told you to go fuck yourselves lately,
doesn't mean you shouldn't.

Mondays are as cool as--

my refrigerator.
No, that's not some kind of riddle.
nor is it sarcasm.
My kids turned it OFF at some unknown time yesterday.
I should have checked it out when I took a sip of milk that was less than freezing cold.
but.
I was already in bed, and who wants to go ALL THE WAY downstairs, walk over cold tile again, just to check the temperature on the fridge???
I didn't think they would have actually turned the damn thing OFF.
so.
I've lost a couple of pounds of my favorite deli meats
and a few pounds each of boneless pork and chicken.
(which i had "wisely" left unfrozen because I knew I would use them quickly. grr.)
probably a jar of mayonaise.
and that's all, I think.
at least eggs don't spoil that fast--
a friend's neighbor gave me some eggs from her very own chickens!
yum.

so the moral of the story is:
Mondays are not cool and neither is my fridge.
and we'll talk about how my vacum cleaner sucks, later.


from the day we unpacked the furniture.... 

oh, and this picture just reminded me of something cute the little matched set of love-on-feet said the other day--
"Look! that bird's flying like a plane!"
I giggled, thinking, aw, how cute, they've gotten it close--
just a little backwards,
since we studied birds to figure out how to make machines fly, etc.
so I corrected him,
and his brother piped up--
"No, mom, it was flying like a bird, but then its wings stopped moving and it was flying like a plane flys."
oh.
well, duh.
I knew that.
maybe I'm just their mom,
but I happen to think that was mighty observant and accurate for a couple of spastic 4 year olds.
also, their teachers were gushing at me about how smart they are the other day.
well, duh.
I knew that.
happy "I'm wildly in love with my kids" day.
even if they're home from school because one of them is sick--
and heaven forbid little mirror image go without his shadow, right??
oh well.
at least it's raining and I feel like smilingly wandering around my
(beautifulllll)
house with coffee and a purple scalp all day.
hope your Monday is equally happy--
and more cool.

My scalp is purple

but my hair is not.
I'll take what I can get, on a day like this.
a day of driving all over the state,
and multiple airport trips,
and kids playing so perfectly with other kids that I forgot they were even there...

life is moving forward,
so that's a good thing.
sometimes I forget to notice,
or focus too hard on it, and my vision blurs.
but it's good.
and did I mention it's good?
I am not so sure how I feel about the whole "kids growing up" thing--
pretty sure I'm going to have to veto that whole process.
my
babies.
not babies anymore...so tall, so smart.
makes me sigh--
mostly filled with a smile, but...y'know...
that searing little ache,
that reminder that their innocence, their tenderness--
their unabashed devotedness--
will shift and twirl, and settle in an altogether different pattern than it has, to date.
this is
good.
it is the way of life.
but I wouldn't be me if I didn't breathe in the delicately woven texture of it,
and feel the tug of my soul rebelling against it,
just a little.
I can't wait to see the fine young men they grow into,
or the fathers they become,
but...
yeah.
I don't really have to explain this,
because anyone with kids already gets it--
to the core of the core of your guts...
little angels.

so, blog world...?
hm.
It's very strange to be removed from it all,
even if only for a week,
and even if only "limited" rather than "removed".
I believe my perspective has shifted, a bit.
but that could also be the fatigue talking.
AND
I tend to generalize my moods,
jumping to the assumption that they are permanent.
when,
in fact,
history should readily tell me that they are dynamic--
no, ephemeral?
mmmm....I love that word.
anywho, I'm not what you'd call moody,
I just believe solidly in each moment I live.
I would say I'm not "moody" because most of my moods are shades of blue sky,
rather than blacks and greys.
this fucking keyboard is pissing me off, though.
it's lagging.
actually, I wonder if it's the puter.
it "blue screen of death"ed me earlier.
and it's possible it hasn't recovered.
or that it crashed because of this lagginess.
fuckity fuck.
who votes for me to get a new computer?
good, good.
thanks for your support.

oh, and to the anonymous "Sue", whose comment from last week (on an older post) I just found--
thanks for the second comment, apologizing.
and to answer your question:
I spend hardly any time on this at all, and I'm pretty sure the adverb you were looking for is "incessant" not "absessent", and really I would go with "rambling" rather than "ranting", but I guess that's a personal preference. and, for the record, I'm not picking on your spelling, I just have a bit of a compulsion in that area...

pardon the interuption.
I hated the thought of replying to that particularly intriguing comment and having its author miss out.

I am getting sick of the intensely introspective posts that I've been doing...
forever.
maybe I'll quit being so damn lazy and start actually writing
about
SOMETHING.
at least occasionally...
also, if you get a second,
curse a god (any god will do)
for giving me the talent and desire to bake.
ok, it's more like an addiction,
and no I don't mean "bake" like THAT, ya damn hippies.
cookies, cakes, pies, pastries.
you name it, I can bake it.
and eat it.
fark.
(fork??)

A pirate with a steering wheel in his pants walks into a bar.
The bartender says, "Uh...do you know you have a steering wheel in your pants?"
"AAARRR! It's drivin' me nuts!"

totally makes me giggle.

They say that breaking up is hard to do--

but, personally, I think waking up is much harder.

especially when you have replaced your defective coffee maker
with
a defective coffee maker.
I'm sort of exaggerating that part, for effect--
I don't need coffee to wake up, as I've only drunk it intermitently starting a couple of weeks ago, and have not found waking up any differnt since then.
who cares?
not I.
It's just that I have neither jack nor shit to say.
so what the fuck am I doing here?
it's a beautiful spring day,
and I have much to do.
including a surly husband.
he needs his coffee.
and his saturday morning sex.
but sometimes...
the kids won't settle down and I refuse to indulge if they're prowling around.
having them knock on the door repeatedly, saying they just want to ask me something or just need a hug or just need or just need--
it detracts a little from the mood.
and it's probably a combination of maternal insticts and the fact that I get more than enough sexual attention, that I can't stand to ignore them for even a minute, at the cost of my own gratification...ya know?
damn, that sounded selfless.
don't worry, I'm not.

anyway, again--
WHO CARES??

yesterday, impromptu trip to Wendover
(Bend-over) for a little 7 card stud and black jack.
well...
that's how my Dad spent his time.
brother and I stuffed our faces at a buff-ette and talked until we'd recovered from said stuffing.
then we realized it was time to go.
Wendover is about 2 hours from my house,
past the Great Salt Lake,
through the salt flats and desert,
and just
barely
across the border.
it's a crappy little town.
more trailer parks then casinos.
but it's the closest/quickest fix.

then, rush home for a family dinner thing, at the far end of the other county...
l
a
t
e
but at least husband's schedule then permitted him to join us.
and at least we discovered that my brakes are SHOT.
and mostly, we had lots of fun.
I hatched a brilliant plan to get my sister and her recusive husband to come out here for a visit--
FAMILY REUNION.
just us, and her.
but still--
it counts.
and I think he would fall for it.
dunno.
she comes out almost every year anyway,
but he has never been here.
he's an engineer, just like my two brothers,
so they should be cool.
there are just so many fucking great things to do outdoors here,
that it would be really cool.
maybe Thanksgiving in Moab, or something.
no camping allowed.
I'm through pretending I like that.
oh sure, campfires are cozy.
but the rest of that shit gives me the creeps.


this is a fucked up STOOOPID post
and i'm leaving.
i suggest you do the same.
(you could take a moment and chide me in the comments, if you'd like, otherwise, beat it)

Why I am blogging when I should be showering?

and later I'll ask, "Why am I showering when I should be blogging?"
it's a vicious circle.
jerk.
owie...

uh.
anyway.
I mistakenly watched a couple of episodes of Punk'd yesterday...
it was a mistake because I never EVER put the tv on that channel.
ok, hardly nevers...
and a mistake because I was too lazy to get up and get the remote--
hey!
don't give me shit--
I was in my bed and it was before 9am.
I'm allowed.
besides,
I had been awake since 6, fretting over whether or not my husband would get up and take the trash to the curb for a 7:30 pick up.
he had promised.
anyWHO.
it wasn't really a mistake,
because A. Ashton Kutcher is hot, when he's not playing Kelso
(somehow, "dumb" has never looked sexy to me. odd, I know.)
and B. they were punking cool people!!!
the two dudes from Scrubs--
which is my favoritest show of all the world--
(donald faison and zach braff)
and then they did...
um, crap i forgot.
but then it was Joss Stone,
whose name I keep hearing, but whose music I have not. (heard)
after that show, I'm buying her album.
i don't care what genre it is,
or whether she sounds like nails on a chalkboard--
she is the sweetest little thing you ever did see.
entirely adorable and kind and did not get ruffled for one second.
oh yeah and the other one was the Napolean Dynamite kid,
in a brothel.
he's mormon.
heeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!
all 3 of those made me smile.
and so, it was not a mistake, but i'm sure as hell not going back to change that segue.
fuck that.
and is it really considered a "segue" if it's in print?
i wonder.

