Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Happy Braless Tuesday!

There once was a girl from Nantucket--

You know, I wonder what the population of Nantucket is.
My friend's brother works there in the summer, I should ask him.
Perhaps he could check around and find out if there are abnormally large numbers of men with...abnormally large...etc, etc...


What I really need to be doing right now is homework.
So, without further Ado (much of which is about nothing)--

Oh, if only Jimi were alive today!!
Happy last day of January, everybody.
Please let it be an early spring...

Monday, January 30, 2006

Morning, sunshine(s)--

I can feel the caffeine buzzing through me in tiny droplets--
like the tears of an ant.
Tears of laughter, though, cuz coffee makes me crazy-in-a-good way.
And YES, for those of you skeptics out there, crazy can be good.
I wish I would remember to read through my posts before posting them.
If/when I read one of my published posts, I immediately notice every error,
but as many of you know, my laziness reaches far and wide into the depths of my ability to act on such knowledge.
Oh well.

Bo Bice, singing for Kenny Wayne Shepperd would be too orgasmic for me to stay clothed.
Just a little unnecessary info to add to your dosier.
...what? You don't keep intricate records of all the bloggers in your life?
Well, I don't either...ahem...
Hey! Look at that naked chick on the hood of that vintage corvette!!

So anyway, I'm having a good day today.
And I guess I could pitch some sort of Academy Awards type speech, with my longer-than-any-list-about-laundry list of thank-ees,
but frankly?
(note to self: I have GOT to put some effort into using "but frankly" less often.)
It's 99% due to the coffee.
So, Thanks Starbucks whole bean, which I ground up in my grinder and brewed in my brewer (not Jim Breuer), and mixed with my (surprisingly not bad tasting) fat free coffeemate creamer and splenda (trademark).
Cheers to all of you--especially Jim Breuer.

I now have super important things to do, since, A. I have FINALLY (mercifully) caught up on much of my neglected blog reading, and B. I don't remember the rest.
WAS there a B??
Anywho, I bought some cool new bath stuff that I'm dying to try, including an anti-shine clay mask, some super silky bath oil, and something with a suction cup.
I have precisely 60 minutes until I have to pick up the kids from school.
On my mark, get set--

Saturday, January 28, 2006

"It's a strange day,"

said a strange girl,
in a strange mood,
from a strange land.
She felt she should be tired,
and maybe even was.
She felt she should be ready,
for something out of reach.
She knew she wasn't finished,
with all she wanted to.
She could not put her finger,
on how to sate her soul.
She felt she should be satisfied,
already, but was not.
She felt she should be laughing more,
even as she giggled.
She did not want to shed the tears,
which welled inside her throat.

She sounds a bit wishy washy, doesn't she??
And as I wrote that, I felt a rhythm, but I didnt' really mean to.
I think it has a cheesy rhythm, if it has one at all.

Sometimes I turn on this computer, looking for something.
No, not a file, not a document.
A rush, a smile, a flush.
Sometimes I find it, sometimes I don't.
But when I don't, I remember that I shouldn't rely on something else to change my mood ring.
It's on my finger for a reason.
(No, I don't really wear a mood ring.)

My mind has been flooded with impotent fantasies lately.
No, not fantasies of failed attempts at sex.
(but that would be funny!)
Strange fantasies of men who turn me on, but somehow each separate little dream blends together and I get distracted by the story line...
How tall this one is, how far away that one is.
Yet another symptom of my immenent death by brain anuerism.
Even my husband agrees that there is something wrong with me...
I guess I should make that call.
What's the use of having insurance if you don't go to the doctor for every stupid bodily function (or malfunction) that raises a question?
My money's on thyroid meds.

So I had this cool idea for a story the other day.
The men probably won't like it, in general, but it might do well in PlayGirl.
Shit, that reminds me--
I owe an email to Julie.
Don't ask.
I would sort of like to get started on it here, but it's going to be a long one.
(shuh, that's what she said.)
God, I'm a dork.
Yes, god cares.
Dammit, I forgot I need to get all my four-letter words used up before we meet the Mormons.
Fuck, piss, shit, cock, cunt, Hell, Damn, Fire, foot, shoe...
oops...I was on auto pilot.
I forgot we were talking about euphemistical 4-letter words.
Cock suckers.
Mother fucking shit for brains, Lisa.
Lick my ass, you nasty freak.
I think this might be having the opposite of the intended affect:
I am now prepped and ready to go.

Ok, think boring thoughts, think boring thoughts.
missionary position, testi(cal)mony, tithing my hands to the headboard---
fuuuuuck this isn't working either.

Tuesday is the deadline for the University's literary journal's submissions,
Thursday I have a 5 page paper due on "London"...
It's a foggy city, great accents, bad cuisine, and royalty--
what else is there???
Oh...the poem by Blake.
Cheerio, then.

Who said orgasms cheer you up?
I demand to know!
They don't.
Not on strange days, in strange lands...
Maybe I should try again?
The first one was assisted, and really very satisfying.
I don't talk about it much, but my husband should really be teaching classes.
He is more than just talented.
Think I'll go now.
Let's pretend I didn't say at least half of the things I said...ok?

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Titles are for sissies

(which makes me a sissy...)

I know my blogging aversion is bad when I actually sit down and--
the television.
In the middle of the day, even!
Don't worry, it only lasted about ten minutes,
and then the twin tornados whirled through and deposited me solidly back in the head trauma unit.

So my husband has this one particular joke that has become a compulsion for him,
and is rather a revulsion for me.
Whenever he or someone else says they are pulling out of anywhere--
the driveway, a parking lot, etc--
he adds, "Even though it's not a very manly thing to do."
(cuz you should stay in there and keep fucking her...)
I know.
It's no wonder that I have such a filthy foul dirty sticky sense of humor.
Tonight he said it, and I groaned as usual,
then added, "Unless she wanted a facial."
Got him GOOD.
He laughed hard, but didn't share it with the colleague he was with.
Damn mormons.
Speaking of which, he has us going to some super nerdy mormon's house for the evening on Saturday.
double ugh...
make that, "UGG".
double wool.
I'm sure it'll be swell.

You know what else would be swell?
Is if my brain
or my soul
or my muse
or my fingers
would deliver something to this page...
I've had so many fires lit under my ass in the past month or so that my pubes are singed
(or would be, if I had any)
and yet...
Here I sit,
pen in hand
in bathroom stalls
across the land.

Raise your hand if you are sick of my whining!
Do it, come on.
I'm a fucking whiner who hasn't even been an interesting whiner lately.
I have turned vanilla.
I have morphed into a sheet of white paper.
I am trickling down a wall; cracked and stained wall paper, curling down to a cement floor...

I am thinking of his lips.
The most incredible lips I've ever seen.
I think I might be fixated.
I blink and wonder how they would feel,
working their way up my thighs
then picture his body without the punk rocker mantle.
I blush and pretend to write something down.

