i don’t know how exactly we got linked on a site titled “teen slut list”. but i am unbelievably okay with that.

this is even better than getting carded!

why is it that guys just always ASSUME that they can do everything?

some people in my neighborhood seem to have trouble remembering that they have a stop sign. i think i will remind them. with a baseball bat.

i was thinking today i could also do an archive by author. but i don’t know if anyone would be into that?

when the logs tell me
you are reading our archives
it all seems worthwhile

the only thing that
separates me from her is
five years of abuse

and we went to the little theatre where a bunch of queerboys with big voices and fag hags with big tits were playing rocky horror. it was intimate and shadowy and there were purple neon lights but no props except a red velvet divan on wheels. the actors actually portrayed the doors and windshield wipers of the car when brad and janet are driving. they squeaked and swished – fabulous!

when i used to go see it at the movies every weekend they always held an auction of virgins at the beginning. my best friend got bought for an economy size package of magnum ribbed condoms her first time. i was never sold. another theater i know of used to make virgins hold red balloons (”cherries”) between their legs, and then let someone from the cast pop them. heh.

this place one-upped both. they called the virgins to the stage and asked if they liked boys, girls, or both. then a member (or two) of the cast took them to the velvet divan and pretended to give head, during which the emcee held the mike to the virgin’s mouth so he or she could fake an orgasm. the best orgasm, as determined by audience applause, won, and the prize was absolutely nothing.

magenta: i ask for nothing, master.
frank: and you shall receive it – in abundance!

this particular night there were four virgins. there was an abercrombie-looking homo-in-training who looked about doogie howser’s age. he kept smacking his own ass, but he giggled too much during the orgasm faking. the girl who looked about twelve and had a quaint little downhome name like bettyann, said she liked joe or jane, it don’t matter. everyone freaked out when during her fake orgasm she yelled into the mike that’s right, vaccuum the carpet, bitch! she won the contest for being the most shocking.

hey, sit back down, i’m not done yet. this is going to be a long entry, so get some popcorn or something.

the theatre was small enough that the actors could pause deliberately to let the audience finish their lines completely before responding. there were also jokes aimed at the handicapped, african americans, j.lo, yak fuckers, professional baseball players, and puerto ricans. at least three times someone in the audience shouted the words a warm flaccid penis. the kid who played rocky was a short black guy who was incredibly muscular and hung like a moose. he kept saying things like “massa” (instead of “master”) and randomly breaking into michael jackson-esque dance sequences. magenta was a gorgeous puerto rican girl, and frank addressed her as “ma-hen-ta”. she called him papi several times, and once broke into cabbage patching and a rendition of “magenta from the block”.

there was lots of innuendo and lots of skin and an extra song by brad that’s not in the movie. brad missed his lines a couple of times, and riffraff was about five times the size of the guy from the movie. janet was actually wearing white lace underwear which left nothing to the imagination, and one of the backup actors kept having to bend over which resulted in exposure of her g-string and everything it wasn’t covering that well. fishnet abounded, on boys and girls, and one skinny boy with nose piercing had “slut” painted on his fishnet shirt in silver paint. nobody’s shoes were less than five inch platforms.

i forgot most of the audience participation stuff and remembered most of the dialogue and all of the songs (except brad’s solo one). me and girl i was with resolved to hunt down all local theaters which run rocky on weekends and find the best one. also i stayed to meet frank after the show and it turns out i once attended a seminar with him. had no idea he was gay or could sing and act. in the office he was the one all the girls whispered about – how cute he was and hopefully straight. in person he is very tall, even without the platforms. he kissed my cheek twice.

overheard in the audience before the show:

dyke: this place is like a training camp for baby queers!
het female friend: so you mean all these boys want to be gay?
dyke: are gay.
het: so all these girls are lesbians?
dyke: no! they’re fag hags.
het: am i the only straight girl here?
dyke: you and those two (gesturing to me and friend).
me (to friend): i don’t know who she’s talking about, but i’m not straight…
friend: me either…

i went home more than a little horny and in a great mood. i also considered calling a male friend and begging him to try on my corset and platforms. i am sure he would say no.