AND today I'm going to brave the shelves of boxes and boxes and boxes
in my garage, to look for the rest of my decor-ish stuff.
sweet!!
that rhymes with "whoreish"!!
so, if you're ever writing a poem or a song or even just a nice little limerick--
now you know.
of course, you're on your own as far as fitting those two words together in any sort of coherant phrasing, but hey, I can't do it ALL, can I????
aw, fuck you.
I could, but I'm not going to.
I believe in letting my little birds learn to fly on their own.
or something.
shit.
get me into the shower, wouldja?
not like that, ya pervs.
the handcuffs would rust!
jeez.

happy day to you.
i may be back later.

Enough is enough--

that picture needs to move down, out of the spotlight.
even an exhibitionist like myself can get tired of seeing that everytime I open the page.
so...
I feel totally out of touch--
out of tune,
out of reach.
My finger is somewhere far from the pulse of blogworld--
up my nose, perhaps??
It feels strange to be so disconnected, even for only a couple of days.
I've been enjoying the family,
and nearly orgasmic over the furniture situation.
yes, I'll definitely get photos as soon as the shutters are installed--
which is scheduled for tomorrow,
but I have this feeling it'll be put off til next week.
bleh.
we are now filling in spaces in the decor--
adding those items to our final order,
which will include the newly selected kitchen table,
since the first one we ordered was out of stock.
so.
another couple of paintings,
another couple of thises and thats...
and I'll have
a
house.
I'll probably stop blogging altogether,
since it'll take so much dusting and polishing--
and a large chunk of time each day,
just for sitting and admiring it...

so.
what have YOU all been up to?
what's happened since I last saw you?
(or "read" you?)
I want to spend this whole day reading posts...
catching up.
but I have some more things to do.
I'm sure I'll find some time later to get all snuggly at my puter,
with a snack and my feet up--
and laugh at you all.
er.
not like that.
y'know, just, laugh AT you.
at your funniness!!!
jeeez, you're sensitive.

um.
remind me to buy some CDs the next time I go to a store without my kids,
wouldja?
thanks.
and god (or someone) bless you.

No time...

Because I care enough to send the very best--cheap flowers, cheap-- photographer?....erm... 

and not really "like the present",
but there is no present like time...

riddle me that, fuckers!!

anywho, like i said, no time.
so why the bloody fucking hell am I here?
cuz i'm a shameless addict, that's why
and you're all gorgeousity personified.

i'll be in later--

Why did I think there would be time to post???

I was on crack, clearly.
but I've found a little speck of time, now,
and.
you'll get your decent post.
and your indecent one.

furniture arrived safely--
and is now all set up and
fucking
gorgeous.

I feel like writing something amazing today...
but I'm supposed to be showering.
showering is pretty amazing, I guess.
especially when you're all alone,
and the water is beating into your tired muscles
and your mind wanders...
to that special someone--
yeah, but not so much "special" as fucking sexy
and not just that,
but someone you've seen in your mind,
touched and tasted.
that someone--
or hell, even this someone, or that other someone--
maybe even all of them...
and you begin to grow wet in a whole new place,
somewhere apart from the shower's waters
somewhere deep and hot.
and when this happens,
if you're lucky enough to have privacy
(which I rarely do, even in the shower)
you might be able to lean against the cold wall,
and close your eyes
and realllly think about that person
you might be able to picture every last detail of what he or she would do...
if...
I know I can.
I'm thankful for my imagination,
and the cast of characters it supplies.

and now.
it's time.
i'll take you all with me...
have a happy day...

Update

Wasn't necessarily the PMS fairy.
but it was certainly deep and dark--
and we can't be having that shit around here!
I do rather like the description of the PMS fairy that came out,
one of my best profiles of her yet.
in my why-would-it-be-humble? opinion

in related news,
a man killed his wife, brutally, in her sleep
here in Utah, a few months ago.
He was sentenced today.
SIX YEARS.
six years???????
well, I guess to people who've all fornicated,
and who believe that fornication is a sin second only to murder,
it's easy to say, "eh, it's just one worse than fucking, who cares?"
I'm baffled.
nice value of human life you fucking geniuses.
6
years.
for murdering your pretty wife while she sleeps.
well, i can understand his angst--
he applied to several law schools and was denied admittance to any of them.
this is, after all, the only choice for BYU graduates
(the most popular at least)
and to be so ruthlessly rejected...
poor baby.
i'd kill someone if i was too stupid to get into law school, too.
????
rant over.

parents arriving today!!
yaaaay!!
I'll be scarce for a few days, but probably not as scarce as you'd expect.
I'll try to post something decent before they get here.

now, off to do last minute errands.
and to wait for the phone call announcing the arrival of ye olde furniture.
(3 armoires, 3 end tables, 2 dressers, 3 paintings)
woot!

Invisible?

impotent
ignored
in
my own home.

pouting?
perhaps.

but that doesn't make the dull pain in my chest any less real.
I can't reconcile my life with this one
happy and full
and yet
not allowed
not acknowledged
not consulted
not
other stuff.
a glass of water falling on my head
again.
the cold
the wet
the "ow"
all mine
god dammmmit,
would you just do that one thing that madonna asked?
no, not that one.
the other one.
only not "mine", yours.
and not necessarily with a key.
just stop worrying,
stop using that worry to push away
stop fearing.
hold on loosely, they say.
"they" know.
being crushed through indifference--
more painful than it sounds.

I'm 90% sure this is the ugly, but smooth work of one nasty little PMS fairy.
god, I hate that bitch.
you do know her, don't you??
I'm sure you've seen her around...
crumpled looking thing, really.
flies buzzing around,
perpetual glare on her face.
laughing gas in a handy back pack.
her wings aren't even real--they're sewn onto her back, with sweater yarn.
her teeth are green...not from rot, just from sucking on too many sour apple ring pops.
she limps down the hall, dragging her other left foot--
the one that should be a right foot,
but could never be right, since it's 3 inches too long.
her striped tights,
with a hole in one knee--
not of the tights, either.
a hole in one patella.
it makes a swooshing sound when she walks (limps).
the rattling of her breath is only from the dreams she has so carelessly inhaled,
as she bent low over sleeping pre-menstrual women,
who would then wake in a dazey sort of confusion, grasping for something unknown, yet lost.
she was supposed to deposit them in a jar, like a dozen fireflies on a summer night,
but her smoking habit had cultivated in her the need for deeper breaths and quite by mistake, in they went.
dreams, trapped in one's lungs, have nearly the same sound as rusty nails in a bucket.
yes, the rust changes the sound.
you'll know her by the sound, if nothing else.

so, there you have it.
the little cunt is here.
somewhere.
lurking.
hissing, and spitting, as her oddly-strong patience wears thin.

and at least my tantrum worked...
hubby's putting the kids to bed and feeding himself.
fucking hormones.
I god damn BETTER have time for one more good fuck before the out of order sign is hastily hung across my twat.
(say it like the Brits, if ya wanna make me grin: it rhymes with "hat")

happy saturday to you all.
I'll get back to enjoying mine now, methinks.
(sunny and 70 today, washed the car inside and out--fervently)
(same weather tomorrow, kids to zoo with best friend and her kids)
fuck, but it's fun to ride the PMS rollercoaster!!!!!!!!!
all aboooooaard!!!!