A bus ride, a shuttle.
Crowded with merry and tired and glad-not-to-be-cold ones.
I find a spot, grab a hand hold and brace myself for the first of too many lurches.
(which is not as bad as too many churches...)
I glance down, at those seated in front of me.
My lips part, my eyes dart away.
Is he as beautiful as my first glance whispered?
Another look, this time he's looking, too.
Eyes on the fogged up window behind his warm hat.
Those eyes...
his hands rest, uncovered, on well-fitting jeans.
I feel like a leering construction worker, but I can't stop.
They are wonderful hands--
long, slender fingers, a few thick veins, dry skin from the cold.
I want to fall to my knees and place his hands to the side of my face.
My eyes search the fog, the night beyond it, for some other focus.
I almost panic--
there is nothing to see, nowhere for my eyes to rest except on this heavenly being.
You think I exaggerate.
His smile is warm and flirtatious the next time our eyes meet--
he knows exactly what the flexing of his facial muscles have done to my pulse.
I continue to nearly lose my balance every time the shuttle stops or starts.
Finally a drop-off point, and people crush past me.
I lean into him and apologize for it.
(secretly wishing I could slide my hands inside his coat and bury my face in his neck).
Finally there are seats.
Finally I sit...across from him.
I almost ask my friend to trade places with me--
I cannot bear to look, but I don't know how not to.
He seems relieved that there is more room, but continues to glance at me--
each time startling my eyes into a furious attempt at finding another perch.
He exits the bus first,
and I bid farewell to some lovely little slice of my heart.
I won't miss it,
but I bet his rib cage is getting full...
such a collection he must have!

and with that, my juices are flowing properly and--
hubby's home!
praise jeebus.

Braless Thursday

Eh, shut up.
That's what we're having this week--if you don't like it, why don't you lump it?
(just a little black eyed peas humor for you.)

This is the hurried attempt at a joint Braless/Cleavage shot of Orange and I:

Braless to the left,
Cleavage to the right.
Because we love you all so very much.
...or something.

busy days behind me, busy days ahead of me.
An inbox full of mail...
I need to meditate.
Or drink a chai latte...

Have a happy day.
(or else.)

Wednesday, January 25, 2006

I probably have things I should be doing

but this is my morning.
Just for me.
To settle, and soak, and sync.
I don't want to talk about anything at the moment.
I was sort of raring to post, but then I stumbled onto a very moving blog entry by someone I don't really know, and it was sad because I know what happened later, and mostly it reminded me of who I would have been if I hadn't met or married my husband.
...I like run-on sentences, don't you?

I just closed my eyes and had a conversation with my doctor that included such winning phrases as "it's as if my sinuses have leaked into my skull" and "I could use a tune-up"...
it's true though.
Maybe that's just called a headache, but I'm claiming brain tumor.
You can't stop me.
I do need to call him, though, because my pharmacy is incompetant and I have run out of my god damn thyroid medicine again.
Yes, it's the pharmacy's fault this time.
Bite me.

Also, here's a helpful tip: when you're planning to start a new diet, don't make an apple pie.
Especially since your (my) husband doesn't like cooked fruit.
Your husband is so picky.
It is entirely possible that I am planning on having pie for breakfast.

I woke up at around 2:30 this morning, to the sound of my kids' TV...
so I went to investigate.
They were sitting in their bunk beds, laughing at the show.
Watching TV in the middle of the night???
I turned it off and reprimanded them,
and this morning I found evidence that they were playing computer games and eating pizza as well.
It was sort of a freaky 10-year flash forward/nightmare.
I'm pretty sure they're still only 5...

I better go, for now.
But, as part of my absence from the computer I will be locating and preparing for post-age the pictures from my joint braless Tuesday photo with Orange!
Hopefully I got better lighting than she did...

Happy Wednesday to all, and to all a good night/morning/afternoon/time zone--

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Monday, January 23, 2006

Are you ready?

~a blog post in pencil~
on the back of a movie list
I am sitting in a corner taqble,
in a make-shift cafe
in the Prospecter Theater
Park City, UT.

It strikes me agani how this festival has grown over the years:
spilling past the boundaries of Sundance itself.
We don't even question Park City's involvement, although the name is "Sundance".
The first place I ever skiied was Sundance.
I remember the way the mountains look from the top of th elift--
spread out ot the futhest horizon in waves.

The loud rumble of conversations from the handful of tables are the background--
a word, phrase or laugh breaks through the white noise occasionally,
and draws my ear.
'though far less jarring than the "Mo-o-o-o-o-o-m!!!"s I'm usually assaulted by it still disrupts my train of thought...
so fragile it is, now--or always?
I suppose I've never had focus, but the tracks of my train of thought seem to be made from sand...

There are people around looking important--
looking like they feel important,
looking like they should be important, or will be.

I spent some time the other day practicing my cursive writing
(as a fine procrastination exercise, fyi)
and now I am distracted by my style of half cursive-half print.
It seems so lazy, so childish--ecclectic, I guess.

As for why I'm sitting here with nothing to do but fill my craving for blogging with the awkward and slow motions of a pencil
(my left hand wants to contribute some letters! asdfg, qwert, zxcvb)
it feels archaic, or like riding a trike when a unicycle is the norm,
like crawling instead of running, dancing--
I believe I was on the explanation path.
(derailment, yet again)
SO, Orange and I stood in line to wait for tickets to a sold out show--
The premiere of "Wordplay," but there were 200 people turned away.
She is in the film so she made it into the screening--
the director and others made sure she got in (albeit at the last minute)
So, here I am at the temporary cafe, having already finished my snadwich,
salt & salt & salt & salt & salt & vinegar chips, peanut butter cups and bottle of water....

I keep forgetting to scan faces--
there could be familiar ones, you know.
So far the only face I've seen before was on a woman who is local, and I can't quite place her.
I can picture her addressing a group, cheerfully, but cannot widen my vision to include the setting.

I would, Rachael, rather be bloging.
I am wishing to read words and see faces.

There is a table of journalists next to me.
I am curious who they write for.
Me? I write for you.
Well...I write "for" me, but whatever.

"Happy Clown Fuck Club" Brooklyn.
Or is it "Happy Fuck Clown Club"?
It's a circular inscription on a tall man's leather jacket.
He was part of a slight altercation earlier, when I first sat down
His friend iddn't have money on him, but expected the clerk to give him coffee.
The conversation began to filter through as he said, "It's not like I need money. I'm a DIRECTOR!"
My attention was successfully caught, as the clerk responded with, "But if I gave free coffee to everyone working on a film, i wouldn't selly any."
There were several more, quieter words exchanged and then the director stormed out,
like a storm cloud, truly.
(although, I have no recollection of his appearance)
Just moments later a tall, uniquely handsome fellow breezed in
(yes, the contrast in meteorology is deliberate)
and said, with a bit of a smile (something crooked and whisky-and-smoke meets happy-go-lucky about it) and in his deep, gravely-yet-light voice says, "But I'm subject matter!"
He got blank stares from the (quite obviously mormon) clerks.
"You know...I get free coffee because I'm in the film?"
He, to me, was clearly joking.
More blank stares.
I attempted to snap a picture but was unsuccessful--
in other words, I chickened out.As he turned to go, I treid to decode the back of his leather jacket.
I think I recognized him, but my memory is gone with not only the wind, but the summer as well.

I am tempted to write my URL all over this place.
I can't believe that scribbles on one side each of 4 sheets of paper, two quick phone calls, and some annoyingly slow and impotent attempts at IMing or websurfing on my phone have filled the entire running time of the film.


So, that was was I wrote.
I found myself wanting to add things here or there because somehow my mind is more stimulated at a keyboard than with a pencil.
Food for thought.

