Under Construction.

Sorry about the mess. I'm working on it.

Actually, I blame ann illusion. I went to add her and I lost EVERYTHING. I am trying to hunt down all my old links and literally remember each one. Good thing I link because I like the sites and visit them. Um, anyone got The Curious Ones link? And tell me if I left something out, kay?

Anyway, I'm working on legibility...blu.

Quick and Girly

scarlett says I look sad. I saw that on my yahoo when I was cleaning my desk. You see, I have been cleaning a lot lately. I have a fresh home. It feels good. I guess. Oh, sorry for not responding scarlett. I was in a cleaning frenzy.

My hair is in a frenzy here. 80's hair. From this very morning. Yeah. I have nothing to say. Or just waffley stuff. I have them in my freezer right now. Waffles.

GOOD LORD! I am so boring. And scattered.

Oh, I'm going to a comedy show on Saturday with B. This is pretty sweet, cause as yall know, I'm such a comedy fanboy. But, more importantly (extreme GIRL ALERT coming), I get to wear my new dress. You see, when I found it in the store, I was with B and I held it up to him and was like, "What do you think?"

I could see it on his face: Ugh. No. (Later, I found out that he was really thinking, "Wow. That's a hideously preschool dress. Are those big-ass learn-to-use-buttons buttons? Is that a cherry print?!? I really don't like that dress.")

So, I was like, "Wait till I try it on. If you don't like it, I won't get it." (I was spending his money. Hee hee.)

And I tried it on. And he liked it. A lot. So did the fella handing his sweetheart clothes in the dressing room next to me. And I was like, "See? You should trust I know what looks good on me." By 'me', I meant 'my tits'. Yeah, my tits look fabulous in this frock. I'm very excited to play dress up.

Anyway, dinner, drinks, comedy, a long ass drive. Sounds like fun. I'm off to confess dirty things to the hip preist now, before he is silenced by the evil blog police. Peace, babies.

It's called waffling.

So, I'm on SPRING BREAK 2K6!! Somehow, I can't write that in lowercase letters, so I apologize in advance. I feel like that phrase should reach out from the screen and give you a meaty slap, and then just keep slapping you and slapping you, so that you know you're not ever going to wake up from this beautiful dream. SPRING BREAK 2K6!!

I am in a confused place right now. You see, hella shit should be happening this week and next, but I am reluctant to get started, to talk about it, to write about it. I know that I can't live in limbo forever, but it seems safe enough here. Here, there are no expectations, but there are no promises. Here's where we both hurt the least. Or not. But me, yeah. Stagnation has always been a comfort zone for me.

I should be less ambiguous, but I really can't.

I want to write my smut again. I want to tell yall the sordid and mundane details of my life again. It's not even like n's blogger's block. I have shit to say. Lots of it. Thinking shit and ranting shit, angsty goth poetry shit, grocery lists, stupid stories, slutty stories. I want to hash out my relationships here, I want to get all nekkid and talktalktalk.

But I'm stuck. It's like I have one big story to tell and it involves something sensitive for every person listening -- but it's an epic, life-changing story -- and I can't tell a soul. But, I have to tell everyone. I really want the catharsis of unloading without the burden of reciprocation or the fear that someone will need to handle me, solve it, or be hurt. AH!! SPRING BREAK 2K6 how I hate thee!! Alone with my thoughts. Well, alone in a glass box. Maybe if I just mimed it a little.

How about this guy's drawings? It might look a little like this:


Or something like that, anyway. I think I just dug how well-defined his junkage is. The slut is back!! SPRING BREAK 2K6!!

Sigh. We're nowhere new.

An Answer of Sorts

poiesia wrote: "Now, I don't mean to diminish or suggest that happiness in the present moment in all of this or in life is not real. Yet, in our particular situations, I'd honestly ask you: How often are we enamored of the moment in all of this, fully alive and senses bursting? How thrilling and heady pleasure is -- and we are made fully alive by it. How often are we fully convinced that in the present moment, what our senses, heart and minds tell us is tangible truth that will sustain? Yet, as we look back a year later...it isn't the same experience and the moment is malleable to reinterpretation. I ask you to refute that."