The fountain of youth--

or something.
woke up feeling smudged,
feeling puffy.
after several body wracking orgasms--
looked like a beauty queen.
well, minus the big hair,
the makeup,
the vaseline on the teeth,
the duct tape on the boobs
(I've tried that, though, and it doesn't work)
and the talent.
I have not talent.
heh.
well, not one that I could use in a pageant, at least.
I do have some useful Oral skills,
but I'm not sure that's the sort of thing they're looking for.

ok, enough debauchery!
(for now)
last night we had some friends over,
and that was fun.
the first casual get together here at the new place.
AND.
our stupid dumb furniture is confirmed for arrival monday.
FINALLY.
yes, I'll stop bitching about that.

today is a gorgeous day.
I think it might be...
(spring) SSSHH!!!!
...don't want to jinx it.

I am now being summoned.

Fantasy Friday

wewould be dressed nicely for an evening out--
meeting friends for a quiet dinner, perhaps?
--but on the way,
our conversation would slip into a comfortable
quiet,
for just a minute or two...
and I would glance over at you, as you drove,
and my heart would leap,
my body would shiver...
I would reach over and unzip your pants...
you would catch your breath,
and glance at me with that indulgent smile.
you would be hard for me,
before I even touched you,
and able to smell my desire from where you were.
you would glance at the clock--
we're early--
and then hurriedly pull of the freeway,
find a quiet sidestreet,
away from a streetlamp.
my hand would have been gliding over your cock, the whole time,
and now, as we reached a safe spot, you would push the seat back,
and I would switch hands,
and continue my caresses with one,
while removing my panties with the other.
you would growl in readiness,
and I would slip onto your lap,
gracefully lowering myself onto that tower of
hardness--
so dripping wet for you already that you would slide in with ease.
My knees planted firmly on either side of you,
I would glide up and down,
as we melted into each other's mouths,
kissing in harmony with our love making.
fear of being seen would heighten the excitment,
and we would both come, within minutes,
my hot moans into the side of your head,
your shuddering gasps into my neck,
ending with a quick bite and a kiss,
your hands finally releasing their firm girp on my ass,
resorting to gentle caresses...

you know, encounters like that are so much fun--but
always leave me more turned on than "satisfied", in a traditional sense...

The REAL question is--

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

"Thursday will begin...

caught only by a glimpse."

my favorite song.
by my favorite artist.

it's one of those days--
where all I can focus on is the show I've turned on,
to distract my kids so I can post...
well, it's distracting, alright!
CD time, I guess...

slow, spreading smile, sprouting out from the innermost part of me--
that song?
out of the 20 on that highly ecclectic disc...
song 10, plays itself first.
the song that inspired my first Novel attempt.
yeah, it's danger I want, baby.
today is a song day, start to finish.

and I just re-posted the links list to my Fantasy Friday archives.
check the sidebar...
I think the ones at the top are the earliest ones.

last night, girls night.
so.
fucking.
great.
picked up Becky,
shared a bottle of something pink and fermented--
or distilled?
and joined the others.
usually i'm the life of a party, but with Becky there,
it's more like...
we created the word party--
we built it out of confetti and wine glasses, and danced through it with brightly colored scarves, to christen that word into use for all others.
the mormons will never be the same.
and they're thanking us.
the hot lesbian was not there...
yet again.
my fantasies about this as-yet un-met girl are growing...

Hm.
I think I had something to "say" today.
oooh...
The Cowboy Junkies' "Sweet Jane"...
god DAMN if that's not the sexiest song to ever create sound waves...
I love this mix, because everything's a surprise.
I made it a long time ago, and it's pretty scratched up,
but I fucking love it.
this is a song for dancing in a long dress, so light that you feel naked...
no shoes, on a sandy wooden floor,
with chairs up on tables,
and only drunk on life.
it's a song for soft, sweet love making.
it's a song for washing dishes,
and being nuzzled from behind--
encouraged gently and wordlessly to leave the task for later...
it's a song for karaoke night,
a song for a long drive through the desert,
a song for swaying hips, pressed against another body
it's a song to make love so slowly to, that the orgasm itself lasts an hour...
it's a song to draw out sweat on both bodies, making them slide across each other, in their ragged-breath slow passion...

unlike NIN's "Closer", which is for pure fucking.
fast, hard--desperate.
clinging, biting, nail-digging, panting.
it's for a friday night, after drinks.
it's for leather and whips and high heeled boots
it's for hard kisses and bodies on auto-pilot--
pure adrenaline.
that's the fucking song.

now have a happy god damn thursday, you sweet things--

It's going to be a good one!!

my favorite blogger
(and real life best friend)
has just confirmed that she'll be joining the girls' night tonight!!!!
oh yes.
it's ON, motherfuckers!!
we will drink.
we will belligerize.
(yes i made that word up)
we will roll DICE!
yeah, baby!!

not only that, but I went shopping today.
and it's warm and sunny.
windy as fuck, but oh well.

and here's what's funny--
I opted against posting the tits on buzznet,
since the non-reader guys tend to get a bit handsy--
however that translates to the web--
and then I post it here,
and get blasted by some 16 year old twit.
but hey, at least we all had fun with her.

don't have much else to say.
except that I need to listen to more Live.
ok, that's all.

Don't hate me because I'm better than you

I'm dying of laughter right now,
so I thought I'd share it with the rest of you.
please, before I start--
promise me you'll not be too harsh on the dumb bitch,
and please, promise me you'll just laugh with me.
because it's FUNNY.

here's a comment I got on my picture yesterday:

Am I the only one here who doesn't enjoy looking down some old broad's bra? Sorry sweety, but if you want a man, have a bit more class.

Brutally Honest,
Lindsey
Lindsey | Email | Homepage | 04.12.05 - 8:54 pm | #

and, of course, no email address or homepage--
god damn sitemeter, only holds the last 100 hits, and I missed her by ten minutes!
dammmmit.
then I could have found out where she lives and hunted her down* and--
laughed at her.
that is, after she gets home from school.
psh.

here was my response, which I'm sure she won't be back to read:

hahhaa!! that's hilarious, Lindsey. and an anonymous coward to boot. I HAVE a "man", although I prefer to call him a husband, and he is wonderful. I'll not apoplogize for being a happy, sexual being. It's good fun--nothing more. oh, and I'm old am I? Now it all makes more sense: it's very rare for women to feel this comfortable with their own bodies, and by extension, other women's bodies, before a certain age. it's different for everyone, and I guess some women never really get it. Insecurity is an ugly beast. Try to get past it.

I mean really, people!! Guess what I do when I find a blog that offends me?
(and it happens a lot)
I click the fucking "Back" button.
and get on with my life.
There are plenty of sites out there where women talk only of sex and show countless nude photos of themsleves--
if that's what they like to do, then great for them.
me?
I'm just here, being me.
I don't hide behind anonymous comments,
I don't insult strangers.
I'm not insulted, by the way.
for all my poetic angst, I am probably one of the happiest and luckiest people on earth,
and yes, I love having men (and women!!) tell me I'm purdy.
big deal.
This kind of thing happens so rarely to me, that it's fun to make a big deal out of it when it does...
Hope y'all didn't mind my rantiness.
I was feeling a little fiesty today, I guess.
ok, errands to run, dishes to do.