too bad…

taking that chance, i feel fortunate that we have only experienced comment spam like three times so far. i know people who have shut off comments completely because it makes them ill. i think i am going to download and install that mt hack (jay allen? is that the name of the guy that made it?) just in case. as soon as i have the energy. which i don’t right now.

bleh.

is it possible for a person to be so emotionally distressed that they are physically unable to use their voice to form words? i don’t mean like they don’t know what to say or don’t feel like making the effort to say it, i mean they have a hell of a lot to say and suddenly they can’t actually talk at all? but it is perfectly easy for them to write it down on paper? and then when you acknowledge what they have written and respond to it they suddenly can talk again, but about something else, like the whole thing never even happened?

clearly i am a very verbose person. i overanalyze everything and explain it twelve different ways with forty analogies to be sure someone gets my point when i need them to. so i ask this out of pure ignorance because i cannot fathom it at all.

i am starting to think i am imagining things.

i have so much to write about i don’t know where to begin.
nor do i have the time.

thanks to my previous post, people searching the net for “animal sex” could possibly wind up here, expecting the same. you guys know i didn’t mean sex with critters, right? i should have said animalistic maybe…

the perfect irony of course is that by pointing out my use of the phrase animal sex i am increasing the chances that it will be used as a search referral.

heh. opening bold and closing italics doesn’t work, honest.

it happened to me again, i think. i am not sure if it’s from exhaustion or if i am sick or possibly i have a brain condition. i had this amazing animal sex and the entire time i was talking, out loud, but i have no idea what i was saying or where it came from. i cannot remotely remember what the hell i was talking about. i think i have mentioned this phenomenon before, but it is still really disturbing.

i have always been a restless sleeper, tossing and turning and kicking and stuff. i guess i’m lucky it never escalated to sleepwalking. but i was completely awake and running off at the mouth. only afterwards i didn’t recall it at all. it’s that same feeling when someone goes i heard you talking in your sleep last night and you go heh, really? but inside you are saying to yourself fuck fuck fuck, what did i say, was it embarrassing? are they telling me the truth when they say that they couldn’t make out the words? will i ever know? only now it’s compounded by am i insane? how can i be awake and not remember talking dirty to someone? i do remember the sex so why is the rest of it a blur? is he yanking my chain to throw me off guard? drunk people who have blacked out have this feeling too, but at least there is a reasonable excuse for that (booze).

i would be very interested to know how the brain waves of a somnambulist while sleep talking compare to the brain waves of a person talking dirty during sex. how much do one of those eeg machines cost?

so, okay, i’m listening to “you never can tell” by chuck berry. yes, i first heard it in pulp fiction. yes, i love it. call me trendy. whatever. the point is i have several reflections while listening to this song repeatedly on the way to work.

first of all, let me just state the obvious in that quentin has excellent taste in music. i like a lot of old music that most people didn’t think was cool until quentin has publicly acknowledged that he likes it. so as annoying as it is to listen to him talk, his use of music in his movies is outstanding. he is also a brilliant writer/director, just one that i never want to interview, ever.

next, mr. berry sings the following lyrics:

It was a teenage wedding, and the old folks wished them well
You could see that Pierre did truly love the mademoiselle
And now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell,
“C’est la vie”, said the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell

They bought a souped-up jitney, ’twas a cherry red ‘53,
They drove it down to Orleans to celebrate the anniversary
It was there that Pierre was married to the lovely mademoiselle
“C’est la vie”, said the old folks, it goes to show you never can tell

let me draw your attention to the bolded words. they are all terms that were popular slang in chuck berry’s time, some of which don’t exist at all today. roebuck clearly references sears & roebuck, which was one of the leading brand names of the time, and coolerator, though it made me chuckle, was easily recognized as slang for a refrigerator. phono is obviously a record player, short for phonograph, which is already nearly extinct. in another thirty years will people have to look that up, like i had to look up jitney? according to merriam-webster online, a jitney is a small bus, or, archaically, a nickel (the cost of the fare).