The update is that I saw ONE celebrity.
Or, more optimistically, I could say, "I have seen one celebrity so far."
eh, not that I care.
I could have gone to one of the private parties, which was reported to have a whole bunch of lesser-known celebrities, and a handful of bigger names, but I wasn't really that interested.
It could be because I was not dressed for it,
but I'm guessing it was more because I gravitate to conversation rather than sparkle.
eh, whatever.
I have now gabbed the morning away and it is time for me to dash to the shower so I can pick up my kids--
then we're off to Sundance (the resort) so I may catch a screening of Wordplay!!
So excited.

Also, since I'm too rushed to do comments properly at the moment, I'll address a rather urgent one here.
CharlieMaravilla: If you have this doll, I would like one. What could be better than my husband having a threesome with ME and ME?????

Sunday, January 22, 2006

I'm over posting, like a child looking for--

a lollipop under the seat cushion.
You didn't think I was going to say "approval", did you?
Fuck that.

I am heading back to the festive atmosphere in Park City in just a little bit.
Hopefully hook back up with Ms. Tangerine, and the other lovable and lovely crossword junkies,
and just enjoy the atmosphere of possibly celebrity sightings and incessant alternating between being too hot and being too cold.

Hopelessly behind on emails again...
kisses for all your necks--

Here I sit.

(this is from friday night; couldn't get it to post)

I really need to fuck with my html.
I hate knowing that my page looks all crazy to some people,
although, frankly it's a bit twilight zone-ish.
Sometimes I can scroll all the way down, sometimes I can't.
I think there were other issues, but I can't remember them right now.
Brown cow...

So my guest arrived, right on time.
We yammered away for the good part of a work day--
closest estimates peak the 7 hour mark.
When she left for her premiere/welcome party, she passed my husband in the driveway.
I had no words left for him.
And it is now known: there is a limit to my jaw's jabbering.
I was in a zombie-like state--
not quite catatonic, just thirsting for the blood of humans...
So I have now transformed yet another "fake" friend into a "real" friend.
("fake" due to lack of 3-dimensional proof of existence)
(also, I didn't transform her with some crazy brand of black magic, the transformation is the by-product of our encounter. fuck, this sounds wrong!)
Meeting blog folks is fun.
I want to do it more.
I WILL go on a World Blog Tour, someday.
I swear it, this day!!
Let it be known, let it be written!!
Sorry, I think I turned into the hero from some kind of over-acted poorly written play for a moment...

I have lovely, luscious, and loud emails to answer.
You first, my secret crush.
Then my childhood best friend, who has resurfaced from mushing for a moment.
Yes, mushing...dog sleds.
Notice how I keep referencing a crush?
I think it's fun...
keep you all guessing.
"Crush" is just code for "my canadian prescription drug supplier". heh.
I should probably stop making fun of things I don't understand.

I am chilly.
Which is much less aromatic than being chilli.
And much less long-South American-country-like than being Chile.
(yeah, that was a stretch. bite me.)
And much less spicey than being a chilli...
And much less tattoo'ed than being a Red...Hot...chilli...Pepper!
And much less crazy-sexy-cool than being Chilli...

fuck you and goodnight

Saturday, January 21, 2006

blogging from park city

I am at the condo of the crossword folks who came to see themselves in the movie.
there are 5 laptops crowded around a beautiful table, but we are all so mutli-talented that we can be social and anti-social at the same time.
These folks are waaaay smarter than I am, by the way.
It's rather mind-blowing...they finish the ridiculous sorts of times like 7 minutes....I can maybe read through all the clues in 7 minutes...
it's been a great day, lots of snow, lots of great conversation.
I met the star of the film, Will Shortz, and feel rather humbled by the intelligence and the coolness factors.
oh...speaking of how cool I'm not--
I wrote a post on paper while they were watching the film.
I didn't get in...bah
It was great fun, I'll transcribe it later, for your viewing pleasure.

Now I shall return from the land of anti-social to the peace and love of the city of social.


Friday, January 20, 2006

Just a quickie--

There are definitely some kinks to work out with this new template,
but overall, I love it.
And just to clarify: I didn't create the page, I just found the template and modified it to include my picture and links.
The blogger bar at the top is missing, and I'll need to work on replacing that,
but I remember when I had my last custom template
(anyone remember my orange flower? Loved that one...)
it didn't work right at first either.
Damned if I know what I did to get it running right, though!
I will tweak it some more next chance I get...
Anyone with html knowledge is more than welcome to offer some advice or...help...
(batting of eyes, pouting of lips...)

I wish I had a stash of wit I could dip into,
cuz I'd really like to toss a handful your way.
Instead, maybe I'll scoop up some snow--
a marvel, isn't it?
So fluffy and sharp, all at the same time.
Cold, and wet as it slides down the back of my neck.

I'm sure I'll be back soon--
but have a geat weekend anyway.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

I did it!!!

I found and modified a brand (spankin...) new template!!!
And It only took me a couple of hours, start to finish.
I am wildly impressed with myself and the template's creator.
I FUCKING love it.
Did you notice?
I added a whole bunch of new links from my newest readers.
If you're on there and don't want to be, let me know.
"new faces" is a place where I put people that I find so I don't forget them,
and then I either keep reading and add them to my regular list,
or I don't and eventually remove them.
I just hope no one gets hurt feelings.
There are too many wonderful people out there for me to actually read EVERY blog...
I wish I had more time, I really do.

Let me know if it looks funky on any of your browsers.
I'm internet explorer, and it looks just dandy to me.

Ok, time to go vacum and maybe clean my fridge,
so Orange won't know what a slob I am...
(that's a lie--my husband is a slob, but I keep a pretty neat house.)
She's coming so that she can go to the Sundance film festival, did I mention that?
Details on her site...


They swim in the murky waters of my not-quite-there brain.
Never am I all here.
Always thoughts are truncated, disjointed.
Ah, sweet motherhood.
Rolling around on the thick carpet with a laughing (tickled) child...
He takes my hand and presses my palm to the side of his face, then kisses it.
O! such tenderness, such purity...
it nearly breaks the walls of my heart with the fullness of it.

Snowstormy week.
The world was crusted over with a heavy, relatively thin snow this morning.
The roads were clear so I hurtled across the wide valley to the foothills of those far mountains,
where my school is nestled--no, sprawled.
My smile is much more present these days--
I am exercising regularly again.
and I am fairly certain that is the way I lost my smile before.
My body was tired from too little movement.
Yesterday my trainer explained the exact type of exercise regiman we're going to employ to give me BOOTY!!!!
I'm sooo excited.
The other day he reprimanded me for holding the dumbells too loosely.
"Would you hold a penis like that? Come on!"
...er....it was an ODD reference, to be sure.
Left THIS girl a bit flustered.
I tend to turn off my playful mode when I'm in a situation like that--
as in, I don't actually flirt with men when my husband's not around.
I'm very good at wearing the required hats for specific situations.
I'm still "me", just, ya know...kept in check, etc.
Anyway, he's going to make my ass grow, so that's good.

I just took time out to research airfare.
Now I'm terribly distracted.
Wondering how best to plan this trip of mine.
I think I'll have to buckle and call a travel agent.

and now I'm being called to the land of snowball fights...

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

There's no business like blog business

...and while I'd like to explore the diverse possibilities for truth and deeper meaning in that sentence--
I'm not gonna.
Come on...we all know I'm too lazy for that.

I am somewhere in that hazy place of having too much that I want to say,
and too little that I feel like saying.