___________________
* I would never REALLY be lame enough to "hunt" anyone down, just for the record.

Some days there are no pickles

and those are sad days.
because, as we all know, "pickle" is code for--
jam.
as in, "I'm in a bit of a pickle" or "I'm in a bit of a jam"
see how that works?
no, I wasn't originally thinking "penis", why do you ask?
you guys are a bunch of friggin perverts!

oh...
and for anyone who's either new or particularly slow--
whenever I say that, it's just to deflect attention from my own extreme,
intense, deep-rooted PERVERTEDNESS.
m'kay?
good.
glad we settled that.

I have this list of 69 boring things about me,
but I think I should update it.
I mean, they're still true,
but it was done very haphazardly--
on my laptop,
in bed,
in the dark,
while hubby watched tv,
over a year ago.
I remember it.
but it was, not surprisingly,
just a rambling list of
shit
stuff
junk
things
etc.

faaack.
hold on.
I just remembered that my mom told me today...
that my best friend's baby shower is June 4th (in Maine).
will you guys PLEASE call my husband and tell him to get a frickin grip,
and just let me go?????
ok, I didn't think so.
but it doesn't hurt to ask.

ok, so...
a list.
hm.
should I plan it out, this time?
nah.
let's just jump in, and see where we end up, shall we?
Like...
piling into the car,
with a little pipe and a lot of snacks...
driving,
and laughing;
laughing,
and driving.
music?
sure.
always...
did I ever do that?
no, not really.
my smoking experiences were rather limited,
and none of my closest friends did that stupid stuff.
I only smoked with hot little long haired boys--
daaaamn, I'm getting thirsty for one just talking about it!
them with their hemp necklaces,
and acoustic guitars.
and gaaaaaaaaawd, what a feeling--
like a waterfall, of sparkles, running through my soul--
slightly drunk, slightly high.
shivering in the summer,
sweating in the winter--
steaming up windows, either way...
their cobwebbed smiles, through my slow-relaying eyes...
me, the newbie, though much older than them.
I was always outside that life, though.
part of me wanted to drown in it--
the easy door to open and step outside of incessantly spinning thoughts,
in that time of my life, when I didn't know where I was going,
or why,
or what would make me change paths.
but I did know that I wasn't one of them.
I did know that I would be somebody...
I still know.
even if I've recently stopped dreaming in the daytime.
maybe that's why the night time has picked up the slack...
I should just write.
then it would be okay to dream...
but sometimes, it's not ok to dream.
it's not.
dreams make you want things that you shouldn't want.
dreams make you devalue the things that you do have.
dreams can be the harshest form of self-torture that the earth has ever seen.
but.
when I learn how to focus my dreaming better,
then it'll be ok.
instead of allowing my whole heart to believe that I simply must have or be--
whatever
whoever
wherever.
instead of that, I'll focus on dreams and write them...
maybe this is how men break horses.
the teach them that dreaming is a quick trip down trouble lane.
fitting molds has never been my strong point.
but it's getting to seem like the easiest route to take.

tomorrow night,
girl's night.
the group without the backstabbers.
the group
with
lesbians
and
mormons
and a mormon who doesn't know she's a lesbian...
it'll be good.
I guess.
better if we could flush out those damn mormons.
drinking and vulgarity!!
that's what I'm in the mood for.
too bad I don't have any friends I could do that with.
what the fuck has gone wrong in my life that I don't have any friends I could get drunk and BELLIGERANT with???
now that's a problem.

here I am, getting myself all worked up--
over silliness.
when there's a man waiting upstairs to eat a banana split off me.
ok, he's not "waiting"--
he's playing SSX 3
but he'd eat anything off me I want--
even cooked fruit--which he abhors.
even hard alochol, which he despises
this man...
spends a lot of time doing whatever it takes to make me happy.
good thing, too.
heh.

No list, today.
maybe next time...

It might be Tuesday where YOU live--

but in my house it's Monday.
I don't know why--
yesterday there was work for Mr.,
and school for Jr.s.
but today feels like Monday.
today feels like a big fat ugly letdown
with bad breath
bad hair
bad morals
and uncomfortable damn shoes.
today feels like the worm at the bottom of the tequila bottle--
which was sipped coolly all weekend.
(not by me--i hate tq)
today...
is the kind of day that if I start typing,
and my fingers are on the wrong keys,
so that all that comes it is:
o ;pvr xjsv
then, that's ok
and I'll just leave it
or maybe that's a lie
because now I've gone and done it...
I popped in that new Kenny Wayne Sheppppppppppard
C
D
and the boys started jamming,
and now I want to stand up so the energy has a place to go--
rocking and tapping and dancing, with only my feet???
yeah.
I should stand.
but this feels too good...
words coming out of me, words going into me

I was planning to post a new picture on buzznet today.
but.
I am hesitant.
I loooove you guys--
my darling, scrumptious, cake-batter-dipped
readers
to see me and smile
because you KNOW me, mostly.
you like me--or at least you're good at pretending. ;)
but buzznet tends to draw a bit of a different crowd,
when I post shots like that.
Chaz calls them slobberers--
with a passionate distaste, a loathing.
I laugh at this, but I do agree.
I guess I just need to re-download my ftp program, or that picasa/hello thing that blogger offers.
I just fucking hate downloading programs I already have.
...or doesn't it count, when the programs are ON a crashed hard drive??
a treasured, dear hard drive,
which is collecting dust somewhere.
anyway, I guess that's what I'll do.
and aren't you glad I talked you throught it???
faack.

I'm getting excited for my parents' visit next week.
I hope my kids behave like non-demons, for a change.
I hope I remember to plan a good menu...

oooh, this song is nice...
relaxing...
calming
smooth

oh!!
Kiki reminded me, in a comment,
that I DID have yet another sex dream!
last night's was extra super hot on the hot scale.
(the hot scale? wouldn't that be a thermometer??)
I was outside picking blueberries...
and this pack of bikers roared up.
there were other bikers nearby,
sorta waiting for these guys.
they were the leaders, the top dogs.
I could sense the excitement of the others.
it was a hot summer day,
there was a huge old abandoned barn,
weeds and weathered boards, knocked loose and strewn haphazardly.
I was carrying a little basket full of the berries,
and walking, balancing my way across a long board--
it was almost like a walkway, around the building,
but with a long drop off below--
like outside a lighthouse.
but i was in a field, not on the ocean.
I had bare feet, and a long skirt...
as i walked, carefully across this narrow place,
the leader came up behind me, walking with long, sure steps,
in his heavy motorcycle boots...
I could smell the leather,
the cigarette smoke lingering.
my heart sped up--
I wanted him, even though I hadn't seen him.
his arm slipped around my waist,
his hand easily finding my breast.
I sharply took in my breath, and nearly lost my footing.
he steadied me--
so strong, so firmly planted on that shaky walk way...
we walked into a room, bright with sunshine.
and then our magical moment was broken by the others noisly joining us.
our eyes stayed locked,
his hand only very slowly crept away from my body,
reluctantly returning to his side.
his attention, as the leader of the pack,
was taken by others,
but I stayed quietly in my reverie...
watching him.
I woke up wet, and needing...
him.
He, of course, was based rather heartily on someone...
real?
real to me.

now THAT was a dream, mother fuckers!

ok...I have a picture.
it's actually quite the opposite of braless--
and yet...


Black Bra Tuesday...a worthy replacement for BraLESS, no?  

Knick Knack, paddywack--

oh, I don't like where THAT'S going, one bit!!
oh, who am I kidding?
I'll say it--
give this bitch a bone.
bah.
that wasn't really very funny.
but, true to my nature--
i couldn't resist a bad joke.

but I did meet a couple more neighbors today.
the lady across the street
(who has an 18 year old son...)
seems really cool--
and yet, also anal and bigotted.
hm.
it's a strange combination, we'll have to see how it pans out.
and the lady on my west side seemed very nice, too--
politely accepted my apology for the frisbees which ended up in her yard the other day...
ugh.
boy one loses his and is distraught--
I mean, wrecked!
that kid coulda won a daytime emmy for best death scene, I swear.
so then, boy two smiles at me and tosses his smoothly over the fence.
lil fucker.

so as y'all know, one of the twinlets is named "Max".
there's some blechy show on the disney channel called "Max & Ruby"
so of course they LOOOOVE it.
because of the name.
it's pretty lame, really.
it's these two rabbits with the above names,
and it's a brother and sister.
apparently they're orphans--
or isn't it like that in bunny world??
anyway.
each episode is Ruby trying to accomplish something
and Max continually annoying her.


