i didn't die i didn't die

wooooo hoooo
i had a fucking blast, and i have a lot to say, but we are headed out for the evening and i must shower.
wanna come?

full update tomorrow.
fuck yeah.
skiing.
gawd.
and i didn't even fall down.
except once but it wasn't my fault and i'll tell you the story tomorrow.
and yes, this is what it's like to try to get me off the phone...

hitting the slopes

quite literally, i imagine...
got invited on a last minute skiing gig.
this will be my third time ever.
and last time i went, i nearly killed myself and everyone in my path...
yeah.
so if you don't hear from me EVER AGAIN...
it was nice knowing you.
i'm really excited, it should be a beautiful day.
we got snow today, so it'll be fresh powder....
eeeeeek!!
and if you hear someone screaming tomorrow, and you don't know where it's coming from...
chances are, it's me, hurling down the mountain toward certain death.
why am i excited???

dashing and daring and dark and dangerous

am i being dramatic?
definitely.

whether you give a shit or not...
here are some pictures of my new color.
it's hard to tell how different it is, from pictures.
but i love it.
and check out those eyebrows!

from the back...


i am holding my hair back, because i couldn't find a clip...


found one.

Fantasy Friday

I had so much fun with haikus last night, that i think i'll stick with that.
but since they'll be dirty, nay--limerick-like, i'll call them limerickus, or haiku-ericks...erm..
(and please keep in mind i'm just spitting these out as i go, so they may completely suck)

a hand on my thigh
as i look into your eyes
my knee rubs your crotch

*****
soft and smooth you are
i love to be touched by you
right there--oh...oh...ooooooooh

*****
alone in the house
"when i think about you i--"
think about you lots

****
standing in the hall
your voice echos, loud with rage
you were early home

*****
steaming up windows
paradise by dashboard light?
licking, sucking you

*****
whips handcuffs leather
pain is pleasure, pleasure is--
your ass is mine, bitch

*****
rose petals champagne
two girls kiss for the first time
and can not stop there

******
the roar of a bike
cling to you, wind in my hair
ride into the night

*****
I am on my knees
you grab my hair and breathe hard
just like that baby

*****
long coat, little else
you sit at your desk waiting--
for me, with no idea

*****
my ecstasy loud
we rock the bed to the wall
this is perfection

*******
we are not alone
you may join us if you wish
we love to be watched

******
you touch me just right
without even trying you
make me moan and scream

******
covered in chocolate
i lick you from head to toe
hoping you'll lick back

*****
wet before we touch
i have waited for so long
slide you into me

*****
seeing you again
was like remembering why
i ever felt love

*****
thinking of you now
is like travelling through time
we are together

*****
the first time we touched
i knew you would not be mine
for more than a day

*****
panting writhing us
loud music playing nearby
the party goes on

*****
forbidden passion
i need you you need me too
we will not get caught

**************************
p.s. I have had reports of a particular user not being able to access my comments, so if anyone else has problems, please email me, as your comments are valuable to me.

Fantasy Friday??

damn, i almost forgot.
again.
maybe that's a sign...
i was over at The Real World blogger style, sitting in the hot tub throwing around more sexual inuendos and open invitations than a band of horny teenage boys thrown into a swingers convention.

so you'd think i'd have plenty to write about...
but i'm too distracted by all the fun.
so if you ever are bored, head on over there. them's some fun folks.

we did a little haiku thing, which i almost ran away from, in fear of having my ignorance exposed. but, in true real world style, i faced my fear and with lots of tears and hugging...grew as a person. okay, minus the tears and hugging, and really not so much with the personal growth...but i did grasp the concept and churn one out.
so here it is

skin slides over skin
breathing heavy tongues touch lips
then your mom walks in

and my newest friend/lover/sidekick/coke habit composed one that fits the theme, so she said i could post it. That would be dvl, from the Real World Blogger Style. She is bloggless as far as i know, but i've been too busy chatting to research that point, so if i'm wrong, sue me or bite me or really can't we all just get along??

forbidden lovers
sneak away and meet at lunch
feeding hungry hearts

and i'm in love with haikus, officially.
so expect to see more of them in the future.
perhaps a haiku wednesday or something...
i will write smut tomorrow.
my king sized bed/husband are calling to me.
(and yes both bed and husband are king sized...)

flying by the seat of my tight little pants

somehow that didn't sound as sexy as i intended.
bah.
anyway, on a whim i went to the salon with my grilfriend...
and you'll never guess what i did.
no, not THAT.
perhaps someday, with some girl, but not this one.
oh she's pretty enough, but far too conservative.
wow.
how'd i get off on that tangent??
jeeez.
one track mind.
reminds of the nickname i got in college.
8 track mind.
cuz...
it was a one track mind, as far as being boy crazy--everything revolved around meeting boys, talking to boys, kissing boys.
BUT, i always had about 8 crushes at once.
yeah, i know, i'm kind of a huge-normous dork.
kind of???
well.
totally and completely, but i'm okay with that.
so.
back to the salon.
i dyed my hair.
really dark.
some red, but mostly dark.
it looks fucking awesome.
and the coolest part is that she also dyed my eyebrows.
...which revealed the unbeknownst large amount of eyebrow hair.
it was basically invisible before so i never bothered to pluck.
so...
she waxed em too.
doesn't hurt nearly as bad as everyone says.
bunch of sissies.
that's my word of the day.
for other people, not for me.
i'm a bad ass mother fucker.
quite literally, if you want to know the truth.
i'm bad, i'm an ass, i'm a mother, and if the hubby's here--i'm a fucker.
yeah, i know.
i've already admitted to being a bigger dork than anyone you've ever met or will meet.
and yes, there will be pictures forthcoming.
it's just that it's all stiff and full of salon junkola right now and not particularly at its best.

night--

raindrops on roses

and whiskers on kittens.

you might be wondering if those are a few of my favorite things.
eh, i suppose.
i mean, not if it's a short list, but possibly in the top twenty or thirty.
hangnails and burned tongues, ehhh, not so much.

so now that you're all caught up on that.

just reminded my husband of the whole "making an ass out of u and me" clause associated with assumptions.
he said his boss was meeting with E and Y.
I asked what that was.
he went into this long winded explanation of the fact that they're an actuarial consulting firm and that some companies don't hire actuaries they just contract it out to a consultant and blah blah BLAH.
i'm nearly snoring at this point and he says something about Ernst and Young are blah blah blah.
and i say, 'E and Y???? why didn't you just tell me it stood for Ernst and Young??'
apparently i'm the only person alive who's not on acronym basis with them.
what're the odds?
(hee hee hee hee hee)

so i did it.
i submitted an article to Lick magazine.
i have another one ready to go, but i'll wait for a while.
and i guess i'm not supposed to tell you which one it is, because that's the whole point...
but the updated issue comes out on Sunday, so you should all go read it because there will be a bunch of great posts, as usual.
i love this concept.
it gets me all twittery every time i think of it, all the possibilities for gut spillage--for creativity--for story telling.
sparkles my eye, upturns my lips.

i want to wrap myself in satin and smoke something.
i want to run through a warm rain in my bare feet.
i want to climb a tree, row a boat, ride a horse.
i want to drive a fast car, slow around a curve then bury that needle.
i want to remember to appreciate the easy, happy life i have.
i want to run a marathon.
i want to have time to read thoroughly and enjoy every email, blog post, and milk carton.
i want to sit on the moon and read a book, take a nap.

i am a fountain pouring my thoughts and feelings into the sky as they splash down around me.

good night.
sleep tight.
if you have bed bugs--call the exterminator you cheap bastard.

feeling like i'm on the set of the Lawrence Welk show....

and no, it's not becuase of the crappy ass big band music i have playing.
although i suppose that is contributing...
it's the bubble machine.
or, rather, the two miniature bubble machines.
i hope soap is good for leather...

but at least the sun is shining and it's warm.
which means...
that if i ever get my sorry ass into the shower (and this is assuming i'll get back out...) that we'll go outside to play.
ride bikes around the block, take a towel to dry off the slide...
mmmm....
i don't dare to hope that spring is really here, but i'll enjoy the days of warmth mother nature tosses my way.
in case you're wondering what spring is like in utah...
check this post from last spring.
although i'm sure i'll be repeating the general rant of it.

and i think it's hilarious that my kids think they can have anything which is now forbidden, when they get bigger.
this includes: beer, caffeine soda, protein bars, matches, playing in the road, throwing their toys....
and max just said he wants to grow me inside his belly.
this was his response to my explanation that i had grown him in my belly....
i have GOT to stop getting myself backed into these bird/bee corners!!