after listening to this song, i flipped around on my radio and stopped on some song by shaggy, where he uses words like shorty and peeps. more cryptic are the more hardcore hip-hop songs; even their clean versions have words that stump white chicks like me. so i wonder if hip-hop vocabulary will survive, or if people in the 22nd century will be scouring the internet to find out what a balla is. possibly hip-hop is a completely different language and will be taught in high school like spanish or german?

it definitely isn’t that he’s not good at it. in fact, he’s fucking great at it. i think i’m starting to understand what my ex-boyfriend meant when he made me stop because it was “too good”… which sucks because i’d rather think all my exes are stupid fucks who missed out, if you know what i mean.

i love that he likes to go down on me. i love that he’s into it, because a lot of men aren’t and a lot of women miss out on it. i can pretty much get head any old time i want to, and a lot of times he doesn’t even care if i don’t reciprocate.

we worked out this arrangement where he has to get off first, because once i have the big earth-shattering orgasm that he nearly always gives me, i am pretty much done. not that i can’t have more, but i don’t really want to most times because they are much less intense and much shorter than the initial one. also having an orgasm makes me extraordinarily sleepy. so i come, pee, smoke, and sleep, in that order.

it has gotten lately to where i am just not in the mood for it, pretty much ever. and it vexes me because i don’t want him to think that i am rejecting him somehow because it’s not enjoyable for me. it is unbelievably enjoyable! it’s just that i know afterwards i will crash hard, and i don’t really have time to sleep in the middle of the day.

i hope he can somehow understand…

okay. had good time with boy this weekend.

friday night was a super sleaze-fest.
went out to one of those dance clubs that is on the cusp of being a play party.

i wore my floor length see-through nightgown. and a bra and panties. and knee high platform boots. i must say that i looked hot.

we got there and it looked empty but really everyone was just up on the roof. we took our drinks up there and sat on the couch next to some people and started talking to them. we were both already drunk as we mixed some cocktails at home and brought them and drank them in the car before going in. this is always a good idea. then you waste about 20$ less on drinks.

so anyway. we start tlaking about drugs and the dude whips out some drugs and gives them to me. i, like the fresh faced naive 18 year old that i am not, ate them.
whatever it was was pretty smooth and made me happy. i flirted with everyone. later i made out heavily with that dudes girlfriend , both of us getting off nicely. boy and other dude hung around groping us during. it was great. god she was super skanky. as was i. of course no one batted an eyelash at two girls bumping and grinding on the floor. god i love this place.

what i liked the best was that while were were doing this the girl and her boyfriend kept up a running commentary. while i whispered in boys ear how much i wanted him to fuck me.

which is different for me. i suck badly at sex talk. emmie i think might be the mistress of it. i need her to teach me.

the girl was a bit older. maybe late 30’s? very small and skinny. and wearing a bra, hot pants and a garter belt. she smelled good and had very long thick dark hair. i didnt ever catch her name.

i cant remember if i fucked boy that night. i think i may have just passed out when we got home. hmmm, sexy? probably not.
but we fucked in the morning and it was nice. very nice.

i love being called a pet name. i fucking love it. he calls me ’suga’. when he is being nice that is. well, and he also calls his cat suga. so maybe i shouldn’t love it so much.

i was walking through the park and this guy hollered

hey, tina! lookin’ good!

so i turned and stared at him because my name is not tina and i didn’t look good. and it was sort of amusing because his face went from

i’m gonna pick this chick up and have sex with her, that compliment just got my foot a little further in the door!

to

holy fuck, i just said something sexually suggestive to a person that i thought was someone i knew but who i realize is now just a stranger and i wonder if this tree over here will hide me effectively from her and possibly if she is deaf and didn’t really hear me at all?

i did hear him. i saw him too. he was sort of cute. but i reacted honestly

huh?

before it occurred to me that it would be fun to pretend my name was actually tina.

she wore earrings today. silver dangly ones. but she was too far away for me to see what they were, exactly.

must. get. closer?