MY LIFE!!!
heh.
so it kinda cracks me up, even if it's lame-o.
my life IS lame-o, so it all adds up.

good workout today,
for those of you keeping score.
if I can keep this up, me and my eclairs can head for the pool with no shame.
ok, maybe just me...

I think I'm going to forget to register for classes.
and I'm procrastinating registering the kids for kindergarten....
see: Lisa fears change.

ok, this post is turning into something as smelly as that fuzzy container at the back of the fridge--
laterz

when it rains, it pours

unless it's just drizzling.

and what I really wanted to say was this:
I am itching to post today, but there's no time.
I am literally aching to read blogs today, but I am booked solid.

being busy is good.

but the urgent news flash is this:
dream central was on fire again last night--
I was naked, except for some blue boy-shorts panties,
walking out of my local library
just as BO BICE walked in, smiling at me
(well, he is a male so how could he not look?)
so I moved my hands from where they were covering my breasts,
and smiled right back at him.
we talked for a minute,
then decided to go screw.
I'm not even kidding!!!!
I love when dreams are so much like daydreams.
yes, I'm DYING laughing, writing this.
it's all true, though.

apparently I'm more obsessed with him than I thought.
this could spell trouble.
except the letters are all wrong.

time to dress for gym.
but first, an eclair.
more later.
whether you want it or not--

Dreams of red lingere, McGriddles, and FedEx

fucked up, is what that is.
sometimes I joke that I'm psychic...
but I swear to god, I really am, sometimes.
a little.
kinda.
I woke up yesterday, still swimming in dreams.
the dream included all the things listed in the title of this post:
I clearly remember putting on a red bra (which I don't have) and a red garter and something else red, but I can't remember what.
(so much for "clearly", eh?)
anyway, then i was eating a McGriddle from McFat-ald's,
which I've never had before.
and then, a guy from hubby's work dropped off an important package.
woke up, had sex,
heard the doorbell.
fed ex.
dropping off a package for hubby, for some work thing.
totally didn't remember the dream at this point,
but decided to take the kids to mcd's to pick up breakfast...
and got a mcgriddle.
ok, so maybe that was more like a subconsious suggestion,
but I'm going with psychic.

ok, fine
fuck y'all.
don't blame me when I predict the end of the world as REM knows it,
and you don't listen--
you won't feel "fine", I can guaran-goddamn-tee you, that!

I might have had coffee again today...
maybe.
here's how you'll know:
I'm bouncing off the walls and there are already Braless Tuesday pictures on buzznet.
oh, speaking of buzznet, here's something HILARIOUS.
or annoying, i can't decide which.
I started a new gallery, for dumping old photos into--
ones that I don't particularly want displayed anymore,
but which have comments, that i don't want to delete.
it's locked--
mostly because I've always wanted a locked gallery.
I've also started using it as a staging area for new buzznet posts--
sometimes pictures look quite different when compressed and posted there.
anywho.
there is NOTHING x-rated in there.
I have, however, discovered that people assume that there is,
and that some of them are not so shy about their interest.
it makes me giggle.
(mostly.)
horny bastards.

I'm still waiting for spring.
it keeps fucking pretending to be here.
but it's not.
and I'm hungry.
and possessive, but that's neither here nor there.
and a virtual magnet for my kids.

that reminds me.
my favorite pun--
one I just thought of yesterday--
when referring to my readers:
"We're virtual strangers"
guess THAT word's taken on a whole new connotation, hasn't it?
except, i decided it doesn't fit, because I don't feel like any of you are strangers.
stranger, possibly.
strangers? nope.
friends.
snuggly-wuggly-having-a-sleepover-giggling-about boys-and-watching-Grease friends.

ok, time to go eat, drink and feel mary.
I mean be merry...
pardon the slip up--
she has reallly nice tits.
so it's totally not my fault.
whoa.
when you had an extra 'l' to "really", it's the same length as "totally".
totally.

I had this really cool idea for a post

while I was in the shower.
but I can't remember what it was.
actually, I shouldn't even say "really cool"
because honestly...
it was probably completely lame.
but it did happen in the shower,
so at least it has that going for it.
heh.

oh yeah!
I was thinking...
just letting my mind wander off by itself,
as I generally do, in the shower.
I had just stepped into the stream of hot water,
and was letting it soak into me.
and my thoughts were just drifting along,
like a leaf on the current of a stream.
"MOM!!!"
I was suddenly jarred out of la-la land,
leaving jagged edges of my mind's fabric fluttering behind...
how do they do it??
they always seem to zero in on that moment.
that one moment when you're so Zenned out it's almost scary.
and slash through your inner monologue with their sweet little (piercing) voices...
siiiigh.
At least I had already finished the Nair process.
it's no wonder, psychologically/neurologically speaking, that mothers of small children are a wreck.
think of all the half-thinked thoughts taking up space in my ridiculously small head.
I think it's fucking amazing that we only use 10% of our brains.
what do you think we could do with the rest of it???
I have no doubt that the power to fly is in there,
the ability to teleport,
the ability to read minds,
and see the future.
oh yeah, baby.
it's there.
and for $19.95 I'll teach you how to access those powers.
oops, I mean...
um.
shit, I guess I ruined that whole thing!

sometimes I dream of having a secret blog.
one that no one in my real life would ever read.
one where I could be truly anonymous,
and say things...
things that probably ought not to be said...
I just wish spring would hurry the hell up and get here.
I wish I would feel alive again.
and maybe I should stop thinking about who's reading what.
stop thinking about if anyone's reading at all...
I suppose it's possible that I've become disaffected--
with myself.
is that possible?
I mean...
it certainly falls shy of self-loathing,
and isn't at all the same as self-sacrifice,
but maybe I should sacrifice...
something.
just kidding.
I don't know the meaning of that phrase.
glutton.
that's me.
food, sex, sleep--
I gorge myself on all of those.
what the fuck am I talking about?
I am so glad that no one's going to read this.

I still have time to save the post.
...don't I?
yes.
I could go back to where I mentioned Nair...
and detail exactly where I used it.
and how downy soft, and smooth that area is now.
but I don't want to.
I'd rather whine or bitch or lactate or palpate.
fuck this.
I'm going to go pee, and when I get back,
that god damn motherfucking cake better have kicked in and have me spewing sugar-induced hilarity.
or else.

I'm back.
don't feel any different, though.
just FYI

I want to become a swirling mist and slither through the night,
wrapping coolly around each warm body I encounter
I want to settle on the skin, and curl the hair
I want to soak into those bodies,
until I find...
the king of this world,
the prisoner of its atmosphere,
the one...
whoa!!
that was fucking weird
cool
crazy--
I wrote "the one", and then I pushed play on my media player...
the u2 greatest hits was in the drive,
and it was on shuffle.
One.
these are the things that I love in life.

let me live.
let me BE.
...hold on loosely...?
sometimes love is so crushing...
sometimes I wonder if I'm really grown up,
or if this is a story I'm writing, as a child.
life is not beautiful without splattering the black paint of the long list of negatives--
pain
fear
sadness
ugliness
across the technicolor landscape.
we make trades in life, don't we?
better views for a bigger house
small town for big city
freedom for security
passion for comfort
bikini body for baby body
working hard for hardly working
perpetual fear of loneliness for perpetual need for space
constant yearning for contentedness
yeah.
I guess I am one of those people who doesn't flow easily through changes.
and I'm rather annoyed with myself.
what a fucking downer of a friday night post.
I'll do better next time.
but for now,
I think I'll go to bed and watch CRAP.
that should make me feel better.
and if not, I can always expore that whole Nair issue again.
and I do mean explore...