do you know what's nice about your husband going away for a couple of days?
no, not the skinemax, i'd rather have him do the heavy lifting.
no, not leaving the dishes undone for two days.
no, not avoiding cooking a single meal for two days.
it's when he walks in the door.
and when he closes the bedroom door and turns off the tv.

something rotten in the state of utah

okay, pretty much everything is rotten in this place.
but really i just meant something crazy is going on in my house.
you take ONE damn Shakespeare class and you think you're cool.
it's a hazard.
anyway, back to the rotten-ness.
i'll spare you the details...(okay, probably not enough of the details...)
but i bought my first box of nasty sugar cereal for the boys and they ate way too much of it yesterday.
just as snacks.
i would never consider that shit a meal.
please.
i used to make my own babyfood--surprisingly easy.
and i only feed them whole grains and they love vegetables.
see?
they're not just wild little devils.
they're healthy wild little devils.
who are not used to having much sugar...
anyway, bottom line is, all the food coloring in that stuff has made a second appearance.
bleck.

so i got some wonderful emails from my friend J. over the weekend and as i replied to her I remembered.
i remembered how super duper exactly right it is when i write to her.
in fact, that's one reason i started a blog in the first place, and now i don't use that voice at all.
and that's just plain no good.
so i'll work on it.
whatever.

oh and i had a deep thought the other day.
and since that's about as common as, say, rain in the desert? i'll share it with you.
(side note: it has taken me well over a half hour to get this far. the kids are being vastly more than mildly uncooperative.)
my deep thought was this: whenever i say i'm writing a novel (and believe me it's more often than necessary), the very first question anyone asks is, "what's it about?"
and this irritates the bloody hell out of me.
why?
well, because it's not a simple answer.
and it reminds me of when this friend of mine got divorced.
and this is what she said, "people ask me why i got divorced and i can't tell them. there wasn't just one reason. there were so many things that just added up and made it inevitable."
so that's how i feel about the book.
it's not a simple answer.
to say it's a romance is very misleading.
to say it's a tale of sex drugs and rockn roll.
well, i guess that's right on the money, but even that isn't enough.
i guess it's just too close to my heart to want to put a label on it.
and just writing this has made me ache to pour myself into it again, to finish that bastard up and start the endless procession of rejection letters.
i'm actually eager to get the first ones because each one i get is just one step closer to an acceptance.
awwwww!
isn't that optimistic attitude cute?
don't you just want to slap me?
anyway, whatever.
i want to take my lap top and run away for a few weeks, months, years...
whatever it takes to get some real fucking writing done.
some uninterupted, guilt-free, sink in and feel it writing.
see?
like right this very second i am answering my sons questions that he is hollering to me from the playroom.
for some reason he's worried that i'm going to leave without him.
i'm in my fucking pajamas.
not going anywhere, sweets, don't you worry.

i know, i know.
no one forced me to have kids.
i love them to smithereens.
but jesus friggin cripes.

okay, enough pissing and moaning.

how about if we talk about the weather?
would that be a nice harmless little jaunt?
not that i would know anything about the weather.
i've just crawled out of a two day hangover.
which is totally weird cuz i really didn't drink that much.
i'm going with the "someone slipped something into my drink" theory.
cuz that looks waaaay better to me right now than the "i'm so fucking old and crusty that i can't handle a few beers anymore" theory.
that one sucks.

and the next time i get one of those "get prescriptions online" emails.
i'm ordering a case of valium.
i think my life would be so much more...
oh, i don't know...
more fuzzy and soft and unperturbable.
i may have just made that word up, but i like it.

i would also like to name today Parentheses Day.
i've used more sets of parentheses in this post than probably in all others combined.
and that should count for something...

oh.
well, i guess i can't really give this day a second holiday...
happy Mardi Gras, everyone.
have the phatest of Fat Tuesdays and say something french to everyone you meet, or at least flash them your boobies.
and if they look at you funny (for that last one) just give them the stink eye and ask with great annoyance, "where are my beads?"

well that's just fucking great

it seems i deleted half of my template today.
that's why my sidebar is gone.
do i have a backup copy of it somewhere?
of course not.
so pardon the rubble and wish me luck...


kay it's fixed.
and it only took me a half hour.
good thing my kids were throwing tantrums the whole time.
and i know i have left some links off the side bar, but i couldn't remember them all.
dammit.
and that's how i deleted it in the first place--trying to add new links.
fuckity fuck.
hey if you have any special requests for my links bar, or if you know of any of them that are missing...
oh come on, help a girl out.
i have a shitty memory.
good night.

i think my hangover skipped a day...

what does that mean??
like...
i know with working out if you're not sore the day after a workout but you are sore the day after that, then it was a deeper workout.
so...
does this mean i was a deeper shade of drunk?
probably.
cuz i feel just as bad today as i did yesterday.
i'm turning into a one woman liquor store here!
but when there is karaoke on the table, i can't resist the bottle...
hmm.
that's a strange brand of alcoholism.
i wonder if there's a Karaoke Anonymous?
KA
with a branch for karaoke alcoholics, which is separate from the regular karaoke addicts group?
i bet Tyler Durden has been to that meeting.

do you ever feel like a hamster, running on his little wheel?
or for that matter, like i do on a treadmill?
i clean the house, do the laundry, do the dishes...
but they're never done.
there's no end.
i guess that's sort of a defeatist way to look at life.
those are supposed to be the little things, the things you just do cuz they have to be done, but they don't take over your world...
well.
they are my world.
and in my world, i'm the boss and the slacker lazy ass on-probation employee.
I should fire my ass.
and hire us a nice little maid (fat and ugly, don't even suggest otherwise).
well, unless it's a boy maid.
then he better be hot and thorough.
or i could just suck it up and pretend i love my job.
fuck that.
i think i know the answer to that tree falling in the forest riddle.
if no one is here to see, then my house is actually spotless.
now, i don't want you to think i'm living in a pigsty.
cuz i'm not.
i love order and neatness and that is why it bugs me when i have to gallop all day just to keep up.
i'd love to just lay around and let someone else do it all.
at least occassionally.
like on day two of a hangover...
any takers?
i'll give you five bucks.
and a little nookie.
and yes, i'll wear the french maid uniform.

watched The L Word again last night.
it still sucks.
and i've decided that one of the main problems is the casting.
most of the actors are wrong for the role.
the blond pregnant one?
hate her.
she's a terrible actress and does not fit that role.
the boyfriend/husband who walked in on his girlfriend with another woman?
i like him as an actor, but something's not quite right there.
maybe it's just the script.
or the direction.
because there are very few little nips of goodness about that show.
there was one moment of steaminess last night, but certainly not enough to justify watching the whole damn show.
no, it was just enough to drive my lazy ass up a few channels, to skinemax (i say lazy because there is a stack of juicy DVD's in the closet but that's too much work) for the main course.
oh well.
i guess the world does not revolve around my sexual pleasure after all.
i should look into that...

found a great hangover cure...

okay, maybe "great" is stretching it a bit.
and "cure" makes it sound a little too healthy and/or good.
buuut....
after lying on my friend's bathroom floor for an hour, wishing i could puke...
i took a bowl for the ride home.
and thank god for that.
filled that sucker to the brim.
damn but i hate puking.
but, as i said, the good news is puking=no hangover.
so maybe i'll stop talking about it now and we'll all feel better.
sorry...

anyway.
we had a great time, before all that.
and i feel the need to mention: i wasn't even particularly drunk, oddly enough.
went to the same bar as before, sang karaoke again.
only this time we chose the song.
pearl jam...um.
shit.
i can't remember the song.
that's pretty sad.
anyway, we sounded a lot better than before--oh, better man.
they closed before we got around to singing again, but i think we've found a new hobby.
anyone know a good voice teacher???
i could use a few (thousand) lessons...
oh well.
it's fun and that's all that matters to me.
and lots of people sang good songs.
i did a little better at pool and we gave a tour of the ladies room to a couple of guys.
they were impressed and envious.
it is rather pretty.

so, my husband won a "meet and greet" pass to one of the metallica shows we're going to.
i am so insanely jealous.
we're working on some blueprints for a "fat guy" suit for him to wear that would have a hollow place for me to hide inside.
and when i say "working on"...
well, i really just mean more like "not working on".
but you get the idea.
if i could pass as his conjoined twin, i'd do it.
if i could dress in camouflage and hope they wouldn't notice me, i'd do it.
i would stutter like a 14 year old geek asking out the hot neighbor girl.
that's okay.
we'll be in the front row.
and the first show is 3 weeks from yesterday.
holy fuck.
i think i'm going to pee my pants, i'm so excited!!!
or at least start shopping for leather pants.
and a temporary Metallica tatoo.
and/or a real one...
okay, not really.
but i do need a new tatoo.
just not that.