I learned something in class yesterday:
I would never purposely own or use a pink-inked pen.
Hey! I never said I learned it from the teacher!
Just a little smattering of self-discovery...
which is always nice.
But really, I mean, PINK???
Or purple or turqoise or green, for that matter.
In college?
To take notes for class??
Pink has to be the worst, though--
my eyes were crossing and recrossing (and they're not even Catholic!)
just from looking over her shoulder and trying to see whose name was in the heart with hers.
Ok, ok.
But really.
It's not so much that I hate pink, I just have very little use for it.
I love rich tones.
And black.
My 9 year old neice excitedly told me that the phone she wants comes in pink--
I sort of forgot where I was and failed to force something better out of my mouth than a flat-toned, "I hate pink."
Aw...she's 9! She's allowed to love pink.
Good thing she has more self-confidence at 9 than I had until I was about 25:
in other words, she didn't let my opinion influence hers.
Which ROCKS.
She said, "Oh yeah, you like black, huh?"
She either has a WAY better memory than I do (entirely possible)
or she could just tell by the mean and nasty look on my face.
Green is technically my favorite color, but you wouldn't know it.
I don't own much that is green, and despite my yearnings of younger year,
I will NOT be purchasing a green car.
Oh...speaking of my car.
My husband is notorious for changing his mind.
And for being a mega control freak about money.
He has now decided that it will be better if we wait until May,
when some investment or other becomes available and we can pay cash.
I'm really not sure what's so bad about paying interest for a couple of months,
and mostly I just want my fucking Volvo.
with all-wheel drive.
Oh well.
how can I argue with logic like that?
Anyway, I felt it was my legal obligation to let you know that all my excitement and test driving and putting up for sale of my current car
I may have thrown a small tantrum when he told me the news...
but the good thing is, "small tantrum" means I sighed, curtly and smooshed my closed lips back and forth exactly 2.5 times, and said, "Ok."
and then we moved along to the hot sweaty sex or the me-cooking/bring-him-breakfast-in-bed part.
Those are good parts.

Ok, so tomorrow, I will be receiving a visitor for the furthest reaches of the mid-west....
Ms. Orange Tangerine, herself!!
She's coming to town for the Sundance festivities,
and we are going to have a blast.
She will probably be accepting bids for the rights to our story no sooner than Monday evening, so get your paperwork in order.
There has been discussion of a joint Braless Tuesday shot,
and some drunken, co blogging.
You're jealous, you don't have to tell me.
We are gonna rule the school.
...er...rule...my house?
yeah, something like that.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up calling her "Orange" for at least half the time.
Can't wait to see her new 'do!!

I am going to go shower and go shopping.
The boys have a friend coming over today for their first official playdate!!
His mom's coming, too, because we don't really know each other yet.
She's adorable, so here's hoping this is the beginning of a beautiful kid-trading friendship!!

Have a happy day, and don't forget to brush.
Or flush.
...and try not to rush...

(sorry, got stuck on the rhyme train, and couldn't get off!)

Monday, January 16, 2006

Braless Tuesday

School, then gym, then a party...
little time for such frivolities as blogging.
Ok, that's a lie.
Every moment I'm not driving or sweating will be spent here.
This is my sanctuary (kind of like the ones for endangered species of birds)
and I have realized that I am using this little portal to hide from the world,
but hey--what the hell does the world need me for, anyway??
Fuck the world.
I have my -wide web.

I am way too lazy for this shit, so instead I'm posting an oldie but a goodie...
I know!!
I have done more repeats than new ones for the past few months...
And I'd like to offer my apologies, but frankly it would be an empty, insincere attempt, so I won't bother.
The fucking of oneself is always an option, if ya don't like something I have to say.
Standard protocol, etc.

Here ya go:
(damn dirty pervs)

The current (fat-enhanced) size

The same shirt, two years ago

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Oh blog me a blog,

sing me a song, tell me a tale……..

We were living in a small house on a quiet street with old trees.  There was a secluded garden in the back—flowers and tomatoes.  I was there, working, when you arrived.  My heart soared to see you home.  Following behind you were two figures—my insides lurched.  The look in your eyes told me you regretted not telling me before, but I wasn’t sure how to read your easy way with them.  A wife, a son.  I smiled and nodded, walking in a daze up the stairs.  I closed and locked a door, walked on, then closed and locked a beautiful set of double doors—french doors.  My clothes slid from my body and I stepped into a large bath, recessed in the floor, with a skylight overhead.  Everything was quiet around me but my heart.  I sank into the water, in my underwear.  Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back against the edge of the tub, and listened to your son talk to me. When I opened them again, you stood there, no—crouched—at the far end of the tub, your arms resting on your knees, your soft dark eyes boring into me.  The concern on your face melted my worries and they drifted away in the tub full of bubbles.  I smiled at you and smiled back.  Then I woke up.  But I think that if I could have regained that particular thread of sleep, I would have seen you remind your son that his mother was waiting. You would have held my gaze until several doors had closed and a car had started, and receded.  Then, you would have stepped into the tub, clothed.

The trouble with experiments involving alcohol is--

alcohol tends to cause distractions to sponanteously erupt.
That doesn't seem like the right word, "erupt". Um.
But the point is: I have enough distractions in my life
my head
my shoes.
I don't need this crap.
Oh, but I do.
That's why I've bothered with an experiment, you see.
Because I believe I may require some medical assistance in the construction of some writing samples...
ok, not "medical", technically....
But, like, self-medication.
Ok, ok, but it's just an experiment.
...and did I mention it's an experiment??
Yup, I did.
And I'm not drunk yet, so that was intentional.

I want to lock my office door and KEEP DRINKING.
I want to devote my life to reading blogs--
to drinking down the essence of other souls scattered across the globe, their locations negligible because what rreally matters is their words.

Do you like my new profile picture?
It looks like I'm sort of winking, when it's that small.
If you view the larger version of it, you can tell I'm actually giving you the evil,
evil eye.
Or possibly the bedroom eye, depending on who you are.
I am so tempted to add a hyperlink to "you".
Would I????
Nope, never.
Because, as I mentioned earlier this week: who I fuck in my head (not to be confused with "fucking with your head") is entirely my business.
Also, beer from 1 to 2 on a sunday afternoon is pretty swell.

Last night it was cloudy...

over the lens of my mind.
I forgot what brilliance feels like…
But then a star bent low and brushed my cheek with its fiery whisper, reminding me of its precise combination of exhilaration and steadiness.
That is to be taken literally: I do not mean to imply that I have found my own inner brilliance, for I have not.
My cheek is scorched, but my heart is light.
My mind is still sludge, my synapses misfiring, my thoughts hiding under the rock which now occupies my head.
I will pray to my musical gods, Jimmy and Robert, for some guidance.
I have a brilliant movie to write about, and no words which will convey.
I believe this is what they call paralyzed with fear.
I am foolish to waste my evening baking a cake, when I should have been plunging a ladle into my soupy head to fish out the best shreds…..
I am so very lazy that I am writing a post HERE*. I would ask you to post it for me if I
Am I going crazy?
The worn, cobble-stoned pathways in my brain that have been so familiar in their winding and twisting have suddenly changed to wide, paved roads—busy with foreign traffic.
I cannot dwell on this because it will engulf me—no, drown me
Pressing me downward, under the surging waves of fear of losing myself.
Why so much fear?
Because to write…the best words, I must balance on the verge of mania.
Sometimes staring into the wormhole is enough to turn my own thoughts into psychedelic something or other.
Can’t ever think of words anymore.

* this began as an email

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Time to write.

Time to right.
Time to rite.
mmm...I think I like that last one the most.
Time to design an intricate web of rites,
through which some scared young man must pass before reaching...