Because I love you--

or at least I can tolerate yer sorry asses...

and, for the record, the rain I mentioned turned rather torrential, later in my drive.
all along I-15, the visibility was horrnendous.
and none of the pecker heads had their headlights on.
i hope they crash.
then, I had to go up into the foothills, via 215,
and the visibility was much better,
but that's where the hydroplaning started.
jesus h i j k l m n o peee my pants, that sucked.
several cars off the road, but not mine--
fortunately.
stupid weather.
stupid weather channel
weather man
weather vane

but at least my happy errands are finished,
and I'll have a truckload of new furniture by this time next week.
FINALLY.
I can't really complain, but it has taken waaaay a little longer than we expected.
and that was just to get the guy to acknowledge our order.
once that happened, it's moved pretty quickly.
actually, that's because a new guy took over.
but anyway--
you don't care, I don't care,
so let's get naked.
actually, scratch that--
it's cold and grey here today.
naked doesn't sound good.
flannel sounds good.

oh, and before I forget--
all you girls out there should go see Beauty Shop.
it was so damn funny.
I did NOT want to see it.
at all.
but...
a girlfriend called and said she got free tickets to a sneak preview of Fever Pitch, so we thought what the hell, we'll go.
only, turns out, the promoters had waaaaaay overbooked the event and they were full by the time we got there--
the recommned 30 minutes early.
we didn't really care--
it was just an excuse to go out, anyway.
but, the other two girls decided on beauty shop, so i kept my mouth shut.
I was dreading it, honestly.
i had heard a review
(by a man)
that it sucked.
and yeah, maybe guys wouldn't like it.
but I laughed my ass off.
I even clapped.
not applause clapping,
laugh clapping.
you know the ones?
anyway, it was good times at not ridgemeont not high.
because those were fast times.
whatever the fuck that means.

and with that, I'm outie.
or audi.
hell, maybe I'm innie, but I'm finished here.

Happy SpazDay to You-------

I figured it out!
I'm going to have Character Sketch Thursdays.
Why?
because Character starts with a "ch" and Thursday starts with a "th".
this may not make sense to you.
but the beauty of it is, it doesn't have to.
and I'm pretty sure y'all know the drill--
if you don't like it...
that's right, girls--
get out your dildos,
guys, come on, find that bottle of lotion--
and
GO
FUCK
YOURSELVES.
heh.
but really, I think it'll be a lot of fun--
and I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner.
I should eat more sugar.
I'm buzzzzzzzzzzing.
and that reminds me that I recently mentioned that sugar and caffeine don't affect me.
I should have added that sugar sometimes affects me--
but NEVER to the extent that other people talk about.
either that, or I just love the buzz.
or maybe I'm so perpetually high on sugar, that I rarely notice the source.
hm.
food for thought.
what kind of food, though?
I'm going to go with either chocolate dipped strawberries or german chocolate cake.
why?
because I just made both of those.
the cake was from scratch--
again.
yes, the same one i made for hubby's birthday on sunday.
the problem was, he didn't feel like eating any that night,
and then he left first thing monday for a bees wax trip*,
so of course, what little was left is now...
not.
this post occured to me,
while i was folding someone else's laundry
with a HIGHLY unlikely country song prancing through my head.
oh, yes--
prancing.
and I guess it wasn't that unlikely...
it's not like it was Conway Twitty or Dolly Parton.
just Shania.
see?
I'm even on first name basis with her,
so I don't know what kind of denial game I was playing just then,
but YES, I know the song "I feel like a woman", alright?
alright.
AND.
that reminds me.
I really and truly might have to write my first piece of fanmail EVER.
either that or get "Bo Bice" tattooed on my ass and then beg him to look at it.
I know you think I'm just being dramatic and silly about this,
but I really feel like he's my soul mate.
it's a serious issue.
ok, ok, I'm still being a dumbass.
but truly...
when he sings, I undergo a visceral reaction.
everything changes--
my breathing, my heartrate--
and I usually let out small whimpers.
heh.
I'm serious about the soul mate thing, though.
I think I better let him know.

Oh, shit.
is today Thursday?
well, faaaack.
I guess that means I better write a character sketch.
problem is, it's actually wednesday.
but I'm not going to post again, because i've double posted like 3 days in a row,
and I'm afraid I'll wear you guys out.
I mean, hell, you COULD take some viagra and then we'd be good to go,
but I don't want you hurting yourselves.
Ok, so deep breath, psycho sugar beast,
hit "save as draft"
and write
the
damn
character sketch
on Thursday.
as god intended.
or me, but, y'know--
po-tay-toes, po-tah-toes, right?

Okay, so it's now Thursday, and I'm ready to rumble.
no, that's just my tummy...
I'm ready to write.
so the reason I like this idea is that I need to stretch out and actually write stuff, and having a little direction is good for me.
also, I do this thing--
I imagine y'all do it, too.
when I see a person, just walking on the street or standing in line somewhere...
and I see their whole life, or their whole day--
I see it.
yes, it's my imagination,
no I don't think I'm psychic.
(ok, maybe a little)
so that's kind of what I plan to write here,
little sketches of people,
real or imagined...
ready, set, go---

Character Sketch numero uno:

faaaack.
I got NOTHIN.
erg.
sometimes, when I try to make myself write a certain thing, I just can't do it.
this seemed like such a great plan last night...
ok, maybe I'll start with someone real, just to warm up...

He walked through the halls of that tiny, echo-y high school in a daze. He didn't sleep--ever--and it was beginning to take its toll. Devon hated his last name. He hated his face, he hated the memories that he didn't have of the father who gave him both. He had blocked out the funeral, and how he had been allowed to sit on the edge of the casket, his baby voice begging his daddy to wake up. His reality included only his mother and her various boyfriends over the years. His reality was based on the partying and the fighting and the squalor in which he had somehow managed to grow. He kicked his chair before taking his seat, and let his book drop noisily to the desk. He stretched his legs defiantly across the aisle, stonily ignoring anyone's attempts to pass him. His eyes bore a hole through the corner of the blackboard, and seemed unable to move--unwilling, at least. When the teacher asked him to please sit up straight, he was, of course, ignored. Devon was lost inside his own head, a sneer placed carefully there to ward off interuption. The moustached geek of a history teacher was like a mosquito buzzing at the outside of a double paned window. The man's polite requests reached a fever-pitch, and his normally quiet voice began to squeak, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. Devon's sneer shifted...slightly. His focus moved instantly from that spot somewhere beyond the wall of the classroom to the mousy teacher's eyes. It was so sudden, so severe, that the man's voice caught, mid-sentence, leaving his mouth gaping for just a moment. Devon held his eyes for several long seconds, then, still having not heard (really heard) a word his teacher had said, he stood, slowly, as if in a dream. His movements seemed fluid and easy, almost as if he had been joking the whole time. The teacher's posture relaxed, as his logic told him the trouble-maker was heading to the office, as he'd been instructed. Just as Devon passed Mr. LeBlanc, his left hand flew from its pocket and appeared to slap the man's chest. He kept walking. The classroom behind him exploded into shrieks, as the blood spilled out of his gaping abdomen, just before he crumpled to the ground. Devon was in his camaro, lighting his second marlboro red, before he heard sirens. He took a comfortable drag, and let his foot lie a little more heavily on the already-low gas pedal. "Good girl," he murmured as the needle leapt from 85 to 105.

____________
* mind your own bees wax : bees wax trip :: mind your own business : _____________
sorry for the SAT flashback, Dex...