i just sent hubby off to the airport.
he's going to phoenix for a couple of days for a training course.
i'm kind of excited to have a cople of evenings to myself for writing...
we'll see if i actually get anything done...
maybe a pool boy or two...
but that doesn't count.

also, i have a bunch of emails to catch up on.
i have developed a really strange aversion to email.
it might be an allergy, or a phobia, but i haven't decided yet.
at any rate, it's highly unsettling.
i just want less contact with real people, is that too much to ask??
i mean, email is so invasive and personal.
so present and demanding...
okay, so none of that stuff is true.
but i couldn't think of anything else.
back off.
even if i don't have a hangover, i still didn't get much sleep.
and that's my excuse for my brain dead state today.
check back tomorrow for a new and exciting excuse.

now i think i'll try to write a little something for the most fabulous Lick Magazine.
if you haven't checked it out yet, please take a moment and do so.
you'll thank me later.
what?
oh yes you will.
even if i have to bitch slap it out of you.

i should be showering

and no, that's not a reference to yesterday's story.
i just need to take a shower, and i'm suppsed to be leaving right now...

but.
i had a waking nightmare today, and i need to share.
headed out to do "the" grocery shopping.
stopped at the atm to check my balance, make sure hubby had transferred my grocery money into my account.
(this is easier for him and makes me feel all sorts of falsely independent)
it was there, and i decided to take out $20 so i didn't have to run the card at the health food store.
as i took my cash and receipt...
and began to roll up my window...
the stupid machine was still beeping.
odd.
so i drove away and went to the health food store.
spent my twenty, and noticed my card was not in my wallet.
hmm.
must have left it in the car.
forgot to check, went into the grocery store, spent an hour or so picking out everything i needed.
including some kick ass swordfish steaks and some cool face wash clothes for after the gym....
yes, my life is THAT dull.
so, as i head to the check out, i remember i never retrieved the debit card.
i don't have alternate methods of payment...
so i stash the cart and run to my car.
no card.
and as i peer beneath the seat from a really strange and uncomfortable angle....
it hits me.
that beeping?
yeah.
it was ATM language for: you forgot your card dumbass!!!
fu
uh
uh
ck.
so i run back in and take my cart to a helpful employee who stashes it in the walk in meat locker.
while i drive home with the blood pressure of a heart attack victim....
hubby was not impressed.

oh well.
at least it's over.
and now i'm heading to dinner at my brother's house.
and then it's off to celebrate a friend's birthday in a drunken and happy manor.
and hopefully i'll have the time/energy/motivation to give the hubby a little lovin somewhere in all that.
preferably NOT in the guest room at my brother's.
maybe we'll have to stop by BYU....

happy saturday to you.

is it too late for lovin?

nah.
never too late.
sure, maybe some of you will miss out.
but that's not my problem.
you'll deal.

okay, here goes.

Fantasy Friday XIII

i was thinking about you in the shower again.
that's dangerous, by the way.
i'm going to end up blacking out and hitting my head and drowning.
but i was.
i was pretending you were in there with me.
that it was your hand rubbing gently.
that you were pressing me against the tiles, my leg around yours for support.
your strong back, your washboard stomach.
i imagined touching every inch of you.
i imagined that you grabbed my ass to pull me close.
i almost felt your lips on my neck, my ear, my mouth.
i could smell that unmistakable man-smell in my fruit and flower shower.
i could taste your skin, as the salt was washed away.
you were there.
the hand on my tits was yours.
the pleasure i felt was delivered by you.
i wanted more of you, all of you.
I felt your weight against me, as i reached that sweet crescendo.
but when i opened my eyes, you were gone.

nothing

i've got nothing.
nothing to say.
no stories to tell.
no songs to sing.
no fish to fry.
no fat to chew.

my head is full of that crap it's full of when you have a cold.
i'm tired.
but i had a nice dinner with lots of family.
it's so weird to not be mormon sometimes.

my stupid cell phone is a piece of shit.

my dad bought a truck today.
but wait, doesn't he live 3,000 miles away?
yup.
he's sort of addicted to buying vehicles.
last time he came out here, he bought a cadillac.
do they NOT sell cars in Maine??
apparently he's already bought them all...

i wish i had something fantastic to write tonight.
something mind blowing or mildly entertaining.
something that would turn your night to day, or sweep all the clouds away.
if i could just dig down and pull (like lint from between my toes) something deep and insightful from the depths of me.
i would do it.
for you (and you).
i wish i had something something something.

and i just realized tomorrow's friday.
this self imposed deadline.
i will write something...

politics are lame

almost as lame as politicians.
and when i say lame--i mean, like totally freaking useless and stupid.
yeah.

i am sunburned again.
skin cancer?
bring it on.

we also went for a hike today.
it was 50 degrees, or so.
which is always what happens before a big fat stanky snow storm.
we get a couple of days of warmth, so i guess it's worth it.
anyway, the hike was great.
the boys were ecstatic and cute.
making up for all the whining earlier.
AND.
giving me false hope that they might continue to be cute cuddly non-pooping in pants children.
nope.
sent em to the mcdonald's playland with my parents while hubby went to the gym.
bad idea.
really bad.
twin b thought it would be fun to poop.
in his underwear.
if i asked you to shoot me NOW, would you do it??
i mean.
really.
did i frigging sign up for this???
oh yeah...
i guess i did.
but fuuuuck.
seriously.
Kat, you live in Texas, you must have a gun (pardon the stereotype)...
please, please, please put me out of my misery.
for it is great.
and vast.
and rolling in waves over me like the stench of poop....

still, it was a great day.
oh, and i forgot the best part of my cheating husband dream!
it was woven with bloggers and stuff of blugs. or blogs.
damn keyboard.
doesn't it know i meant to hit the 'o'??

perhaps this is a sing.
fuck.
did i forget how to type in ONE DAY??
sign.
not sing.

moms are cool.
especially when they do your dishes and buy you stuff and play hide and seek with your kids and tell you family secrets...
and dads are cool.
especially when they fix stuff around the house like the lock on the downstairs bathroom.
so i can actually take a piss in peace.
you have no idea how thrilling this is.
let's just say, i've had to explain the whole menstrual cycle to 3 year old boys because of that broken lock.
so yeah.
i'm stoked.

some perfectly fitting calvin klein jeans and a couple of very cute shirts.
that's happiness.
in case you were wondering.
clothes.
gaaaaaaawd i love clothes.

okay it's time to sleep.
or at least lay awake trying not to swallow (and no, not that way).
wish me luck.
and at least tomorrow i get to go to dinner with my brothers and parents and aunt & uncle.
i love babysitters.
i ought to give them a raise.
they make my life worth living...

just a quick one

brain dead.
no sleep last night...
i have this intensely sore throat which oddly kept me awake.
tossing and turning and dreaming of a cheating husband.
again.
he's such a prick that way.
always with the sleeping with hot girls while i'm asleep.
he's not too pleased with it either, since he doesn't get to have the dreams himself...

so, we nixed the Vegas idea since there was a snow storm moving in...
woosies.
and also...
10 hours in the car in one day...
with my dad driving...
not pretty.
couldn't be as bad as the time last summer when he insisted on chaufering me on a 6 hour round trip.
this meant that i would be wedged between the two carseats in the back of a cadillac with great air conditioning which he refused to use...
why---cuz it'll eat up all that premium fucking gas??
crazy old man.
that was a bad day.

anyway.
we're having fun and my throat hurts but i'll live.
most likely.
mom took me shopping--woo hoo!
i love clothes.

okay.
time to go.

feeling all sorts of confused from my lack of internet activity...
if you don't hear from me again soon, send help.
or naked pictures.

is today monday or tuesday??

hard to tell sometimes...

went to the frigging tanning bed yesterday.
why?
well, because my husband wanted to.
i feel hopelessly vain and silly.
oh yeah, and a bit pink.
damned irish skin.
but i have to say...
i liiiiiiike it.

so my parents are in town for the week.
i might get a bit spare with entries this week, so beware.
you may have to find your spiritual enlightenment elseware...
i know, it'll be tough.
but get a 12 step program or something, you damned sissy.

we're planning to go to Vegas tomorrow.
quick day trip...
Dad loooooves to gamble and it's been 28 years since he's been to Vegas.
oh he stops at the reservation casinos in connecticut, etc.
but that's not the same.
Vegas Baby!!
i'm sure it'll be much less exciting than my trip next month for metallica.
but it's still vegas.