the word “shocktober” is neither original nor cute. people think you are an idiot when they see a commercial containing that word. please, for your own sake, and because it mightily annoys me, stop fucking using it.

thanks.

love,
emmie

ps: the same principle applies to “rocktober”.

i never thought of it before. i think ellie mentioned it here a while back, and bacchus mentioned it again. now i’m really thinking about it though.

am i the only one that isn’t bothered by the idea that my partner’s sex toys might have been used previously? with exes and whatnot?

i am not a total slob, okay? i am not a person who eats things off the floor (even with the five-second rule or kissing it up to god or whatever). i clean my house. as i’ve mentioned before, i clean my toys, too. the ones without cords and batteries i actually put in the dishwasher for optimum cleanliness. i do not wear the same pair of underwear for longer than 24 hours, unless i am hung over from the night before and it takes me a long time to get home.

but. it has never once occurred to me to think about where those sex toys came from or who had used them before the moment they were revealed to me with confidence by the person i was about to fuck. as long as the person is also not a slob and has a reasonable notion of hygiene i think it doesn’t really matter to me. of course condoms and dams must be used no matter what.

the person whose toys i will refuse to use is the one to whom i have to explain why we can’t have anal sex and then regular sex in that order.

get too drunk.
start crying.

i would like to recount my heinous saturday for everyone. but really it will just make me feel vaguely embarassed and my stomach will heave and churn.

really. when does the fun part of the relationship start? i cast my mind back to previous relationships and i find that i cant remember.
but isnt the beginning of the relationship supposed to be all wild sex and passionate conversations?

well not for me folks. i dont understand. besides i wouldnt know what to even have a passionate conversation _about_.
seriously.

why is it that everything i do is the wrong thing?

be open and honest about liking guy.
re: guy thinks i am smothering him

be a little distant, dont call to ooften, go out with my own friends.
re: he loses interest/thinks you are not interested.

fuck. i think i have bitched about this before. fuckin’ guys.

good post about girlfriends emmie.
i know exactly what you mean. and this has always really fucking bugged me.

i have theories about this:
girls are isolated starting in elementary school. where as guys run in packs.
i mean it. look around the streets. do you see roving packs of girls? on bikes? skateboards? no you don’t. and I’ll tell you why. the little girls are behind closed doors playing with Barbies and dolls. little girls are prey and must be kept locked up. they are made into victims young. we are not taught how to be self reliant, to deal with people or stressful situations. no way, no how.

junior high is the same. we go take dance lessons together and stuff. there we are taught to compete against each other. no playing as a team girls. you don’t get ahead that way.

by high school we are at each others throats, mostly competing for boys. so and so is a slut, look at her outfit, blah blah blah.

and then it is too late anyway.

my best friend lives 400 miles away now. she used to be 1500 miles away. i see her sometimes. but to me she is more a voice on the phone. she doesn’t even exist for me really. and if she did? if we lived in the same city? i will bet a very good deal that she and i would not be friends any more.

i am not knocking a voice on the phone. she and i serve each other well. if it weren’t for her validations and advice and comfort i would be unhappy.

god i need a female friend to go see shows with. FUCK.

when i was in seventh grade i had a crush on this girl with blonde hair and a beautiful red dress. only i didn’t know it was a crush until years later when i was in college and had fully analyzed the situation.

the way i felt then is the way i feel now about this other girl with blonde hair and a beautiful black suv. she is real. she likes beer. she does this sideways thing with her mouth when she curses, low so that only i can hear her. she thinks all the same people are assholes, and she said that if she’d had a hummer she would have creamed that guy in the benz, too.

i am telling myself that i want to be her friend, because there is a serious shortage of female friends in my circle and i am so ready for some estrogen-fortified company. even though i dig guys there are a lot of things they just can’t fucking grasp.