Eh, ok, so maybe it's just time to write.
my Hands are dry--and do you like how I pushed the shift key at the start of the wrong work?
(uh..."word", not "work"....)
This is just one more sign of my growing brain tumor.
Another is that I dreamed last night that I had a baby.
Then I forgot I had the baby but remembered that I had been overjoyed by the prospect of breastfeeding--as a weight loss tool--and began searching my house for my old breast pump...
That's what I get for going to bed, I guess.
Oh yeah--hand lotion.
be right back.
(as if you'd notice??)
I am back.
(as if you'd notice...)

Oh, to address all the concern in my comments over my mention of the real estate agent offering to buy our house:
All the other homes for sale in our subdivision were already under contract (according to her) and her clients wanted THIS NEIGHBORHOOD.
She sold their house the first day it was listed, so they were anxious to get something before they had to move out.
It's easy to believe because it's the only neighborhood like it in the immediate area.
The rest are much older and most have smaller homes.
If there are other comparable neighborhoods I've never seen them.
So there.
This place is growing so fast it blows my mind.

And who'd like to join me for a hearty helping of "Who gives a fuck?"

I think I am ready to write.
Or rumble...
Yes, I'm ready to rumble.
To rattle and rock and writhe and roll--
I am ready to shake my crazy 8 ball and see what falls out.
Rumble I shall.
And it might just be my tummy...
I'm hungry.

Friday, January 13, 2006

I believe I can fly--

but please don't start singing that super cheese ball song.
Thank you.
I just happen to believe that I can fly.
Check my archives: my theory is splashed all over the place.

I am not sure why I'm so damn horny lately.
I think my husband is slipping me drugs of some kind.
Owie...I did a Spin class last night and I now I feel like I've been ridden like a carousel horse.
It was a terrible class, by the way.
The guy mumbled and left us bored.
I am still sore as hell today, though, so it was worth it.
After the class, J. and I decided to do chest and triceps.
I couldn't remember my chest routine, from my trainer, but I spotted him, flipping through his binder of routines.
I walked over...and said...
Can I grab my chest?
He blinked, looked at J., and back at me.
Uh...I'm not going to stop you, I mean, (looking at J.) if she wants to grab her chest...
I was too annoyed at myself for not catching it before I said it, to laugh at it.
Oh well.
It's funny NOW.

I am (bic pentameter?) going to write something.
Something to distract myself.
Because this is a FAMILY site!!
Ok, not really.
Just don't feel like writing smut, that's all.

Guess why I hate Fridays.
(and why do we always want to put a "?" at the end of a "guess" statement?? Well, I suppose it's because of the implied need for a response...)
I hate Fridays because I only get 2 hours of free time, and after feeding the husband and getting caught up here, there is not even time for a shower before I have to head out.
Um...Maybe I'll stop whining now.
But at least I had a cup of coffee this morning so not only have I been wasting a lot of time running to the bathroom, but I also have a bit of a pick-me-up.
There's no work/school Monday, which is super fantastic.
Although, hubby's been working from home a lot lately and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.
I feel like my own productivity suffers, but maybe that explains the horniness...
having available cock around--but not quite available--probably flipped a switch in my head.

Oh, weird--some real estate agent knocked on our door last night and asked if we would sell our house.
She's coming back with an offer today,
but I don't think it's going to be big enough for us to consider moving.
Especially since her buyer wants to move in in 2 weeks.
Fuck THAT.
I love my house.
I love my neighborhood.
...and did I mention how much I love this house?
So, in short, and to recap: FUCK THAT.

I hear someone walking around upstairs...
is it hubby, his brother, or an intruder???

I'm going to go now.
But I'll be back.
Remind me not to be such a stubburn-ass and drink more coffee next time I'm all mopey, ok???
Thank you.

and have a MARVELOUS weekend!!!
(even though I'm sure I'll post again before Tuesday...)

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Who wants a P sandwich?

"I mean the letter P, not the pee that comes out of you, Mom!"


Well, good.

A day in the life
of a bored housewife.
Is enough to make
you eat a whole cake.

I have a whole flock of mundane items flapping around in my head.
none of them are worth relating, trust me.
They are making so much noise that I can't concentrate, though.
(and the kids are rivalling them, from the outside.)
So, I guess I should let some of the crap spew forth--
it might alleviate the pounding in my skull.

I finally got my Christmas decorations packed up over the weekend.
I put them up so late that I wasn't in a rush to put everything away,
but now that it's done it feels gooood.
Finally got the kids new toys all crammed into their room, too.
I really need to take their whole toy box and just put it in the garage.
I hate when their room gets messy...so it usually doesn't.
I ditched the bird, too.
Did I mention that?
Sent it off to my friend's house, to live with her bird from the same batch.
Good riddance to the thing, too.

My head does not feel any better.
I guess I could close my door
and turn on some tunes.
I may need to vent, too.
Just random venting.
Nonsensical venting.
Something to get my thoughts into a more aesthetically pleasing state of disarray...

The sound of a chair being dragged across the tile floor above me--
is like the grating of sandpaper against my

Glitches with my choice of music are making me tense...
So instead, I'll build a playlist out of the same crap I've been listening to for too long.

Running a bath for the kids, my mind feels dull and thick.
As the soap turns to frothy hills on the surface of the water, I have an urge to slide into that womb-like space and be held by it.
My lids heavy, I step back and dry my hands on a white towel.
I don't see myself in the mirror--
black t-shirt...does it go all the way through me?
Why do I feel dark inside?
Does it matter, though, really??
Why am I so obsessed with always knowing why I feel certain ways?
Isn't this the very definition of madness?
Sinking so far into myself that the calendar seems to be marked by my moods, my ecstasy my...tiredness.
I would rather be writing something funny or sexy right now.

Little feet marching
two tiny soldiers invade the fort of me and conquer my weak defenses
over and
Finished with their bath before I could even finish my funk.
Or consider a bit of a solo fuck.

Fuck the funk.
I wasn't in one before I sat down to write, and I'll be damned if I'm going to be in one while I write.
So there!!!!

I am going to add my (super fucking huge) list of new links today.
Right now.
Well, after I finish writing this
and after I finish...doing something else.
It's almost time for the gym.

Gah. See what I mean??
Thoughts as scattered as a stack of pages in the wind.
Thoughts as shattered as a dropped pane of glass.
...stepping on the shards with bare feet as you run forward...

I don't believe it's a cure-all, but I do fancy a bit of an orgasm could send a few much-needed drops of serotonin into my crusty old brain.
It is drying up, scabbing over, cracking, peeling--
turning to dust.
I just sneezed, and it was dry and flakey...
I think I saw last night's dreams on a the flake that just fluttered past.
Maybe some Vicks would help.
Maybe some tricks would help...
or some licks, some pricks, some hick(ie)s...
I should probably stop talking like this or I'm going to get your panties all in a twist.
I know mine are...
I think I'll go to my happy place.
The grassy meadow with unlimited and hangover-free beer,
the one where Eddie Vedder is my "massage therapist" (wink-wink).
And where you check your worries at the door...
Oh wait, meadows don't have doors
and I don't have any tangible worries.
Well, whatever.
I think I'll just imagine fucking the breath out of someone.
No, I'm not going to name names.
I'm a lady! I do NOT fantasize and tell.
And Like I said, I need to change the subject.
Or something.