Feeling sooo restless lately--

and maybe even a little bit young.
snort.
bold?
yes.
beautiful?
around the edges, at least.
does the world turn?
certainly.
and do sands move through an hourglass--
like the days of our ever-shifting lives?
fuck yes, they do!
ok, I've had enough of that lame word game.
my POINT--
and yes, I actually had one for once--
was that I keep writing posts and then itching to cover them with a different post.
probably that just means I shouldn't be posting the
C
R
A
P
that I've been posting, in the first place.
but that's just my opinion, I could be wrong.

so, enough about me.
let's talk about YOU.
yes, you.
let's talk about the way your eyes look in the morning sun.
(even half-closed with dozey goodness, they shine)
let me run over my tongue the smooth stones which make up your strengths,
and the frothy goodness of your wild side.
I want to imagine in greater detail than the most powerful microscope
your heart--
its figurative content, not its literal.
this space should be filled with musings on the exact words to describe the brush of your skin against mine,
or the way your mouth would feel whispering against the skin just in front of my ear...
I would walk over glass
(with heavy-soled shoes...)
just for one taste of the lips I see in my dreams--
tauntingly;
forever out of reach.
(also, I dare you to use a semi-colon today--properly)
I should build a statue in your honor...
but that's not your style.
I should...
at the very least...
whisper your name,
to test the theory of self-granting wishes or psychic connections--
or.
smile a little brighter today, just because.

maybe I've been writing "crap" because I'm sick of what I'm writing
doing
thinking
wearing
eating.
maybe.
Or maybe it's just my way.
and I suck.
(but at least I'm good at it)
and I should decorate my body with pounds and pounds of silver jewelery--
and dance under a full moon, to the beat of the music my costume makes.
trees...
I miss trees.
I think.
that living in a place that so shockingly is NOT home,
for so long,
sucks.
sorry, I couldn't think of anything better to go there--
is not...natural?
is not...right?
is not...what the fuck i want to be doing.
or thinking about.
or caring about.
it WAS my choice to come here...
and I DID marry a local.
so I should quit my bellyaching.
but when that's such a fun word to say/type/think/scream--
then it all sorta evens out.

laundry to do
floors to mop
would rather sleep
or maybe shop
instead I sit
chained to this desk--
willingly...fearfully?
oh, go fuck yourself, Lisa!
(ok, don't mind if I do...)

I really like sticking a tap in the side of my brain and letting it drip,
messily,
all over this place.
I like messes.
I crave order.
I make both.
(how very Zen of me!)

if there was a dusty roadside stand,
on rt 1,
somewhere between Belfast and Bangor...
selling freedom?
I would swerve off the road, skidding through loose gravel,
lurching to a cloudy halt mere inches from that plywood shack.
I would not bother to compose myself before breathlessly stepping from the car.
I would leave my purse on the seat,
windows down.
I can hear my sandalled feet scuffing across the dirt--
leading me eagerly.
I would lock eyes with the vendor,
and glance again at the sign
Wild Maine Blueberries $4/Pint
a wave of excitement would surge through me then,
confirming the magic of this place.
my tan arms would slide hands into back pockets,
my smile would creep out.
I saw your sign...
a slight waver in my voice--
giddiness.
there would be no little green boxes of little blue berries.
there would be no cash box.
just a beat up pickup truck,
a mangy little mongrel, lying in its shade.
the man inside the stand would have a long weed in his teeth--
golden wheat, and completely out of place here.
his grungy denim overalls would cover most of a bright green t-shirt reading:
"Follow the Yellow Brick Road"
...at least that's the message I would read.
His dusty, sweaty skin would smell sweet like tobacco,
as his lips parted to show sparkling white teeth--
We're all out, for today.
He would glance at the sign with the big blue circles on it.
yes. I see that.
my excitement would grow, as our eyes connected--
a chill would rush through my whole body.
my breath would shallow out,
my hand would reach--
(hold your breath)
for his.
Without seeming to have gotten it from somewhere,
He would drop a golden key into my hand.
A skeleton key, shiny and new.
He would nod his head, slightly,
Gooday, ma'am.
I would open my mouth to speak--
What words to use here?
What expression of earthly thanks would be enough--
Or anywhere in the same league as enough?
I would blink--
Maybe because of the bright sun,
Maybe because of the dust on the shoulder--
But in the lazy moments of the slow-motion action of eyes closing and opening--
There would be rows of blueberries on the counter,
And the man's shirt would be long-sleeved and plaid.
He would clear his throat again
(again?)
and ask if he could help me.
My fist would tighten around that key--
it was real--
and I would mumble something about having left my purse in the car.
In a daze, I would retrieve it.
And buy every last pint in that stand.
It still wouldn't look the same,
Even though it was as empty as it had been...
Before.
I would press the key to my chest, and squeeze my eyes tightly.
I would know.
And my would body would tingle with the knowledge,
With the vision.
Freedom.
No, you can't buy freedom.

And NOW.
Now, I'm smiling,
Ya sweet lil fuckers--

I feel like I need to take a deep breath--

but then I would probably just smell the winds of change,
and man does that stuff reek.

but really, deep breaths are good.
letting your kids nap from 6 until 7:30--
NOT SO GOOD.
they usually go to bed around 7:30.
fucking time change.
changing fuck time?
timing fuck change?
something like that.

Why do I feel like tomrrow should be FRIDAY?
not Fry Day,
or Frye Day...
but the last god damn day of the shit-assed week?
hm?
I think we should all sign a petition and make tomorrow an honorary Friday.
that's what I think.
oh, and for those of you reading this 58 minutes from now--
switch out all the "tomorrow"s in the last paragraph for "today"s.
why?
because I'm anal in some very fucking bizarre ways,
punk.

there are mountains to be climbed.
and so many other things...
things I want to list, but can't.
that, in itself, makes me long to sprout those wings I'm always talking about.
they would be butterfly wings, not bird's wings--
just for the record.
so delicate, so strong--
the result of a metamorphosis.
Hell yeah--
that would be some kinda metamorphosis, eh?
I wouldn't have to wear clothes then,
because I wouldn't really be human,
so that would be another bonus.
why DO we have to wear clothes??
yes...I stole that question from my kids.
It's a difficult one to explain.
for me, at least.
I love being naked, and I don't believe it's a solely sexual thing.
stupid fucking puritans who settled this country!
stupid fucking "civilized world".
psh.
it's all a matter of perspective, i guess.
so I did give my kids an answer--
you kind of have to, in this family.
they are relentless--
talk about enquiring minds wanting to know!!
(wooot--extra points for 80s ad flash-back!)
I don't remember exactly what I told them,
but I still can't think of a good reason.
especially something less sassy than my usual tone...
sometimes it's just not proper.
heh.
ok, most things you guys know about me are anything but "proper",
but still.
there's a lot about me that is.
maybe.

I find myself looking forward more, lately.
I used to look back...
too much.
sometimes I wonder if I have stories left to tell...
or if I've even scratched the surface.
sometimes I feel like I've wrung out every last drop of myself
into this page,
and that I've said it all--
a dozen times,
a dozen ways.
sometimes I wonder if I could write any words at all
if you weren't out there--
at your desks, on your couches,
smiling into your monitor, sending me love.
probably not.
cuz what would be the point?
the whole purpose of my life is to love and be loved.
that's it.
...I guess that explains my preoccupation with sex!
ha.
no, that could probably be attributed to the abundence and quality,
but that's another story.

I wonder if there are visible layers to my soul--
like holograms, thick but translucent...
I bet they would feel like bubble bath--
or colored sand...
swirling around inside me, each little piece of me fighting to be the biggest, the best, the most cherished...

I love touching my body when I've had a good workout.
I can feel the muscles growing stronger, and forming sharper edges...
under the fat, of course.
(and here's where I would wink, if I could)
I look at women at the gym who are pure muscle, and I wonder what they eat.
that only lasts a second, and then I'm wondering what they don't eat--
listing it all, item by item...
and salivating.
I'm jealous of their willpower...
and their abs.
but not enough to stress about it, don't fret.
I'm a happy girl.
no matter how dramatic I can be at times--
much of that is for pure entertainment.
yours, and mine.

Can't exactly leave a post like THAT up

too much whine for this early in the morning, know what I mean?
the sign of an alocholic, or some shit.