most girls i have met are too girly for my taste and it is all i can do to keep from yelling at them when they tell me how much they spent on a louis vuitton handbag ($750) or on their monthly haircut ($120). it takes every ounce of self-control to prevent myself from leaping out of the pedicure chair and going postal on those chicks with the rhinestones in their hot pink six-inch long dragon lady fake nails. mostly because of the way they talk and cast sidelong glances at me. i don’t want to go to tupperware parties or shop till i drop or go to a bar wearing hoochie mama hotpants and trying to get laid. put me in broken-in jeans, a jagermeister t-shirt, and a ponytail and find me at the old man’s bar, where there is no eye candy to annoy me.

there are a few girly things i like. i enjoy a clean perfume, one that smells more like freshly washed towels than roses – the smell of flowers gives me a headache. the pedicure is a must-have, although i give two shits about how my fingernails look because i chew them anyway. the most girly thing about me is probably what i like to drink. i am 100% top shelf and cannot stomach beer or wine of any sort. except this one muscat dessert wine i had once, because it tasted more like a liqueur.

i wear one necklace and one ring, both of which have extraordinary sentimental value. i do not wear earrings, or scarves, or pantyhose unless someone has died. i am not creative with my makeup – i wear matte cocoa lipstick that lasts twelve hours and black mascara that lasts three days. i do not blot. i do not touch up. i do not primp. i most certainly do not apply eyeshadow according to the latest fashion trend, although i do somehow have two full drawers of various makeup products for some unknown reason. i do wear underwire bras, but only because they are comfortable. my favorite lingerie is a plain black thong and a wifebeater. i don’t read romance novels, ever. i watch chick movies occasionally only because i want so badly for them not to be so predictable and suck so much; afterward i cleanse my palate by watching three dick movies, or two black comedies. i don’t like chick music, either, and i don’t dance. i think that boy bands suck and that pop music is dead. i am hopelessly stuck in the 70s and listen to pink floyd every single day. i am convinced that i would die if i did not.

back to the girl. i drove to the office to drop some things off, not planning to work a full day. on the way into the parking lot i saw her walking and drinking coffee. it was 7 a.m. and she looked good already in a charcoal sweater, low-rise jeans, and platform boots, topped with a leather jacket. fucking classic, she is. i on the other hand was wearing sweats and had my hair pulled into a loose bun.

this is all perfectly normal. let me now tell you the stupidest part.

i turned the car around and drove back home, where i applied makeup, changed into – what else? – low-rise jeans and a lavender sweater, and platform boots, topped with a leather jacket. i also let my hair down and actually put gel in it.

i did all that in about ten minutes, too, a personal best. drove back to the office, dropped off the stuff, and cruised around in the hummer looking for her. but she wasn’t anywhere around. and there i was, in low-rise jeans and lipstick, feeling stupid, because i was going back home to spend the day in my home office, seeing nobody at all.

i really want to be her friend, and i think she is open to that. but i have already felt jealous a couple of times when i run into her hanging out with other chicks. and meanwhile i have also begun socializing with a couple of other chicks so that she will see i am friendly and sociable and that if she doesn’t come over and be my friend, there are others who will do so!

i am fairly certain that i do not want to have sex with her. however for some reason i want her attention. and i want to look good when i run into her. it isn’t that i want to compete with her for anything. could it be that non-girly girls are so few and far between that i want to make sure she doesn’t somehow get away from me? like i will have missed a chance to be good friends with someone who is much like me?

the fucking thing is that because all my life i have been friends with mostly boys, i don’t know how to approach women or deal with them, really. the last time i consciously tried to be a good friend to a girl who i thought was like me it blew up in my face and it put miles between us. the time before that was when i was in junior high, so you see how much experience i have here.

what i’m trying to say i guess is that i want to reach out to this girl and make a friendship. but i don’t know how to do that except with a guy, where the mechanisms are very very different. and so i find myself applying those techniques, which makes me feel like i am trying to pick her up although i don’t think i am. and i am almost positive that you are as confused as i am right now because i can’t seem to fucking say anything coherently right now.

i need some fucking coffee.