So i finally caught an episode of The L Word the other night.
I read a review of it recently and was curious...
it was pure crap.
i may have missed the one really hot scene, but still.
the rest was blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.
i'm not even going to bother with a summary.

kids are beyond whiney.
and i am beyond bitchy.
and of course i have 56.3 things to do before my parents get here at noon.
that's two hours.
i suck.
(but at least i'm good at it.)
seriously, i'm such a fucking procrastinator.
it makes me sick.

i apologize for this crap assed post.
but all i want to do right now is scream so it's hard to write.
and in between scolding the kids it's even harder to not scream.
what the hellllll gave them the idea that having candy for breakfast is even a remote enough possibility that they can ask for it once, let alone 463 times?????
oh, it was YOU, was it?
i always knew you had it out for me.
you cocksucker.

which reminds me.
why is that such an insult?
i mean, why is such a commonly used insult, as opposed to "you carpet muncher"?

and i just burped protein bar.
it was a new kind and it tasted strongly of something green...like grass, maybe?
i can't place the taste.
sick.
in any case, i won't be having anymore of THAT kind.
blech.

okay, i had a moment of peace but i'm being summoned again.
damn evil midgets.

have a happy and midget free day.
and by midget i mean 3 year old twin boys.

oh, i just discovered the source of the whining.
a half eaten bag of marshmellows.
so that's half the problem--now tell me why i'm so damn bitchy!
i know.
it's just my nature.
but it's worse today, trust me.
they're finally tucked away with a movie so i can get the dishes done and get dressed.
but here i sit.
just for another minute though.
promise.
i'm going to attempt a trip to the store with them.
do NOT say "i told ya so" when i come back without them.
it's true, they might be bad enough that i sell them to the cashier for 50 cents.
but don't tell.

oooooh.
adam sandler on a comedy channel Conan.
love him so fucking nmuch.
bye.

oh what a night...late december back in 63

name that band.

so anyway.
it was a great night and yet here i am...
could this be considered an obsession, perhaps??
oh well.

but the thing is, i had to report the coolest thing.
ever.
in my world.
apparently yeseterday's first story inspired my husband...
we had a couple of drinks.
then walked onto byu campus.
then rode to the top of the tallest building.
12 stories.
and proceeded to do what comes naturally...
and no i don't mean stand there awkwardly, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other co-occupants.
i took sociology 101 in that building.
think they know how tempting it is to have sex there?
campus was desserted, except for the dances going on in one corner.
as we walked through a couple of buildings to get to the one we needed, we decided that if it was locked any of the other buildings would do.
turning back was not an option.
this was the ultimate desecration of holy land for me.
you have NO idea.
the only thing that would have made it better is if we weren't married., and ok, maybe having illegal substances in our bodies and/or having a third person join in the fun...but you know what i'm saying.

yeah, looks like i'm a "kiss and tell" kind of girl.
well.
i guess all i have to say to that is: neener neener.
fantastic night all around.
you know how sometimes you plan stuff and it doesn't happen right, or you're not in the right mood when it comes down?
today was smooooooth sailing.
great dinner.
perfect gifts for each other.
and love in an elevator.
g.o.d. what a rush!
okay, so it was highly unlikely that we would get caught.
but still.
yeah.
perfection.

some bonus love in honor of the big day

Fantasty Friday XII-b

waiting for the knock on the door.
lying there in the dark.
her breathing competes with the ticking of the clock.
her roommate asleep in the bunk bed above.
the cool sheets against her naked body remind her to check the clock.
he's late.
she's ready.
oh god, is she ready.
she reaches down to touch the smooth place where there used to be hair, and teases herself for a moment.
finally the soft knock on the door, and he slips into bed with her.
you're sure? he asks, kicking his pants to the floor.
now, she says.
but--
now, she moans.
--are you really a virgin?
ask me again in five minutes, she whispers, pulling him into her with a gasp.
the bed creaks in a frantic rhythm, as she completes the last item on her list of "things to do when i get to college."
this is better than i expected, she thinks to herself as the sweet, nameless boy kisses her neck and rocks his pelvis--just so, hitting that perfect spot....
she feels freer already.
free of her clingy parents and her small town boyfriend.
free of her own fears of this unknown.
when he collapses next to her on that tiny bed she only gives him a moment to catch his breath before climbing him, ready to devour him whole.
she pins his arms above his head and kisses him hard.
then she slides down, down.
caressing and licking, bringing him back to life.
the bed above creaks as her roommate rolls over.
they pause, for a moment, wondering if they've been caught.
the roommate peeks over the edge, her long hair spilling down to brush the other girl's shoulder, grinning broadly.
can i play?

Happy Friday the 13th!

i wrote a morbid story to go with the day, but this one needs to go up first.
i liked it...a LOT, ahem...so i hope it finds you the same...

Fantasy Friday XII: Love in an Elevator...

sitting across from you, i see your lips moving, but none of the words make it to my ears.
the clattering of silverware and the white noise of distant conversations are fading as well.
i slide around the bench seat so we're closer and reach inside your pants.
you swallow hard and take a quick look around.
then you smile at me and keep talking, although now none of the words make sense to you, either.
you glance down and my skirt is pulled back, my legs spread just enough, just for you to see...
you reach for your glass and take a drink, hoping to maintain the appearance of normalcy.
your free hand grabs the edge of the bench, knuckles white.
you begin to sweat as i massage in a beautiful rhythm.
for all your efforts, you cannot stop yourself from calling out in release as i fill a red linen napkin with warm and sticky you.
you cover with a forced coughing fit and we pay quickly and scramble to a cab.
you push me against the door and reach up my skirt, your fingers sinking deep, your mouth on mine.
payback's a bitch...you whisper as the cabbie asks whereto?
bring it on i whisper back, then bite your neck to keep from squealing.
you grunt the address to the man in the front seat, then open my shirt.
my nipple in your teeth, my hands in your hair,
the cabbie turns on the defroster, turns up the music--and adjusts his mirror.
you're hard again and i don't know if i can wait to have you inside me.
you toss a 20 over the seat for this $6 ride and we punch in the code for your building.
the lobby is quiet and the elevator empty...
as it edges past floor 4, I open your pants and you punch the stop button.
you brace me against the wall and i pull you into me, clawing at your back, panting harder, oh god, harder!
we climax together, release the elevator and cover oursleves.

as we walk into the party, your wife smiles at me, thanking me for making sure you made it on time.
i excuse myself, to take my coat back to the bedroom.
you follow, locking the door.
in that pile of coats we fuck harder and faster than before but can't seem to stop.
every orgasm means we must start over.
no one seems to notice that the professor and his protege are walking around smelling like sex, with cloudy eyes and smudged lipstick.
these two who keep turning up missing at the same moments all night.
these two who emerged from the bathroom together, running into an unsuspecting guest, and mumbling something about finding an asprin, while tucking in their shirts.

***Happiest of horny valentine's days to you all***

i feel a storm brewing

nah, not in my soul.
nothing like that.
i just had mexican for dinner last night.

actually, i'm just trying to be intriguing.
i guess i should have said, "It was a dark and stormy night..."
but it wasn't.
it was actually a rather bland, unremarkable day.
it was a little sunny, but the rain was coming.
the day my muscles started aching.
the day my life started slipping away.
the day i first knew he wouldn't be back.

whoa.
i think i kinda did it.
are you intrigued?
i need to start writing real stuff.
like, as in...
a story with some depth and characters and important things or thoughts or thistles...
maybe i can rent out my kids by the week, like a summer home for couples considering starting a family.
(such a harmless, sweet phrase: starting a family...aw, how cute, how fucking special.)
a little shock treatment.
that'll keep em well stocked in birth control.
believe you me.
anyway.
if i did that, i could have time to write.
or my husband.
maybe i'll rent him out by the hour.
...like a training course for newlyweds.
nah, this is how you give her multiples....
hmm.
why in the bloody hell am i fixated on newlyweds?
maybe i fell asleep with the game show channel on and they had a Newlyweds marathon.
or maybe i'm nostalgic for my own days as a newlywed from the bouquet rant yesterday.
or maybe i just have no creativity so i used the same scenario twice.

i would like to take a moment to direct your attention to my ass.
there is a nice open spot for you to kiss, if you don't mind.
that's right.
oh, getting cute, are you?
which acre.
that's original--how bout i plow your back 40 with my foot and you can choose which acre?