Refute? Maybe I can't. But how essential is the question? How imperative is it to wait until the end to dictate the importance of the event, the feeling? We are not defined in retrospect, but in the moment; we are not always allowed hindsight to process, learn, or categorize. Perhaps it is my issue that there could be a specific truth to be derived from all experience and that we get in the way of our truth by accepting it too early or too late?

Love, and how it defines us, does not wait until it has soured and bittered, has become academic and stalwart with age. The softness and intimacy, the beauty of surprise all experienced in the moment and then gone -- or not -- but lessened with time and with rationalization. I cannot accept that it is only later, without emotion, that I can really gather the truth from my experience, because the experience contained the emotion, was shaped by it.

They are not mutally exclusive, the now and later. Much wisdom, elaboration, smoothing of contours and enhancing of subtleties occurs with time, are integral to a full experience, but to negate the present as compromised, as unfinished, denies its essential, dewy-new presence, its presents.

Am I being too philosophical? Perhaps I am.

I don't want to play the waiting game. I've lived it far too long. My truths are not an epilogue for someone else. They are mine in the moment and I have to proceed with them just that way. The lessons of the past can surface in this luxury we call hindsight, but the descisions in the present are not, and cannot, be removed from my open bracket timeline. Never one place, always moving forward, because unlike our mind's time, there is only forward for us.

Are you correct? Should I be wary of cyclical lessons? Yes, very much yes for me. But can I afford to wait until tomorrow forever to be sure I made the right choice, that I have seen the truth? No. Not anymore. I have lost far to many yesterdays that way.

Bleeding No. 6

I keep having these dreams.


There was this one dream that was sort of loosely based on that upcoming horror movie, The Hills Have Eyes. I was in this old, abandoned desert town with B and some of our friends. We were being attacked by these horrible creatures and people were dying all around us, but he kept dragging me though, planning, setting things up to get us out. In a reality that only makes sense in dreams, he found someone he knew a little and got them to come pick us and the few remaining survivors up.

When they got there, he got me in the car, and was climbing in himself, but this girl and her grandmother were struggling to follow, so he climbed back out after I told him not to, and helped them get in the other car. The guy who came to get us slammed my door and the driver locked me in the back alone, as the creatures drew nearer. B was still outside, running along the car, trying to get them to stop and let him in. I was screaming and crying in the back and pounding on the window, but the driver just laughed.

I knew there was nothing I could do as I saw him drop away, knowing there was no chance. The last chance was gone. I was hysterical watching him disappear behind us. He waved.

I woke up, sweaty, my heart racing. I reached across the pillow wall he always builds and felt for him. He was there; I said, "I had a nightmare. It was horrible. I'm scared." He moved the pillows and pulled me close to him, pressing his body against mine. I couldn't shake off the image of him being left behind.


Just last night, I had this other dream. It was much less narrative and I remember very little, except that for some reason, my dad was alive again. I knew he had died when I was twelve, but somehow he was alive again. And I had a chance to be with him, but I wasn't. I knew he was dying again, and I was too busy to be with him.

He died and I had no new memories, except that of him wanting me there, and me too busy to sit with him, be with him.


I know what these dreams are and it hurts. I can't think about anything else but the end, and holding on to it for as long as I can, keeping things exactly the same, laughing, talking, being happy and numb and close. Cause it will be gone, and no matter what he thinks, I will never be the same again.

Eagle: Landing?

For the eyes of Suddenly Jaded only...

That's what it said on the note under my windshield wiper. It was clearly scrawled by one of my mongoloid students...yet, which one, I am not so sure...

Maybe this makes sense to one of you:

Suddenly Jaded,

It is apparent now that two agents of Hawan(?), known only as code name From Now and code name Til Morning have come into contact with a mortal agent (female no less) known in correspondence, though we know that the D word in her code name 'Miss Dawson' may possibly stand for 'deyoung'. Pass this information on swiftly as I will expire quite soon. Hire someone else and reveal Savandon(?) before they stop us.

The Spy
(Indecipherable)

Anything?? Me neither.

$40,000

Big meeting with TBJ tomorrow. Wish me luck.

I'll be around for real on Monday. I'm coming visiting, chiddles.

Confusion at the Deli

So I went to this deli called Junior's yesterday afternoon for lunch with B. He's a Hungarian Methodist or something, and I'm a German Catholic but my family's all Irish on my mother's side. Super fucking shamrocky Irish...four leaf clovers, rainbows, frosted lucky charms, you know. So, in order to get our yearly fill of cornbeef on St. Paddy's, we, living in LA, head over to the best Jewish delicatessen in town.