i guess all the crazy things i have done amount to about a year’s worth of blog posts. because i can’t really remember much that i haven’t posted already. except that i am an idiot for ever posting on usenet. because there are people out there on usenet who are even more anal retentive than i am and care even more than i do about the tiniest inflection or implied meaning of a chosen word in a post. a couple of times i posted things in a very honest and what i thought was an unoffensive way. however certain people would pick apart my usage of a specific phrase and use that alone to start one of the greatest flamewars in history. and on the particular newsgroup in which i participated there was never any fucking support for someone whose words had been twisted by one of the group’s heavies. i left that group because the women of color thought i was a bigot and the lesbians thought i was a pretentious bisexual and the bisexuals thought i wasn’t bisexual enough. after several weeks of bailing out the sinking ship with a bucket that had a hole in the bottom, i called it quits.

i remember in the early days when i had only vax access. and i had to use a stupid newsreader to get binary files from usenet and there was no preview function so you had to download four parts to one file, cut and paste them together, and then open it to see if it was anything worth looking at or if surprise! you just got a virus. which was okay in the end because only rich people could afford to have an internet-capable computer at home anyway, so it was only the university’s computer that got infected.

then there were all these free porn sites – bonus! – but those are now hopelessly lost in a quagmire of stupid pop-ups and sites that automatically load software onto your computer. and now it’s all about viruses and back doors and spyware and so it becomes a calculated risk just to pull up your favorite blog and have a read! after all there is malicious code out there waiting to wreak havoc. the av software companies should launch an ad campaign akin to a safe sex message, because they essentially provide condoms for your computer. and aol has just caught up and made it so that condoms are included with their stupid package. but i strongly suspect that the supposed security built into isp software is much like the enhanced security being offered by the tsa. which is to say that it all looks pretty and makes you feel secure; meanwhile you are no safer than you were before and you are probably paying extra in time and money for that false feeling of security.

napster was great! then it got shut down and i discovered limewire. then i realized you could actually download porn on limewire, so i did that for a while. and now i am so disgusted with the amount of corrupted files, files that won’t delete, people who label the same file with a hundred different names so you think it’s something new but wind up with a dozen copies of the same stupid thing, etc. there is this one clip of a mutt-like dog banging a chick who moans a little too loudly to be believed that they have named things like “pamela anderson and tommy lee video” when it is really just a dog banging a chick! and every third video you download, including the one called “lesbian locker room orgy – jenna jameson/ginger lynn!” is of this fucking dog banging this fucking chick.

there are swing clubs out there that i guess i could try. some of them don’t even make you swing, you can just go there with someone and have sex in public. and i know someone who i like to sleep with that would probably be into checking that out, in the spirit of expanding one’s horizons and so forth. however i have heard that those places, though intended for hot people, usually wind up hosting scary people. the ones that take everything a little too seriously, probably the same people who insist on remaining “in character” 100% of the time at that medieval event so much that they insist on rolling their own cigarettes and curing the tobacco themselves on their days off so as to be historically accurate.

then again i am probably not up to my own standards for a swing club anyway. meaning that i can’t go to one of those places until i am a perfect size six and everyone in the place can be in awe of my sexy bod. in which case i should probably take two people with me to protect me from all the nasty balding paunchy men who will no doubt try to grope me. and from all the nasty balding paunchy women who will be jealous and try therefore to kick my ass.

possibly nix on the swing club, then?

i suppose i could find a “massage parlor”. or possibly check into an escort service. the good thing about that is that when you are paying for it, you get to be a little more picky about the way the chicks look or whatever. so you will not wind up with someone balding and paunchy. however, i am fearful that i would make a classic faux pas in asking a masseuse for a sexual favor only to find out that her specialty is shiatsu. better yet that i would waltz into an escort service in which vice has chosen to place their undercover chick to blow the whole prostitution-racketeering-narcotics-mafia ring wide open. and i would get arrested along with the gambinos and nobody would ever believe that i was just a sexually frustrated chick looking for an adventurous encounter and i would wind up doing 25 to life in attica along with all the cugini.

i feel boring. how the hell am i supposed to entertain you people, then?

getting to know someone new is really fucking hard. i think i have a bunch of preconcieved notions about him.

how can i not when i go out to dinner with a bunch of friends and they all pounce on me with shit about him?