do you ever wonder if i have multiple personalities?
i don't.
but i think you might, since i talk to myself with such ease, such grace.
nah.
it's just that i'm a talented writer.
oops, just snorted water out my nose over that one.
it's possible that if i focused and worked hard i could churn out something of worth.
but since i'm not only a lazy fuck but have more distractions than an ADD nymphomaniac in a sex shop....
we'll probably never find out what i have to offer.

and that's okay, too.
i'm reading a book for the first time in a couple of months.
Diary, Chuck Palahniuk.
i know, i'm like a day late and a dollar short and stuff.
i'm the last person alive to read one of his books.
but i'm enjoying it.
so fuck right the hell off.
do that whole ass kissing exercise again, too.
if you don't mind.
hey, you'll thank me.
it's good for you.
it strengthens your bendis overum muscle.
that's right.
so that when the guy at the car repair shop or the cell phone billing people or your un-promoting boss want to give it to you---
you're ready.

party poopers

we ditched the concert.
we got up there...
it was cold.
we were hungry...
and we realized, we didn't care about the first 3 bands.
and we didn't want to be up that late on a work day...
so yeah.
my true colors are showing now!
frigging almost 30 tired old fuck.
that's me.
well...to be fair, it was mostly my husband who didn't want to go.
but we had a fantastic dinner.
tried to order a beer.
got carded, didn't have my license.
lame.
no biggie.
but they had michelobe ultra on tap which only means we'll be going back.

filed our taxes today.
refund.
probably enough to pay for the custody lawyer.
i hate that stupid bitch.
why the fuck does her infidelity and selfishness have to keep fucking up MY life???
her divorce should not be impacting us in the least.
but we're the ones getting screwed.
and of course the child.
who has lost the 2nd father in 6 years.
i hate her.
i wish she would_________
(sorry, my superstions about karma prevent me from saying all the horrible things i think she deserves.)
but she does.

okay enough of that..
let's have some sparkle some glitter some joy.
let's party like it's 1999.
let's feeeeeeeeel good (na na na na na na).
let's spin in circles, staring up at the sky, laughing and dizzy.
let's run through a green meadow, almost reaching that pot of gold.
did you ever do that as a kid?
we used to. i remember the street i lived on until i was 8, the street that led to the most perfect tiny beach.
five minutes on bikes.
i cracked open my whole face coming down that hill once.
and i was disappointed that it had healed already when school started.
anyway, the rainbows always seemed to end at the ocean, so we'd bike down there and run along the rocks, hoping we could get close enough...
everything fresh and smelling like rain, but with the sun poking through again.
why is everything so beautiful there?
and by there i mean in Memoryville.
so sharp so clear--so perfect.
the hot sand under my toes, the gulls screeching above.
the hum of a lobster boat close to shore.
the islands on the horizon, close and clear if there's a storm coming, smudged and distant if not.
the way everything looked bigger from inside that small town.
let's laugh like we're 10 years old again.
and taking the canoe out in the pond, collecting tadpoles.
a chrysallis on a stick in a jar.
being there the day it turns into a monarch.
orange and black, so delicate and strong.
sitting in the O's backyard setting an elaborate wedding scene for our Barbies, fighting over who gets to name her doll Mindy...

and that god damn bouquet staring at me from the desk.
my wedding bouquet that is beautiful but a huge disapointment.
the exact opposite of my request.
no roses, i said.
just these.
in a bunch.
enough to make the stems this big around.
single white ribbon.
no roses.
oh well.
so proud of her creation.
do you like it?
smiling.
you fucking bitch it's my wedding day and i have a million things left to do before the ceremony including pick up his ring and figure out my hair and remember to shave and learn to not trip in these 17 inch platform heels.
fuck you and your fucking attitude of doing it the same way you do it for every other god damn cookie cutter bride in this god damn herd of sheep place.
yes, it's great.
thank you.
fuck YOU, Lisa.
for being a pussy and not in the good way.
that's what i always see out of the corner of my eye as i type.
not the smile on my face.
or his.
and how happy we were in our naivite.
not the many wonderful friends and family.
not the shadow of the girl who wasn't invited but came anyway.
a girl from his past.
but fuck you, because i read the letters you wrote him and you're as dumb as rocks.
you couldn't spell or even put together sentences in an interesting manner.
you sounded like a 5th grader, but you were 19.
nope, all i see is that damn bouquet.
and it looks nice.
but i wish i would have had the guts, the time the energy to say: no, this is not what i ordered. make me a new one. now.
fortunately, that is the only regret i have of that day.
the harpist could have been a little fucking louder, too.
i'm smiling right now remembering running into a friend a year or so later.
they asked how's the baby?
welll, he's 3 now, we just dropped him off at his mother's.
no, your baby.
i don't have a baby.
oh...
we heard you got married cuz you were pregnant.
kind of funny, and not surprising since it was a short courtship and an even shorter engagement.
felt like i lived in a small town again and it made me chuckle.

it will be spring soon.
and i can climb every mountain.
or at least a few.
i can wear tank tops and short shorts.
on sunday.
while mowing the lawn.
(all of those things alone are evil, but together---mwahahaha)
and maybe this will be the year i learn to golf.
and maybe this will be the year i don't go home.
not sure if it's worth it....
dragging the kids to see a bunch of people who, like me, have their own lives in the present.
they're a part of my past.
i don't have the energy to miss them anymore.
if i could live there, we would be best friends again.
but ten years is a long time to hold on.
my fingers are getting stiff.

time to go make some carb free cookies.
yes, i'm obsessed.
bite me.
no really, open up.
i kinda like it.
right there.
mmmmmmmmm.......

what a busy day ahead

so what am i doing here??
i have to get the guest room ready for my husband's brother, in town from Portland.
i also have to go all the way to my husband's office to take him his phone and a stack of papers.
and stop at the bank.
and go to the pampered chef lady's house to turn in all the orders.
and of course, the gym.
and i only have until 4:30 to do all of these things because we're leaving to go to salt lake...
for...
the...
Linkin Park/POD show.
and me without my Docs.
my feet are shaking with fear.
sad that i'm torn over footwear.
i am certain that we'll be in a heaving throng and even my feet will be squashed...
but all i want to wear are those gigantimous open toed shoes from new year's eve.
i won't though.
that would be like signing up for the free crutches they're offering if you'll only break your ankle...

so i think i'm finally over my girls gone wild of the other day.
it was pointed out to me that i don't get out much, and it's true.
doesn't take much to get me excited.
yes, like that, too.
but i've been sort of hiding in baggy clothes for the past 4 years so it was more exciting than just a night on the town.
cuz we do that plenty.
it was about feeling desirable again.
it was about getting that kind of attention from unknown males...
that kind that i used to love so much.
but guess what the best part was?
going home with the greatest guy in the place.
and unlike the single years, it was not a one stand.
it's my life.
and unlike this time last year, i was happy about it.
i'll have to tell you all the story of rock bottom sometime...
in case any of you are wondering: marriage is tough.
it is not just push play and the wedding video keeps rolling, and the honeymoon lasts forever.
you have to cross a certain ugly bridge before the honeymoon starts over.
for most people.
some are lucky and never have to do that part.
but i think i'm lucky that i came through intact.
and better than ever.
cuz this time around, i appreciate the honeymoon exponentially more.
you know, taste the bitter to enjoy the sweet, etc.

blah blah, too serious, blah blah.

okay.
so if your triceps are sore raise your hand.
or just push your arm back like this---
ow.
well.
serves me right for being such a dumbass, i guess.

blah.
more later maybe.

and also...

i just realized how much i loved being an exhibitionist last night.
that kicked so much literal and figurative ass that i don't even make sense, but who cares.
to put in into laymen's terms: it was cool.

i think it's hilarious how much boys like such things.
all boys.

you should scroll down and read the post from late last night/early this morning first.
just a suggestion....

i am having random memories float back to me, so i guess i'll puke them out here.
i sat on a girl's lap.
a girl who had been sitting on my brother in law's lap.
i felt powerful and beautiful every time i bent down to make a shot--or should i say take a shot, cuz i didn't make many.
i lost every game.
buying michelobe ultras, two at a time and drinking them fast.
listening to a rather impressive rendition of The Doors' Touch me, and singing along with B. while we waited for drinks...
i remember B. flashing my bra to the dude she met.
and she made me smell his cologney boy smell.
which is not fair because it's so yummy.
and she kept saying "i just want to put something there." and sticking her finger in my cleavage.
so she stuck a boy's loooong blond ponytail there.
and the pool cue.
it was all so silly.
it was that perfect kind of happy drunkenness, you know?
where everyone has a fantastically superbly wonderful silly time.
and everyone smiles a lot and laughs even more and flirts with each other.