We were all sitting there...and maybe it's because I work in a school that's predominantly Jewish, one might say really Jewish...but I have learned quite late in life that Jews love to be made fun of...by their own people, but still. So there I was, surrounded by Jews like in the Holy Land. And they were all dressed in these great outfits -- nip waders (as B refers to them), broaches, capes, big bouffant style hairdos.

Anyway, this guy that works there calls over the loudspeaker, "David, party of two."

And this guy next to me jumps up and runs over, says, "Daniel, party of four?"

And the waiter goes, "No, David. Party of two."

And Daniel goes, "Not Daniel?"

And the waiter goes, "No, Daaaay-vid."

And Daniel goes, "Am I David?"

Pause. Long pause.

And me and B are like, "Jeez, buddy, if you don't know, he can't help you." The waiter gives him a very condescending look and shakes his head slowly.

Some people are fucking retarded. So Danvid, as we are now referring to him sits back down, but seriously, when it was our turn the waiter calls, "(A name simialar to) Maynard! Party of two."

And David gets back up again!! "Daniel? Is that me?!?"

OMG. We need a big bus right about now. Anything. Danvid is so confused!!

Bleeding No. 5

I should write, I know. But like all things in my life, I just keep putting off and putting off. In a day, I will have done this, in a week, in a month, and then, I'll talk about it then. It's a good job other people are in my life cause I would never do things simply for myself. I would keep putting off, longer and longer...until nothing.

I am so fucking afraid. I am so fucking selfishly unselfish. And I am a liar now. Everything I say is caution, is temporary. I will always love you, but every second is this huge event. Will this be the last time? Will there be a last time? Nothing happened, so I have done nothing. And I am waiting for it to happen. For there to be a good time, a better time. But there is no time but now. And I am ticking through it a liar.

I hate me so much more today than I did yesterday. I hate being this way. I hate not being able to turn it off, be pragmatic, logical. I hate making promises I couldn't keep. I hate that I am everything, and I have been nothing. And in the end, it doesn't matter. I will never be okay again. I didn't think it was possible, but I will never go through anything worse than this. And I will never think that I deserve, again.

I will never be with you. I will never be whole. I will never be happy. I will never be a good person. I will never be okay again.

And nothing anyone says can change that.

So, don't say anything. I deserve this pain. I deserve more pain, the worst pain. I deserve to have my heart broken everyday because I didn't do this right. Because I am callous. Because I am a liar. Because I am so disgustingly low. I hate. I hate so much. I am so repulsed.

I was on the plane, after everything happened, and I wished that it would just go down. Some fucking barren corn field and just no more. I think he could forgive me then. I think that he could go on then. I think that he could endure, be happy even. I am making him feel worth less; I am saying it's not enough. Who the fuck am I?

Bleeding No. 4

Nothing happened. It's always this way.

Bleeding No. 3

Last night was the worst night of my life. And I froze. I forgot why I made these decisions in the first place. I could only think about his face, his pain. I could only think about what a fucked-up girl I am for ruining his life.

I don't know what I am choosing between anymore, but it might seem like keeping him safe and free from any more heartache is winning. My wounds are closing, but it is only a matter of time. It was not easy to sleep last night, but the drugs and alcohol helped.

I don't know which way is up anymore and I'm drowning.

Bleeding No. 2

I have been quiet and secret so I didn't have to upset anyone. I have lived my life to keep pain from the ones I love. It doesn't seem to work. Ever. They still hurt and I can't fix it.

And in the end, I hate myself for not being good enough, or clever enough to have saved them. So I take a little piece of me and I ruin it. I can show you where I am disintegrating for him. And it has not been enough to erase, or even just to numb.

And so I am fucking up my life. In the end, it will be over and I will only have scars to remind me that I wasn't good enough, I wasn't clever enough.

Bleeding No. 1

This has been so hard. And every day is worse. I never thought I could hate myself this much.

Salvation. I want yours.

Vacation Rentals | Myspace Layouts | Music Lyrics

Rancid. Did I tell you all that I crushed hardcore of these guys as a youth...and still do? I saw them at The Gilman when I was a baby (so to speak; I was like 15 or something). Grew up in the East Bay. I miss this music.