“oh Ellie, its a good thing you are too savvy to fall for this dude.”
“you know you are not <insert his name here> enough for him.”
“he’s kind of a jerk”
“egotistical”
“a player”

shit, okay people!. aren’t you guys his FRIENDS?!

well anyway. they are partially right i am sure. however, i fully understand what it is like to have even the people closest to you misinterpret you horribly. i give him the benefit of the doubt.

i think he is very much like me (except weirder).

i haven’t had sex now for almost 3 weeks. which is odd since i now officially have my mr. exclusive boyfriend (yes, yes, he came around and dumped those other biotches).

why no sex?

at this point i am on fire whenever i think about him. and i am thinking about him way way too often. don’t get too excited ellie… i already sent a picture of him to my mother for christs sake. how girly is that?

again, i ask, where’s the sex?

i dont know. he lives kinda far. so i cant really see him everyday.
last week we started to but then he got all grumpy about something and so we didnt.
then the next time we had the relationship discussion instead of sex. we would have fucked if he had said “yes, i want to date only you” but instead he said “i cant decide between you and this other chick”. and so sex was not on my adgenda since i was too busy containing my utter rage. only just this week did he decide on me…

in a way, i could get kinda pissy about that. but really who cares. we all have dilemas. who am i to get pissed about it? out loud i mean? i’m allowed to fume silently a little.

then this weekend everyone was a little too drunk and in the morning i was in ahurry as i had to be somewhere.

now today… i just started my period. so i’m in that chunky heavy flow stage. not the best time to fuck. better for the vibrator.

and now i am thinking about birth control. i stopped taking the pill. i dont know. maybe its my biological clock speaking here. but the base animal desperate urge to fuck with no condom is upon me. i hate condoms. but i guess there are not too many people who absolutely LOVE fucking with a condom… maybe, but i’ve never met any of them.

anyway. dont want to fuck with condom. what to do about it? do not want to take any hormonal birth control pill type things. diaphram? do they even still have those? the problem with that is that he has a big dick and it already hits my cervix. i bet having him pound into a diaphram would be uncomfortable for all involved.

crap. there is no solution.

there have been at least ten times today that i have thought of a great topic for a post and somehow i never seem to retain it or actually get to the computer during that time. fuck!

very unlike myself today. was chilling on the patio this morning and sighted a squirrel who has been stalking around the backyard lately. there are no trees at all by me and so i cannot fathom why he is there. he actually runs around at ground level quite a bit, even when the lawn guy is around with big loud mower. nonplussed.

today he balanced precariously on the chain link fence and had a big acorn? or fruit of some type, possibly a kiwi? in his paws, and he was peeling it furiously. the inside was green, that’s why i say it was maybe a kiwi. but from where? i thought it would be cool to take his picture, which is also unlike myself. so i got my camera from the bedroom – uncool! – batteries dead, i realized upon attempting to focus on him. replaced batteries, feeling certain he would flee before i could use my picture box to steal his squirrelly soul – five minutes later he was still there! posing for me this time with proud bushy tail.

i took three photos and vowed to get a camera with a better zoom. then i watched him scurry across the yard and dig a hole (!!) in the flowerbed, where he stashed the maybe-kiwi and covered it up. much like a cat in a litterbox – i did not know squirrels behaved this way too! snapped him again with rump aloft while digging. cute!

aside from capital lawn squirrels and campus squirrels i have never seen a squirrel in a residential area who is so oblivious to the presence of human beings. i must name him so i will be suitably crushed when he disappears or falls prey to the neighbor’s dog.

it seems that you drop the ball on all the little things, and that i pick it up, over and over again, with a heavy sigh. but true to your nature, when the ball is really fucking big you lift it effortlessly. i quiver beneath that shadow of atlas, until away i run like a stupid, skittish rabbit. and so when it matters most i tend to be curiously absent.

what i am trying and failing miserably to say is that i could not imagine that i ever let myself even consider betraying you. the depth of my shame is inexpressible.