and did i mention I SANG KARAOKE???
dancing like a rock star.
or a spaz--hard to tell when you're drunk...
but now i have the fever.
you know the one.
ew, not that one.
the desire to get on stage with a microphone again.

scroll down for a picture...

just got home from the b.a.r.

karaoke night.
and i did it.
frightening.
but i did...NIN, even.
a duet.
yeah, scary.
but it's true: i do want to fuck you like an animal.
and OH. MY. GOD.
i wore a shirt that shows my cleavage and thensome.
it was fun.
single friend picked up cute boys.
i got to flirt anyway.
lots of pool.
but no winning
well, not for me.
lots of snow.
but no accidents.
well, not for me.

still drunk enoough to take a picture of how far out my "girls" were...
had so much fun.
have not been this drunk since the alst time i was....
well, you know what i mean.
it's been a while.
feels great.
we all had a great time.
lots of people ended up meeting us at the bar.
some fan fucking tastic bar out in some little town.
but it was karaoke night.
and i sang closer.
and becky and i copped feels.
and she got to kiss cute boys, and will probably fuck at least one of them before i make it up stairs to find my flannel pjs.
good stuff.
i suck at pool.
and i love playing.
i suck at singing, too.
i just tooke (that e doesn't belong there) pictures of my display case.
i mean shirt.
will post if boss sing s off. signs off.
spelling is less easy when drunk than other stuff.
there's probably more but i don't know right now.
i will also probably be drunk tomorrow.
no.
shit....
i meant hung over.
but i just ate a flintstone's vitamin cuz they say vitamins help the drunk to not be weary or hungoever fuck i meant hungover. shit damn cocksuckin fools.
its coold in here but i need to get into my pjs.
hubby needs some lovin after proprietarily drooling over the knockers all night.
can't.
wrong time of the lunar cycle.
life is stupid sometimes.
but at least i have this place to put words and click on keys on a keyboard even if the 's' sticks sometimes .
even if there is cotton so thick and soft growing in my head.
it was julie's birthday today.
she's 21.
she was with the boys that my single friend was buddying up to.
cute little boys who would have been my tupe or type 4 shit 5 , okay i meant to type 5 but now that i think of it, it's actually been 6 years since i was single...6 years ago.
back in the days when we were a team.
a "take as many prisoners as possible" team.
and trying to explain to another drunk person how good life is.
yeah.
being drunk rules.
remind me to do it more.
beer tastes good.
4, plus two shots of jager.
well.
that's a lot for me.
i have peed at least 46.3 times.
and i even thought about you all once while i was in there.
spomething about the ridiculous oversight of the bathroom door locks.
why do they never work???
how much do a couple of screws cost??
fix the damn lock.
it was actually a really nice bathroom.
and then we sang karaoke.
i have to write it down over and over until my brain really believes it.
cuz it's not possible.
not really.
i don't know.

okay.
got it all out.
time to burrow into the most warm and comfortable bed and loving arms of one big tall man who is all mine for the rest of time. have i ever mentioned how much i love a man who's bigger than me?? and he love sme so. he's so much all for me. remind me to do nicer things for him more often.

peace and love to you all.
and if i remember, i'll post the titty pictures tomorrow.
i'm alarmed at how much cleavage i exposed.
especially looking down...
right girls?
it always looks like more from above.

sweet.
just unplugged this stupid laptop trying to plug in the camera to download the stupid picture of my stupid cleavage shirt.
thank all the gods, especially the porcelain one...that this post was not deleted.
it captured this night.
at least that's how i feel now.
almost sober.
love you all....
and by all, yes, i mean the 4 of you who actually read this drivel.
drinking is good.
do it.

okay, i'm still rather hung over, but i did manage to get the pictures from the camera to the harddrive.
and from the hard drive to the server...
they look monstrous.
they're not really that big.
but it's a great fucking shot.
i wonder...
if i blow it up and print it on a t-shirt, could i wear it every day?
or better yet, sell it to flat chicks with two inch roots and acid washed jeans at the state fair?
glory be, i think i may have found my calling!



p.s. this may be a limited time offer...

you know...

i'm glad i went with black and white on those.
they look so much classier.
plus--you can't see my tile grout mold.
now i realize i should have never mentioned it...
damn.

ooh.
i just got this bizarre--nay, uncharacteristic--desire to get my hair done and have makeup put on my face by a professional.
odd what eating a couple of low carb chocolates and watching The Ellen Degeneres Show can do to you.
god i love her.
if i was a guy i would do her--
oh.
well.
i guess it's just not that kind of love.
and yes, i know it's a strange twist of irony that her show would be playing in the background while the electrical impulses in my blob of gray would tell me to do girlie girl stuff.
creepy, in fact.
well.
these things can't be explained.

wow.
sometimes i forget that i live in cowboyville.
but i just heard a diesel truck roaring at the stop sign by my front porch.
reminded me of redneck trappings.
like the queen mullet of all mullets i saw last night at wally world.
(yes i go there a lot. bite me. it's a bug lite and i'm a bug...)
i would have given almost anything to have had a camera phone, or some other inconspicuous way to capture the moment.
share the moment, perhaps share life?
(am i a walking ad regurgitator?)
so anyway.
it was breathtaking.
frosted, feathered.
and the mullet was arched around her neck like the feathers of the rare trailerim dwellingus peacock.
it makes my heart thrill just to remember.

do you remembered FROSTED hair???
and feathered, of course, who could forget.
i had a tail, myself.
and sadly the fad came to us just a few months after i cut my waist length hair to that boy short feathered look.
do you know what a tail of THAT magnitude could have done for my popularity???
probably nothing, since i was hopelessly shy.
but still.
ah the 80's.

having a lil get together tonight.
maybe a little wife swapping.
ha!
gotcha.
not that it's entirely off the menu, but not with this couple.
attractive enough, just too moral, or some shit.
psh.
morals.
who needs em?
i dropped mine like a bad habit when i ditched that constrictive religious upbringing.
guess it wouldn't have hurt to hold on to a few...
oh well.
too late.

and tomorrow it's a modified girls' night.
hubby's coming.
it'll be fun.
i wish we had a single guy to bring along for my cute horny friend...
any volunteers?

so a good weekend in store for me.
how bout you?
make it count.
could be your last.
what?
didn't they tell you--?
oh, sorry, thought i was talking to someone else.
you're fine.
so go ahead,
lay around in your underwear all weekend
and eat whatever you want
and don't pick up after yourself
and shun all your friends
and drink your breakfast, lunch and dinner
and watch bad tv
and change your voice mail message every 3 hours
and order pizza 3 times from the same place, requesting the same driver and give him big tips (and big tits if you got em--hey don't be stingy, he's had a long day)
and sleep only during the day but stay up all night
and bid on stuff on ebay but make sure to bid low and early so you don't win any of it
and download free music
and get someone else to do your laundry with false promises of big payoffs
and light a fire, even if it's just in a trash can
and don't listen to celebrity gossip
and don't believe every anything you see on tv

wow, i guess that's enough.
get to it.

Is it friday already??

and you know what that means...

Fantasy Friday XI: BathTime

why don't you join me in the bath?



i'll fill the enormous, jetted tub with soft silky bath oils and large fluffy bubbles.
we'll light candles and sip wine.
will there be music playing?
in my dream, yes.
maybe some soft opera, or some barry white?
perhaps it'll just be the panting and splashing of two in a tub.
you choose your own soundtrack.
we'll slip and slide and get as dirty as the law of irony allows.
sitting on your lap i'll kiss your neck, bite your ear.
you'll dive under the water and lick like the lapping of waves...



or maybe i'll just wash your back, and kiss your shoulders.
then you'll help me shave...



and you'll rub my feet while i lay back and close my eyes.
opening them only when your hands reach more tender places and your mouth finds mine.
we'll move to that perfect spot in front of the fireplace, the one made for lovers.
and the flames will dry us for a moment before the sweat makes us slippery again...
either way, the afternoon is ours--until my neighbor gets home from work and we have to sneak out the back, giggling and tripping and hoping we didn't leave behind a token of our mischief...the corkscrew or a garter, perhaps the bath will smell odd...she'll never know.

a couple of things...

first of all, some rather exciting news:
i have struck a rather shady deal with a rather shady character for a guest post.
not so exciting, you may think.
what if i told you it would be a FANTASY FRIDAY guest post????
i know.
this author would prefer to remain anonymous, so i won't say anything else.
but this: i had a taste of the writing yesterday and i think it's safe to say we're in for a treat--of the edible undies variety.