Have a happy day--

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Whenever I feel like I've lost myself--

I simply stop and think about what a stupid sentiment that is.
(note to self: you could be the reason behind your children's over use of the word "stupid".)
I am sometimes serious and sometimes silly--
end of story.
I'm the one who forgets this, so I should just remind myself more.


I met my friend, J., for a workout tonight and it was KILLER.
In both the good and bad ways.
Intense workout, good conversation.
How can you beat THAT?
(Nope, don't even try. You CAN'T.)

Ok, so I'm a little distracted.
I bought something this weekend...
"P0rn" I call it.
"The Bo Bice CD" is a slightly more accurate term, but potaytoes, potahtoes, ya know?
I knew it wouldn't be great, musically, but I was still disappointed.
That man's voice is so gorgeous that I don't want to trivialize it by slapping some lame adjectives, adverbs and emphasis-adding "fuck"s.
But they didn't even let him use it.
He sings a whole list of crappy, love-infused POP tunes.
What the fuck is that all about??
No, really, tell me, because I would LIKE to know.
Oh yeah: it's called marketing.
It's a crazy little thing called "it's his first album and he probably had 0-3% input/creative control."
I'll forgive him.
I guess I'll have to just pin up the full color
(tragically fully clothed)
of him and call it money WELL spent.
Damn, Bo, would you stop looking at me with those bedroom eyes?
I have THINGS to do.
Homework, even.
I am not kidding--
and I will swear it puclicly, here and now:
if that man showed up on my doorstep and offered me a ride, sunset-ward?
I would go in a--
I wouldn't.
It's funny to joke about, but color me PMSed or something cuz that makes me a little sad!
I wouldn't want to leave my loving, devoted, sweet husband for anyone.
(but maybe a good 12 hours in a cheap hotel would work out ok!)

My class today was English 2600, which is a Literary Criticism course.
It is to teach us to be better critical readers.
I've been dreading it in some ways,
as that is my least favorite part of this whole "English major" business.
I looove to read.
as you MAY have noticed...
I kinda have a hard-on for writing.
But I reallyFUCKINhate disecting the hell out of things I read.
I would rather just feel it, absorb it, and move on.
This professor seems like a really cool woman (she dropped a couple of "oh my god"s which means she's not mormon--GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH!)
There was also a kid with a faux-hawk (sides-unshaven, but with a tall crest)
which makes me weak in the knees.
Not sure why.
I guess it's the rebel thing.
It's a pretty small class, and it's all English majors.
And the good news is, if I'm on time, there is plenty of parking in the big lot closest to my building.
A Health building, oddly enough.
Right next to the pool where the swimmers/divers train.
So now, you all can stalk me.
Or stock me.
Or sock me.
Or...ok, I'm done.

And some guy called about my car tonight.
He's coming to look at it tomorrow...
Do you KNOW how frigging great it would be if he bought it?
yes, this is the first call we've gotten.
I think the ad expires tomorrow.
Holidays are a stupid time to list a car, probably.
Oh well.
please oh please oh please...
if there is a god, or a santa claus--
or if Mr. Hanky is REAL!
Let him buy it.
if not, I'll just renew the ad, but that would take EFFORT.

Ok, enough of that.

I'm beginning to lose my endorphin high and I still have things to do.
yes, that homework ain't gonna do itself.
sorry, just making fun of a shirt I saw at a bar once--on a real live MAN.
"It ain't gonna lick itself." was what the shirt proclaimed.
Nope, it sure ain't, bubba.
this is an audio post - click to play

Monday, January 09, 2006

How many titles can one person come up with??

Don't answer that.

So, it's Monday morning.
And I have just returned from a really stupid trip to pick up my textbooks for the class that starts tomorrow.
Oh, the trip itself wasn't stupid, but my game plan was.
Start to finsh: STOOPID.
Hey, I know! Let's select the "pick up on campus" option.
Then I won't have to pay shipping or worry about if they'll arrive on time.

so then I decide that there might be a long line, so I'll go today.
Which makes for wasting at least 1 1/2 hours of my 3 hours of free time.
There was, incidentally, NO line.
At all.
There were several prominent and clearly marked signs pointing the way to "internet order pick up".
And one bored and geeky guy sitting at a desk.
With rows and rows of neatly bagged books behind him.
(Probably blogging while he waits for customers, the fucker.)
Alllll that hoopla.
For nothing.
Oh well.
It was a hoop-la weekend all around, so I shouldn't be too surprised.
Spent an hour driving around in the snow last night;
looking for a baby shower.
Found it.
Then I spent another 40 minutes missing all the right turns to the restaurant where mr. husband had called in a take out order.
I was...
a little hungry and possibly a whole lot ornery by the time I arrived home.
But at least I didn't have to cook.

hold that thought.

Sorry, I was mid-post, around ten thirty this morning, when my friend stopped by.
so we've been hanging out.
But not with our wangs out.
(because we don't have wangs.)

So last night as I was lying in bed, my mind roared and raced--
my heart, too.
I had this ball of tension spinning around inside me, as I wondered what's around the next bend for me.
Maybe nothing, and that's ok.
If it's something...
It's electricity swimming through my layers of skin and nerves and muscle,
skidding along my bones.
I feel it.
There is nothing whispered about it, nothing soft or shy.
It is loud and fierce.
I will own it.

I think...
it's time for a workout.
and since it's Monday, I'll put you all out of my misery now--

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Hey, hey what can I say--

That was a rhetorical question,
so don't bother answering.

I need to get my writing juices flowing.
and not THOSE juices, ya damn perverts.
I am not in that particular mood at the moment.
But that's ok.

I am feeling much less sleepy than I was yesterday,
so that's a bonus.
I am going to blame my general malaise on the fact that it was the first week back to school for the kids.
Which meant I had to get up at 7 and shove them out the door.
I also think I should take this time to mention that I am pursuing a lawsuit against whoever decided I should put my kids in morning Kindergarten.
Who's fucking bright idea was THAT??
Maybe mine.
But only because I am stupid sometimes.
Dammit, I guess I can't sue myself...
Well, that's no fun.
I really do think it was my husband's idea, though.
And I just went along with it because I AM STUPID.
I'm glad we established that.