Fuck it gets me moving. I WANNA SCREAM! Grin.

There are some lyrics in there:

"...a neighborhood called Blackhawk
where all the rich people hide..."

My mom gets her hair done in Blackhawk. Smirk. It's totally yuppieville. My roommate in college had a house in the gated communities there. It came with a golf cart. I never did make proper use of that golf cart. Heh heh. Anyway. There isn't enough music that makes you want to kick the shit out of things without feeling like a major asshole later. I'm just saying.

HAPPY MONDAY, BITCHES!

Initial Here

Her hands squeaked along the edge of the desk, nails biting into the grain. She was hiccupping moans into the empty room, her legs spread wide around the office chair and feet planted firmly on the ground to the left and right of her. She was rocking her hips forward and back, her cunt spread and saturating the seat below her.

She leaned forward, back dipping into a tempting hollow as she polished her clit against the abrasive fabric, mouth falling open with gasps. Her hands were fists, palms, fists, palms slapped against the unforgiving surface of the desk, slapped against the yeilding heat of her thighs. She thrust back, hands channeling down to her grinding slit, slipping across her flushed, milkysweet cunt.

Wider, her thighs yawning apart and presenting her ripe clit for the plucking. Two fingers diving between her fold to twist gently, spine curving back around the top of the chair. Her hair fell away from her face, revealing her eyes. Closed. Lashes trembling on her pink cheeks. Mouth a fat, slick O surrending irregular, whispered grunts.

She groaned, her eyes narrowing, hips bucking hard against her furious hand. She could feel a familiar warmth opening through her pelvis, her tight-peach cunt pounding, blood hammering through her veins, focused, fixated. She stroked across her swollen clit furiously, hips slamming against the seat. Reaching underneath, she grabbed the chairleg, a loud, begging whine escaping her lips.

She couldn't stop herself now. A cursory glance behind her. No one. Furious teeth imprisoned her lip and she bit down hard while she came, thumping her ass and hips against the chair as her body rocked through the orgasm, the back of her thighs damp, her hair curling around her face.

A moment. Two. She leaned forward and pressed her cheek against the cool desk, her arms soon following. She choked softly on her breath, and peeked between her legs. Her pink cunt was happily used, sloppily used. She sat up, alarmed.

"Fuck!"

She looked down again, spreading her legs to examine her belly and thighs. She couldn't believe it. That fucker had lied to her!

"Fuck!" The ink between her legs was blurring and bleeding, melting with her wet lap, "Oh no! Oh no! Fuck!"

The words were disappearing, had transferred onto the seat below her. Whore. Cunt. Slut on the desk chair, smearing between her legs. Fuck! He said it was permanent. He said it was permanent! She sprang up off the chair in her flimsy tank top, running to the kitchen to get a wet, soapy rag for the chair.

This was how he found her, bent over, scrubbing angrily, his name dripping down her thighs. She looked up quickly when his shadow filled the frame, his mouth a grave gash.

"Good afternoon, whore," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the door, eyes narrowing, "I see you've been a bad girl."

GAP undies are not penis-friendly.

Okay, so I thought I would do the second half of my post yesterday. The post where I tell yall what happened last night. Don't get excited, I was gone by 7:30. Here goes:

Right after work, we split up into who was driving who...there was a specific reason why A&F (so-called because he looks exactly like an Abercrombie and Fitch model, seriously), Japan (pretty self-explanatory considering my profession) and I all took one car. I don't like writing that reason here, since I am still terrified that one day my students will find this and I will have to flee to the mountains and live like a hermit forever. Sometimes I wish I didn't have a job where I had to be a role model. Don't get me wrong, I am the best hypocrite you'll ever meet and I stick to my lies like THC to butter (Like that JohnnyDragon? Grin.) but it means I can't just be honest. So anyway, the three of us get in my car (cause A&F prefers me to drive...first man in my life for which this applies, but I think it has a lot more to do with his paranoia than with his faith in my skillz) and we drive back through the neighborhood surrounding the school, commencing with our own activites, shall we say?

E and 31 are getting us a table at our bar. G had to go home first to "feed his cat" (insert just about any debauched activity into those quotes and you're probably closer to the truth) and would meet back up with us there. Did I mention PC yet? (Also self-explanatory as per my job.) Yeah, he's coming later, and his woman will be following him.