i can't believe i keep forgetting to mention this.
it's old news, but whatever.
during the state of the union...
did anyone else notice that the president distictly said, "nuke-u-lar"?
we even tivo'ed back to make sure.
not nuke-lee-ar.
awesome.
i'm so non-politcal i don't even give a crap if he's a good or bad president.
i figure, the rest of you are out there sweating, pissing, and moaning about it, so i'll just read some quick platform sketches, then go vote.
or not.
just kidding.

also, a certain "not to be named" friend of mine told me the greatest story yesterday.
she and a girlfriend went to a nevada border town for an evening of gambling but mostly for the free beer.
which they took full advantage of...
and got a little friendly horny.
they were hardcore making out--in the bathroom...
and got kicked out.
kicked out of a casino for making out with a girl.
it really is a sick sad world.


the story of my very first attempt at smoking...
the wacky tobacky, that is.
we had hiked to this gorgeous little river which had natural hot springs for soaking.
it is a common hangout for naked over 40's, underage drinkers, wary boy scouts and people doing drugs of every kind.
there are not often more than 10 or 15 people there at a time, i should mention, cuz that made it sound like a city street.
okay.
so the hot dude we were with says he's going to fill his pipe.
he walks off a little distance, and has his back turned.
after finishing my conversation half-drunk babbling with my friend, i wandered over.
his back was still turned.
"can i suck on that?" --me
trying to be cute or clever, but mostly not a rookie.
he glances over his shoulder as he zips his pants.
"uh..." --him
well, hey, whichever.

which reminds me of another time i made a guy squirm.
i had just started dating someone, but there was this guy at work who wanted me.
he had just stuck an unlit cigarette in his mouth in preparation of going outside to smoke it.
i grabbed it with my lips and pulled it out of his mouth.
his pants all of a sudden became uncomfortably tight in an uncomfortable place.

pardon all the stories, i know you were expecting incoherant rambling.
i can work on that now, if you like...
i did have some cuckoo dreams last night though.
not a surprise.
as i mentioned in the comments, i dreamed that a male blogger was doing a joint blog with his wife and when i looked at her profile thingy it said squishybear and i realized i had known her all along, and why in the hell would i dream something like that???
how sad is it that i dream of this pseudo world?
crazy girl.

took some pictures in the bath the other day.
some for the hubby and some for you fine folks.
and no, i'm not going to slip some of his in here by mistake, but thanks for asking.
no really, it makes me blush to think you'd want to see such things, but i couldn't.
okay, now you're scaring me--just drop it, okay?
ahem.
i'm working on cropping and shrinking them--and disguising the mildew in my tile grout.
it's clean NOW, but i didn't notice it until i looked at the pictures.
holy fuck!!!
i just remembered our new kick ass photo printer is arriving today!!!!!!!
ups.
ebay.
fuckin' A.
i am beyond thrilled.

it's 10 a.m....do you know where you coffee is??

i wish i liked coffee.
i like it with a ten pound bag of sugar, and a gallon of milk.
but it doesn't wake me up and it does unpleasant things to me.
chai tea is tasty, but i get so confused about whether i'm drinking tai chi and practicing chai tea, or the other way around...

so the pampered chef party...
it was kind of fun, but i'm so not cut out for that kind of thing.
i just don't have the required "pusy salesperson" (oh that's cute. i'm not fixing it, but it should have said PUSHY) personality.
i'll never do it again...i hate the idea of inviiting people to my home to spend money.
it's so obvious...
i don't know, i kind of hate inviting people to birthday parties, for the same reason: buy me/my kids something and make it good, dammit.
maybe i have a rare behind the curtain/great and powerful Oz neurosis...
can't enjoy things for seeing the inner workings.
seeing the down and dirty nitty gritty details.

oh well, the good news is i got a recipe.
(that's how they reel you in, by the way)
for--dun dun dun--raspberry lemonade, which--if made with splenda(you saw that coming, didn't you)--is nearly carb free.
duh.
why the hell else would i mention it??
i really need to change the blog description to: talks incessantly about bratty kids and low carb food.
bet i'd get tons of new readers then.
cuz everyone says they want boob pictures and witty banter, but i know the truth.
they want to be bored.
so bored that they'd rather scratch out their own eyes than read another word.
so nauseated by the stench of nothing happening that they would give all their money just to puke, so that something would happen.
oh yeah, that's everyone's secret dream.
there's too much excitment in this world.

but really, how cute are little boys running around with just shirts on, and their little teensy bottoms peeking out??
that, my friends, is cute.
do i know where their pants are?
no.
do i know why they discarded them?
nah.
but it's cuter than cute and that's all i know.

snow today.
lots.
glad to have nowhere to go.
shut up.
i didn't ask you.
i know i should go to the gym, but, please.
how could i go out in this weather?
and besides, it's almost 11 o'clock, and i haven't showered yet.
my husband has also NOT left for work, but no one's giving HIM a hard time about it!
why don't you get on HIS case once in a while, huh?
just cuz he doesn't really have a boss and can come and go as he pleases....

it's amazing how much my boys look like each other from certain angles.
we have never figured out for sure whether or not they're identical.
they're probably not, but damn.
sometimes i see one of them, and know it's him, but could swear it's his brother.
not often, mind you.
and i always know which one he really is, but for a second i'm just stopped in my tracks, jaw gaping.
twins.
holy shit.

EDIT******

well, apparently i'm not the only one talking about boredom today...
but Clay doesn't seem to agree with my above outlined joys of boredom.
i don't blame him a bit.
nothing worse than tedious work.

also, test results:
thyroid levels normal.
woooooooooo fuckin hoooooooooooo
now i'll get to keep on this dose, which maybe i really did need in the first place.
but it also shows how inredibly fucking stupid the test is.
i was 6 weeks OFF my meds when they tested last time and put me on this higher dose.
i've been on it for 3 months.
test comes back "normal"???
get a clue people.
get a better test.

so you think you know Maine?

nah, i didn't think so.
but that's the name of this pathetically boring game show we had on our pbs station when i was a kid.
very sad.
but it does remind me to be thankful for my colorful roots.
and no i don't mean maine was colorful in the skin tone department, cuz it's so cold there that even if there had been racial diversity, they would have ended up as pale as the rest of us.
uh, anyway.
thankful for my roots...
i am.
i am losing touch though...
becoming dependent on the strip mall, the convenience of freeways and abundance of shopping choices.
i need to remember that i grew up with a two hour drive between myself and the nearest mall.
things were so different there, so simple.
there were rich people and there were poor people, not much in between.
the ocean meant earning a living to most people.
and making it last through the winter.
or going out no matter what, like my dad.
earning him the knickname of hurricane bob.
a do or die business.
cutting trap lines could get a lobsterman dry docked.
stealing buoys, jailtime.
i am remembering this one time, i must have been 6 or 7.
the fog was so thick we were relying solely on radar.
and then we were right next to another boat.
they had a gun and were hostile.
my dad assured them we were just passing through, taking his boat to get repaired at some distant location.
they had been having trouble with trap cutters, and were waiting for the culprit.
cold, wet, salty air.
the smell of bait bags, the rumble of the motor, the foamy wake that disappeared into the fog so quickly.
and driving home after, falling asleep in the back seat.

i gotta go clean my house.
having a party tonight.
the pampered chef...
not tupperware, but close enough, so don't.
just do NOT fucking say a word.
i like to cook, okay?
and i'm good at it.
so put that in your pipe and smoke it.
no--put that on your plate and eat it.
hmm...throw me on the bed and eat---
good god.
someone click on post for me before i get in trouble.

feeling all sorts of left out

and annoyed at myself for being a slacker.
the first edition of Lick was launched yesterday.
by its fabulous editor, Tony Pierce, who is the Moby Dick of the blog world...
or would that be captain ahab??
maybe it's just that his well of writing is as vast and ever changingly beautiful as the ocean itself.
aw hell, he's a pimp, okay?
in any case this new venture is wonderful
and i meant to write something for it...
good intentions are my greatest downfall.
or the worst of my bad habits.
or the sprinkles on my Failure Sundae.
am I beating myself up over this?
nah, not really.
i'm just afraid that now that it's been published there will be too many participants.
or that i'll look like a band wa-gon jumper on-er.
oh well.
and i had some great stuff i could have contributed to this issue.(look how modest all of a sudden)
i will save it for another time though, so it's okay.
but here's one of the assignments:
a list of things about me that would make my mom sad if she knew them...