I think I have a storyline for my "book".
(it's only a whisper of an idea at the moment, so it gets quotes. deal with it.)
Ah....that reminds me of a loony maitre d' at one of my summer jobs...
He called the place "The Whore house on the Hill"--with a suspiciously giddy tone.
It was a luxurious B&B, with a 5-star dining room (where I worked with best friends A & B).
Hardly a whore house, but it was on a hill--
overlooking Camden harbor, and the filming of Stephen King's "Thinner", that summer.
Gene was his name, and the reason quotes remind me of him is simple, but I'll get to that in a moment.
(after the ringing in my ears from my son's tantrum subsides.)
He had 1920s stripper names for each of us--Rose (who looked an awful lot like Charlize Theron) was Bubbles Malone,
and that's the only one I can remember.
The bartender looked like...hm.
And then there was Nina, the cross-eyed Romanian.
She wanted to have an affair with Joe, the married chef, and when she caught friend A kissing him she was enraged.
She said that friend A had "destroyed her faith in humanity.",
which friend B and I thought was hilarious, since friend A had actually reaffirmed our own faith in humanity--or at least brought an amazing depth of joy to our BYU-inspired flat existence.
(no, that's not code for all-girl orgy, but think what you will)
there were folders in the office, for each of the manager-types.
They all bore a large, hand-written name.
Each one was plain, except for Gene's.
He was "Gene".
and since he was a big part of the craziness of that summer,
singing his name in a Tori Amos song (Crucify), while making "air quotes" was the next logical step.
Oh, and don't forget: while laughing hysterically.
I wonder where she is.
She was beautiful and free--living in a tiny apartment above one of the stores on Main St, with her sexy, artsy boyfriend.
As you'll recall, friend B and I were still BYU students...her life seemed so far out of reach for me, but I wanted it.
And I ran into the cross-eyed bitch while I was on my honeymoon--
she was also on hers.
VERY bizarre.
That was the summer I listened to Phish a lot,
and was stupid enough to turn down a night of crazy sex with a man from St. Vincent who was in town for a mutual friend's wedding...
He was hot, to put it bluntly--and his jamaican-like accent gave me goosebumps.
He was a great kisser...
Friend B and I snuck into the local resort's out door hot tub with him--
one of our favorite pasttimes, in those innocent days of looking for trouble.
Which reminds ome of the night of meteor showers, in the resort pool, in our underwear, with the boys I taught to drive a stick shift...
Being innocent was so damn boring.
My one bad brush with the law (later, when I had cast off the Innocence Mantel) could have been avoided by my accepting an invitation to go to a 3 day Phish concert in northern Maine with a couple of hot stoner pilots--
"better to fly high than drive drunk" was their motto...
YIKES, is right.
But I didn't go...
because I was smitten with a boy I was about to leave.
The last week of my summer vacation.
Wrote a book about it.
Isn't great, but I may include it in my collection of short stories anyway.
This sprint down memory lane is turning into a bit of a marathon--
becoming too complex for it to remain breezy and interesting.
My mind is seething forward, into corners and hidden passages,
turning it all over and savoring it.
Those were good days.
But they were bad enough that I was ready for my husband when I met him a few months later.
Ready to be done with all the yearning and the necessarily dual-mode passion of youth.
You know what I mean...the way you could love someone with the ferocity of a wounded tiger--and be hurt by the smallest thing with an equal measure.
It was time to grow up...
to be secure, and be trusted/trusting.
No more driving through wretched snowstorms for the chance to spend a few stolen hours with someone whose mother would shoot you if she knew,
no more wondering why that guy found you good enough to fuck, good enough to hang out with--but would not persue you as a girlfriend (the answer to that one is now very clear, but was completely out of reach to me at the time, and instead left my insides a knotted up mess.)
Lookit that!
A whole supply of emotions, just tucked away ready for use.
I love words...
I love the images in my head, or floating through my limbs and around my middle.
I love putting the two together, and seeing what happens.

It is time for lunch, a shower, and the gym...
not sure what order to assign those, so I won't.
What a post!!

Enjoy your Saturday.
And wish me luck on a supe- secret-but-very-exciting project!!!

Friday, January 06, 2006

Is it Friday?

For some reason that just doesn't seem right.
(yes, I realize it was a short week.)
yesterday, while at the gym, I almost fell off my treadmill when I thought I had missed class.
Then I remembered that the semester starts NEXT WEEK.
That was a precarious moment, though.
And today I have a sick child, who isn't terribly sick, but needed to stay home anyway.

I felt guilty for not posting anything yesterday...
Not guilty enough to make today's post extra special, just guilty enough to mention it.
With a shrug.
...and possibly a roll of the eye.

It is friday, and that is glorious...supposedly.
I fell asleep before ten last night, which was a tad disturbing.
especially considering that I had 3 movies to watch, some stuff to write, AND had skipped a HomeOwner's Association meeting.
Raise your hand if you give a shit--even a small one.
I didn't raise MY hand, so I hope you didn't either.
Why am I trying to post when I have vomitted boredom all over this page already?
...I guess that would be the aforementioned guilt.

I don't like to spend much time talking about TV shows on here,
because that doesn't seem terribly relevant to me,
When I watch The Office, I am so moved by Jim and Pam's painful interactions,
that I must express myself.
It is SO real.
It's something I relate to, I guess.
Unrequited love will always be my favorite subject.
It is so intense, so stark, so...
And to watch it unfolding is priceless.
Whoever writes that storyline is my sappy hero.
Cuz it's not even sappy...

And that is the icing on my "I have nothing" cake.

PLEASE remind me to add links.
No, don't. It'll make me tired.
I think I have mono.
just kidding...
I probably have a case of Lazy-itis.
I caught it from my husband last week,
and it's not going away.

Fork me in the ass.
No, really--it might wake me up.
Ok, that was a waste.
I am sorry for wasting your time...
If I find a spare brain cell later, I'll write again.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

I stepped in a puddle

of gas.
At the station.
The fumes are...fumey.
I am now entirely pissed off that I just walked over my still-new carpet with a gassey shoe.
...better than a gassey uncle, believe me.

I woke up in the middle of the night to pee.
It's possible that what woke me were the echoes of my screams of ecstasy,
hurling back through my windows after having travelled the world.
"Possible", I said--not probable.
but awaken, I did.
And as I stumbled through my thin shroud of consciousness toward the WC,
I had one of those moments.
An isolated little spurt of sadness, and sort of desperation, I suppose.
Within the blink of a sleepy eye, I had chided myself for such self-whining and was back to normal.
It was this strange flash of the mundane order of my life...
the dishes and laundry and cooking.
Sometimes when I think of those things, I am overwhelmed with disgust--
I feel like I will surely cry or run or become immobile...
But then it passes, as I remind myself how great my life actually is.
It's a strange feeling, for that one tear-drop of a moment.
Like I'm trapped in a black and white movie,
or in someone else's shoes.
Fortunately, I know how to untie, unbuckle, remove any pair of shoes I could encounter.
And I have a paint brush, and a pallette...

So now I need to write a book.
I don't have an idea, though, and this is something I'm trying not to freak out about.
But I think it's rather panic-worthy.
I never have ideas...
they seem, rather, to have me.
Oh that's right...I already have an idea.

What a melancholy post.
(Honey dew and sheltie, please...)
I should
shake it up a bit.
I could tell you about the teeth rattling sex I had last night,
or the deep sense of relief I felt at finally seeing the season of Scrubs commence.
I could tell you what my husband said yesterday...
about our LIVE bird.
Yes, that'll do.
Me: Becky's going to take the bird.
Him: but why not just bury it in the backyard and be done with it?
Me: Uh...it's not dead.
Him: I know. That's hardly a requirement.
Ok, I think I'm plum
out of things to say.
Go see my feet...they've been featured.
and I'm flattered.
I forget how much I like my legs most of the time.
Damn boobs get in the way.

I'm going to go now.
multi-tasking is not my thing.
Ok, fine it is.
But it's due for a circumcision any day now...

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Braless Tuesday.


I am a good little girl, today.
I took pictures with my camera,
which wouldn't upload,
so I took more with my phone,
which haven't arrived in my inbox yet.
My apologies.
All apologies...
My friend's arriving soon,
and for now, hubby is "working from home", and is putting together a fucking cool water park thing for my kids.
I love putting shit together, AND as a bonus I get to spend time with the little Warcraft addict.
(on a side note, he has used the Warcraft diversion to quit smoking. yay Warcraft!!)

Have a happy birthday.
Or non-birth Day.
Or night.

EDIT---here it is.

Jimi Hendrix Posted by Picasa

Monday, January 02, 2006

Here's how I know I'm blogging too much:

Every post almost starts with, "I should be showering, but--"

And it's true.
I should.
I am supposed to be leaving in about 30 minutes for a new Year's day celebration.
I will need to shower, dress my kids, and make clam chowder...
But instead I am here.
I had to come...
I have a story to tell.