It snowed again.
and my mother in law is trying to pressure me into growing something in my garden that I've never even heard of.
But she's rather enthusiastic about it, so I suppose I'll let her.
I am fucking freezing.
We didn't change the time on our thermostat,
so the furnance thinks it's 6:30, which means it hasn't kicked on yet.
I just turned it on, so that's good.
but in the meantime, my nipples could cut glass.
no, really--they're made of coal which has been under great pressure for hundreds of years so they have quite a sparkle to them, truly.
ok, maybe not.

I took a bath last night, just for relaxation's sake.
I think it worked--
I fell asleep in the water.
and I kept waking up and recognizingi the fact that I had fallen asleep--
and that it might be dangerous--
and then letting myself doze off again.
I think that might be the most extreme height of laziness I have ever encountered.
I'll have to check my records.

oh, and the Kenny Wayne Sheppard site is back up--
so I promise to stop talking about it.
and I finally had a good chance to really listen to the new CD yesterday,
and of course I like it.
I am not great at reviewing CDs, so I won't.
all I can say for now is that it reminds me a lot of Lenny Kravitz.

I am now trying to cajole my child into going up the two flights of stairs to get my camera...
in an attempt to complete the laziness cycle.
let's see if it works.
now that you know just how lazy I am,
perhaps it makes sense that I not only need to go to the gym,
but that it still doesn't do much good!
heh.
I took some pictures yesterday--
nothing braless, don't get your panties in a twist.
but there might be some stuff I want to put on buzznet.
hm...
he appears to have wandered off.
I guess I'll have to get up (for the 5th time, this post)
and get it myself.
see!!
not so lazy after all!

I'll be back later, with more tales of laziness and nipples--

Why do I think writing solves everything???

It's like a drug to me.
I feel down, so I want to write.
I feel elated, so I want to write.
whatever.
I guess you win the post lottery today.
which will most likely be follwed by the post-lottery blues,
or the post office party in my pants and no one's invited--
Am I on drugs?
downers.
It's Perry's birthday.
and he's in the Navy, somewhere.
haven't heard from him in years.
that means that yesterday was Travis's birthday,
and they're both 25, now.
zoiks.
that sounds so old, when I think of them.
I had a cradle-robbing year, around 21, alright??
back off.
they were fucking hot.
one in utah, one in maine.
I wrote my first novel about Travis,
and broke a lot of laws with both of them.
they were both musicians,
and I dreamed of bringing them together...
anyway.
Happy birthday, boys.

that was a good distraction.
It seems that I am the neediest person on the planet, sometimes.
I want to be the top priority.
I want to be the only one that matters...
I guess this makes me extremely self-centered,
but that's no big shocker.
I am behaving as if pouring myself onto this page is going to somehow fill me up, make my pieces fit together more tightly.
that's not going to happen.
I need to shake myself free of these cloudy thoughts.
I need to step away from this screen.
I guess maybe I'm in a sulky mood...
everything's going to be fine.
I just don't have very much patience, I guess.
patience.
I should get some--
just like axel rose said.
either that or a massage.
also, a swift kick.
I could do with one of those.

and I realize most of that probably didn't make much sense...


****

story time.

Some stories have no beginning, and no end. This is one of those. It erupts from within, reaching out in all directions, like the rays of a sun in a far-off galaxy. It isn't the story of one person, or one place, or one time--and yet, it is.
****

sadly, that was going nowhere.
it was a fun start, though.

I am left asking all the wrong questions--
of myself.
and I, without the answers...
I don't know if I can hold on much longer.
hauntingly, swirling through my life, yet...
not here.
not...here.

there was the briefest of thunderstorms a little earlier.
loudly cracking thunder--
sharp, long.
I wanted to run outside and watch for lightening.
but I didn't.
I usually do...
but this is the mood I'm in, I guess.

Mondays are not for sissies--

and if you've been reading long enough,
and have a better memory than is humanly possible,
you may recall a similar yet contradictory title last year sometime.
if so, shut it.
thank you.

it's raining.
I just had cake and roast beef for breakfast.
I am trying not to be sad.
or worried.
or angry--impatient.
but I feel cold and alone.
I feel like I'm standing on top of a hill,
with sharp winds whipping around me,
dressed for a summer day.

I can't really think of anything else, right now.
Just the empty space in my day.

the family dinner went really well last night--
flowers on the tables,
painstakingly prepared german chocolate cake (fromscratch),
creamy, luscioius potatoes,
tender, flavorful meat,
and for the first time--
plenty of room for all 20 of us.
I have 2 brothers who live here, in Utah,
and we get together on the sunday closest to each person's birthday for a dinner.
I absolutely love these dinners.
we tried to plan activities for my parents' visit, but didn't get very far.
probably Moab, maybe a musical.
everyone was amazed at our new house--
it's a huge change.
felt good to show it to them.

um.

I guess I should go shower.
then it's off to pick up the kids,
and off to the gym.
and then.
back here.
to sit.
and stare at the screen.
waiting
wondering
wishing
wah-ing.
heh.

I am distracted.
and I wish the Kenny Wayne Sheppard site wasn't down.
and I wish I could find my software, so I could get that CD onto my i(mposter)pod.
and I wish I would quit whining and go shower.
wish granted.

happy day, kids--

We missed the first half...

but the show was still incredible.
that boy invented guitar.
I predicted it would,
and it did--
charge through me leaving trails of red embers, twinkling in its wake.
the music.
and, not that it was about me, at all,
but.
it's important to note--
I looked fantastic.
I even got a gravel-voiced, "hey baby" as my light-filled,
black-clothed, black-haired self slipped into the murky night water of the room.
how is it that a quiet voice can land so snugly in one's ear,
when the greatest guitar player alive today is on stage, mere yards away?
my eyes, rivetted.
my heart, pounding.
my ears....
are still thanking me.
(for all but the "hey baby")

hubby got a couple of cold ones
and we wove our way forward.
I drank half of mine--
and only that much, because I wanted to empty the damn cup so I could have my hand back.
I wasn't in a drinking mood--
how could I risk missing or distorting the experience?
I had wondered if he would bring Noah, the lead vocalist on the first 3 albums
(the albums I know)
since he's promoting a new album, on which he is the lead vocalist.
he did.
daaaaaaaamn that man's voice is--
it's like a Redwood tree, or a whole beach of smooth rocks
(like Crescent beach, you know, at the end of Ash Point Rd...)
it's thick and full--strong.
and, as it turns out, he's hot.
they were all hot, of course.
that's kind of a prequisite for band camp, these days.
(no, not THAT band camp, American Pie junkies, rock star camp...)
but strangely...
the hotness factor was extremely second fiddle.
I was more mesmerized by the notes--
pounding into my skin, somehow leaving no mark.
I wanted to slide out of myself and into the body of that guitar,
to feel fingers pulling song out of me,
fingers ripping over me, pressing and plucking and picking...
an orgasm for the soul.

since it was such a small venue, they had an autograph session.
so we bought a CD and got in line.
Kenny and Noah came out, and took their seats.
we were 4th or 5th in line, so I didn't have to wait long.
but I would have.
I slid the CD across the table, caught each of their eyes, briefly, and said, "you guys are amazing...it was a great show."
such simple words.
but it felt like they got it,
that they knew.
that I have a fountain of words inside me, too.
a moment's connection, nothing more.
but I don't think the people ahead of me had spoken to them.
they seemed almost startled at my words--
or was it my voice?
or I could imagine it was my lipstick...

walking back to the tallest building in the city,
the one where my husband's office is.
riding up to the 24th floor, so dark, so quiet.
4 stories of windows--
showcasing the city lights for us.
marble patterned floor,
soft lights, sparsely placed.
we considered the leather chair,
we contemplated the mahogany desk.
we certified the security cameras.
and decided to save the sex for home--
like normal people, for once.
damn security cameras.

a good night, a great band.

and today is the most perfect spring day you could ask for.
or I could ask for...?
whatever.
it's lovely.
so I did a little prep on my garden,
and planned tomorrow's family dinner for 20.

housewife out.