1. that i have smoked pot
2. how many guys i had casual-ish sex with
3. how much i bad mouth her church
4. how much i like her first husband and his wife
5. how much i drink when i'm home for visits.
6. how much i swear and how much i talk about/think about/practice sex
7. particularly that i would like to kiss a girl

(and yes, this is partly to make up for that crap assed list yesterday)

well, there are more things i could add, but they make ME sad. =)
so, i will contribute to that gorgeous creation soon.

and i think that i will swing by the dr.'s office today and have my stupid thyroid checked.
i was supposed to go about a month ago, so on my timeline, i'll be about 6 months early.
i'm not too worried.
i expect that he'll keep my dose the same.
i feel great.
if he lowers it, i'm totally taking double and he can piss up a fucking rope.

my feet are cold.
what's new there?
but still.
i need some new slippers.
sad but true.
that's what happens when most of one's time is spent in one's home.
i hate shoes.
i hate socks more.
slippers work okay...
bare feet are the best of all, but if the damn things are going to be cold--
fuck
did i just write THAT many sentences about slippers and cold feet????
sad.
fucking pathetic.

so my friend's turning 29 this week and she's really bummed about it.
cuz she's not really in her 20's anymore but she's not 30 either.
she's excited to be 30, but she's pissed at this year for standing in the way.
i think it's cute.
so i'm going to try to do something special for her...
she lives in florida, though so it won't be easy.
maybe i'll send her a bunch of new (wink wink) DVD's.
ooh, and speaking of wink wink...
maybe i'll send her some of THOSE dvd's...
of course, i don't have her mailing address.
do you think Friend, southern Florida, usa would get there???
oh come on.
it works in MY hometown.
you can put the person's name, their street (even if they have p.o. box is their actual address) and the town, spelled incorrectly, with no zip.
it gets there just fine.
i even put Grammy Mc----- and the town, no street and it got there.
i'm sort of a dumbass for doing that, frankly, but still.
test the system.
keep em on their toes.
spice it up for those poor postal workers.
keeps em from getting so damn disgruntled.

wow.
i've had enough whine this morning that i'm feeling a bit hungover.
well, headachy and ornery and dying to crawl back into bed and lock the door, at least.
same thing.

so wow.

here i am in the house alone ish, and i've realized something.
i love writing at night.
anything, and everything.
i feel like i used to have all this time to write late at night, but i don't know how that's possible.
oh well.

here's a list of ten things that kick ass:
1. being called a Random Stranger.
2. having sore muscles
3. drinking carb free, yet tasty and potent alcohol
4. being an anomaly in this fucking town
5. dammit, am i out of things already?
6. yes that one counted...
7. leather pants on 50 year old rockers
8. rhythm nation
9. watching football on tivo
10. my foot (that's right, back that thang up and i'll plant one)

that was the lamest list of all lists ever made, including grocery lists.
fuck that.
i should go back and give it some thought, or at least spice it up or make it funny or scary or weird.
and you do deserve it, really you do.
do you know what else you deserve?
well, lots of big wet kisses and your favorite foods cooked by my hands.
a party to celebrate the beauty of you.
but also...
maybe a few of the pictures i took in the bubble bath last night.
puh leeez.
nothing skanky.
i'm married.
but there are some niiiiice ones....
later this week.

i think it would be different if i was single.
hell, i know it would.
this would be a pay per view porn site!!
all day and all night live web cam...
me and my toys.
and boys.
(wonder what kind of google hits i'll get off THAT...)

had a good time with the whole super bowl thing.
i guess.
psh.
i don't know.
i need some fresh faces, or something.

i want to open a little shop.
specializing in vintage clothing and vinyl.
(yes those big black disc thingies....)
how great would that be?

i bet some of you would want to shop there.
i bet some of you would want my cowboy jacket.
it wouldn't be for sale, but you'd want it.
you'd try it on and love how it looked, how the weight of it felt on your shoulders.
you'd go to sleep later and dream about it.
tossing and turning...
your mind would show you a movie.
of you walking down a busy street, getting looks.
those jealous, wonderful kinds of looks.
those interested second glances from attractive folks.
you'd wake up in a sweat, needing that jacket.
after several weeks of this recurring nightmare, you would be beyond reason.
you'd put on your slippers and a sweat shirt and walk to the quiet main street.
the moon would be behind a cloud, but as it peeked out you would crouch lower behind the bench in front of my store.
with one last look around you'd dash for the door, knowing i only had a single, light lock on it.
forcing your way in, you would head for the display above the counter.
the jacket.
the moonlight would hit it and your heart would stop at the beauty.
the harsh sound of the chair as you drag it to the display would make you jump.
you would remove the jacket from the form...
and slip into it.
and the desperation would fade.
only to be replaced with delirium.
glee of such a high degree that your palms would sweat and your smile would hurt.
running back to your tiny, dim apartment you would strip naked and wear only the jacket.
answering no calls, ignoring knocks on the door.
in a zen like state of concentration, willing the coolness of the jacket to seep into your skin, your blood, your soul.

so, it might be best if i don't open a store.
hey, if i'm going to procrastinate and give up on dreams--at least i'm creative about it.
so fuck off.
or on.
really, whichever you prefer.
it is a great jacket, though.
it probably belongs on that list of stuff that kicks ass, but that would require editing.
and that's a dirty word around here.
why edit when i can pump out more crapola???

happy ground hog's day, everyone!!
raise your hand if that didn't make you think of Bill Murray.
now you look like an idiot.
but at least all the people at your office don't know why you're raising your hand.
otherwise they'd all laugh at you and ostrasize you for not being a fan of that movie.

making cookies

is kind of a fun way to test my will power.
doing okay so far...
not licking the spoon is the hardest part.
did i just say 'licking' and 'hardest part' in the same sentence?
that is rather fun.

so i've lost 4 inches and 8 pounds.
not too shabby.
will i be ready for leather pants by the Metallica Vegas show?
6 weeks?
no problem.

i have cooked up a carb free storm and i think we're ready for the super bowl.
we even have carb free soda to mix with hard alcohol, which is also carb free.
in case anyone's wondering...
there are NO main stream sodas available with splenda.
there are a few available at health food stores but mostly in weird flavors.
oh well.
i'm not so much into soda anyway, it's just that i can't handle straight vodka. bleh.

i am feeling like my life is more boring than a study hall with no books, pen or paper.
i had some more odd dreams, but nothing interesting.
a day in the life is lisa is like staring at the ceiling.
the biggest thrill in my life is the rare, uninterupted shower.
and i don't even mean that kind of thrill.
faaack.

where's my fire?
where's my pep, pizzaz, panache?
where's the thrill? (and don't say on blueberry hill, cuz i already checked there, and someone beat me to it.)

if youth is wasted on the young, then what about THIS time of my life?
sort of the middle ground.
not old, not young.
not even middle aged.
so is it wasted?
nah, actually it's the best time of all.
gone are the insecurities of youth (hey--most of em, at least, so back off!!)
and i am comfortable.
bored sometimes, but content.
that's a good thing, i guess.
i remember being young and wondering what was ahead, hoping i would find my prince charming and have a perfect life.
well...
no one has a perfect life, but mine is pretty damn close.

so where did all the interesting stuff go?
you know, the stuff in my head.
the stuff i could say that would make people smile or laugh or look nervously over their shoulder?
it's probably on blueberry hill.
and some other joker found it.
dammit.

i think that grubby little neighbor kids should stay at their own houses.
step son came across a real winner yesterday and they've been together all weekend.
have i ever mentioned that i hate kids?
you probably could have guessed...
i love mine to pieces and they still drive me.
other people's kids??
if you stay out of my way and do amusing things and don't ask for drinks or snacks or ATTENTION, you're welcome in my home for brief periods.
if not?
well, i believe you can guess.
i'm having no part of it.
this doesn't usually include relatives or friends' kids....
but sometimes.

oooooh!
i was driving along yesterday, singing along to the radio.
and i realized, i could do karaoke.
i really could.
as long as it's the right song.
which reminds me...
there was a guy in my high school who had a really great singing voice.
he was at the karaoke bar last summer when i was home.
he did a duet and the other guy sucked.
HE sounded, well, not so great either.
afterward i walked over to him and said, dude?? i was expecting you to carry his sorry ass, what are you doing??
he explained that he's a lobsterman now and he can't look like a pussy.
sad, sad world.

well, only two hours til we head for the party.
guess i could shower or something.

well, have a great day.
go Pats.
woo.