I remember taking a walk that night--
hearing the front door close behind me,
shutting out the brightness, silencing the tv, the phone and the family.
I remember the way my hands felt,
pushed, in fists into the fur-lined pockets of my thick jacket.
I thrilled at their silkiness, my heart racing as I connected with something primal.
I smelled it on the sharp night air,
even if I didn't recognize it yet.
I walked quickly, with purpose.
I didn't have one...but I forged ahead, almost compelled.
I took an unknown path, but knew my way well.
I saw my breath puff into the air, and be quickly lost behind me, as I pressed forward.
Lost in thought, I became slowly aware that my footsteps were being echoed,
and it didn't startle me.
It felt comfortable, and right.
I sighed and slowed my pace.
I wanted to be enveloped by this...
this feeling.
I stopped, heart racing--muffled, like it was coming from the far end of a long hallway.
I turned, in slow motion and caught something moving at lightening speed, out of the corner of my eye.
My whole body felt alive--
an electric jolt sent through each artery, a flood of warmth rising in my chest.
I blinked, softly biting my lip, and as my eyelids raised,
my focus landed on a face.
Involuntarily I stepped toward him, my mouth opening slightly, my hands shaking.
Such luminous skin, such dark eyes.
I could smell the velvet of his suit, and taste the silk of his scarf--
so close into his embrace was I drawn, in an instant.
I would say he took my breath away, but it was more than that, and less.
The timeline was suddenly a scribbled mess, no order.
My neck arched back, as I leaned deeper into his arms, reaching for his open mouth.
His arms held me like iron bars, and the tips of his canines pierced the delicate whiteness of my throat with a flash of light behind my closed eyes.
My fingers dug into him, my body felt as though it was becoming an extension of him.
He was pulling my life out with his mouth, but I felt more vivid with each of his greedy swallows.
I let out a silent scream--
I would have called it ecstasy, but it could have been pain.
He stepped back and licked his lips.
His eyes regained focus, and his heaving chest settled.
I was shaking and whiter than ever before.
he trailed a finger inside my shirt, the buttons falling off before he touched them.
He leaned and kissed the inner part of my left breast; my heart.
It responded to the proximity of his lips by beating harder and pushing me back into his arms.
Take it all, I whispered--
I could have shouted it, it wouldn't have mattered.
My words slid into his ear with the smoothness of wine across a tongue.
He ran his hands along the fading warmth of my skin, inside my layers of coat and shirt, pulling me to him harder than before.
I trembled with need, so much more than I'd ever felt for a man.
Come with me, he said, though I never saw his lips move.
His bleeding wrist was at my mouth and I licked.
The world exploded into more millions of colors than I could have imagined,
as my body was quenched of every desire it had ever felt or would ever feel--
and was consumed by them all at once.
He smiled...if you could call it that.
I was hungry; suddenly--fiercely.
Let's hunt, my love.
I nodded, wide-eyed, and took the hand he offered me.

I'll have to read that over later.
I hope it flows and does't have too many typos.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Well, I'd SAY it's a happy new year!

No hangover, and a beautiful day outside.
Ok, so I'm still mad at myself for forgetting to take my phone out with me last night.
I could have done so much better on that audio post...
If I would have been...uh, less drunk, I would have called the babysitter and had her look up the audioblogger phone number on my phone.
But I wasn't.
Oh, I can't say I was ever drunk drunk, but I was wonderfully buzzed all night.
I somehow stumbled into the perfect pace of drinking and eating and dancing--
and not laughing very much at the comic.
All he did was SING.
His songs were mildly amusing.
All the...seemingly less intelligent folks seemed to be enjoying him, though.
He has a bumper sticker that I'll have to buy.
It was the only thing I REALLY laughed at.
"My Dixie Wrecked."
It's a song about his girlfriend racing stock cars...
that was when I first realized I am just a bit too smartsy fartsy for his humor:
I got the joke about 10 minutes before anyone else there.
So I was laughing my ass off.
And then he made some comment about everyone finally getting the joke, and I realized any chance of true love was now just a bitter memory.
I mean I knew any chance he had of earning me as a fan was out the window.
(no, really--I saw it, its little nose pressed against the glass, sitting out there in the dark and rainy night, shivering and fighting back tears. Sorry "chance," better luck next time...)
Wow, I'm crazy.

We played pool for about 3 minutes, but the other guys couldn't handle it when our husbands won, so we gracefully moved along.
I kept having wild little thoughts.
Oh yeah, and I really loved how I ended up looking, which is a plus.
I was buzzed enough to not laugh hysterically when the band played "Feel Like Makin' Love" and I slow(ish) danced with my husband to it.
I mean, SHIT, is that the corniest damn thing to have ever occurred?

Oh, and in my audio post, I was really trying to say something about how much I love this little community and that I would love to drink all of you down, but of course I had to ammend that because clearly some of you would give me indigestion...
(or a rash)
but how beautiful would it be to swim around in the thoughts of dear friends all over the world?
I wanted to convey that so much differently.
I felt like a coma patient, who had these clear and articulate thoughts, flowing smoothly through my head and instead they came out like mumbled mouthfuls of marbles...
I always wish that I could just turn off my composition mode when I'm not near my computer.
Oh well.
My newest mp3 player has a really great voice recorder, so maybe I ought to start carrying that with me.
Of course, my cell phone has one, too--and look how well I remembered THAT last night.

So this morning at the crack of 7:30, our boys began to stir.
This is their usual time, no biggie.
I stepped out into the hall to remind them that we had guests scattered around the house, so they would need to be quiet.
I was met with a child I did not recognize.
It was Oliver, but I had to rub at my eyes to make sure I wasn't hallucinating or dreaming or blind.
He wasn't himself.
his lips and mouth were swollen, changing the whole appearance of his face.
Alarm set over me, and I began asking him questions.
He showed me his hand, which was also swollen--his left hand, and he is right-handed.
I woke my husband and he suggested we give him benadryl and check the internet for possible causes.
Hubby was convinced it was an allergic reaction, after running his search.
So we did Benadryl and ice packs and a bath to wash off whatever it was.
I was skeptical...
that mama voice in the back of my head echoing the last two trips to the ER--
I was bordering on panic, inside, but thanks to my Mom's example I am generally super calm on the outside and able to handle stuff like that.
I finally fully believed it was a topical allergy of some sort when we took off his pants for the bath--little monkey had handled his unit enough with the hand that had touched whatever the allergen was to cause freakish swelling there, as well.
It kinda made me laugh...my boys love to be naked and for anyone who has boys, you'll back me up--they are constantly fiddling with the thing.
So I guess that's how I knew it wasn't something more mysterious and was able to let the benadryl do its job and quit feeling like we were about to spend another week in the hospital.
This poor little One of mine.
He is nearly normal again, and I'm wishing I would have gotten a picture of his face.


yes, Justin, the beer was absolutely wonderful!
We each had a couple before leaving for our evening out, and the quality was much appreciated by all.
Utah has WEAK beer, for anyone wondering what that is all about.
It was so much fun to meet my blogger buddies in real life.
We had fun conversation, great pool games--
wherein I showcased my complete lack of skill, and heard Becky's awesome "first time" story!
We look forward to getting together again.
And still, i need to write about the evening properly.

this is an audio post - click to play