So, the three of us arrive late and we all crowd into the booth. By crowd, I mean 31 and I take one side with plenty of room for our purses, jackets and crap, and Japan, E, and A&F are on the other side with no extra room. E, 31, and I go for a cigarette and G appears while we're out.

So at this point, 31 turns to me and says, "Oh no. Where's G going to sit?" Yeah. With us. And in many cases this could be cool, except I know something that G doesn't know that I know. I hope he never finds this place, because I'll tell you: G kissed 31. And professed certain undying love, so to speak. Did I mention that he's 16 years older than her? (Not that that matters to her. Her whoring knows no bounds. Grin. And to be fair, our waitress carded G cause she thought he was 25. You should have seen the shock on her face...there was no hiding that.) Still unconcerned? G is married and has been for over a decade. It's all a mess now.

But we like G. A lot. These evenings would be hella boring without him, so we won't stop inviting him. So these moments happen. Shit this is getting long. Lemme fast forward.

• More pitchers.
• We joked at length about A&F's sexuality cause he looks rather homosexual, but we are all aware that he is certainly not. But our kids don't know that.
• More jokes about people we work with mostly centered around He That Moisturizes and The Baby Jesus.
• 31, E and I snuck away to the bar for shots (which E never takes cause she's allergic to alcohol...she can tell the most accurate stories of these evenings).
• E and I teamed up in secretly digging this big guy at the bar (except he was really into the basketball game, so we made up stories about how he's a gambler and thus unworthy, since she's married and I'm involved...a girl can look though, yes?).
• 31 slobbered all over her favorite bartender (interestingly enough, also married) but in her own dainty, come-hither way.
• Phone calls were made and answered.
• PC was being an ass, as usual and giving us all hella shit, but then the night ended with hugs, so all is well and he'll fix my internet later this week (read: In March sometime--maybe).
• The boys talked about their new cycling fetish. Boring!
  
• 31's beau, who I think only PC and A&F (who likes everybody...except He That Moisturizes) are able to tolerate, did NOT show up by the time I left. Must be out of town. In Mexico. Stocking up on Xanax. So that he can answer the door for his mailman. Smirk.

Damn, this is long even when I'm fastforwarding. I think that's because there was no significant moment to focus on. Which is maybe why I left at 7:30. Maybe something good--shit, I can't believe I almost forgot!!!

So, 31 was wearing this thong that had all these extra straps and they were sliding up into her ass every time she moved. She was bitching about them all day (trust me, so would I...I saw that fucker...it would have lived in the back of my drawer forever) so when we got to the bar, I was like, "Just take um off. No one will know."

Except, 31 and I were wearing the same miniskirts. I could tell by how much of my ass and thighs were touching the linoleum booth, that she couldn't have been happy. So, during one of our cigarette breaks, she says, "I'm going next door to the GAP and buying underwear." I volunteer to go with her, but it turns out that this store doesn't have a "GAPBody" (which means they don't sell underwear). Though, that doesn't apply to men, somehow. There was plenty of boy's undies.

31 had to settle. With a pair of turquoise boy shorts. With a stitched up penis pouch. She bought them and this other tank top. Then we were talking about how she would put it on in the parking lot. She was careful to make the cash register guy think she meant the tank top. He gave her the most horrified look and said, "Giiirl. You can change in the fitting room." She was all, "Really? You sure?" He had this weird sigh, "Yeees. We prefer it." (They have a preference? Who knew?) He continued, "You know, there might be cameras...next thing you know, you're a girl goin' wild!" And we were like, "Yeah. Heh heh. Thanks."

These underoos were hysterical. You have to understand. I don't think 31 even owns a non-thong pair of panties. This was like a fucking tablecloth for her ass. I laughed for quite a while. The best part? She turns to me during one of our pee-breaks and says, "I don't know where the penis would even go in these things."

By Invitation Only

So, babies. I'm heading out on the town this evening. Well, this afternoon rather. I get out very early on Fridays and so me and a bunch of my colleages head over to the bar we love (hot waiters, pitchers that are mostly alcohol, and ridiculous mood lighting--it's black in there by 7--a sexual predator's dream!) and start tankin' up almost immediately. I am fucked by 9.

So, me and 31 are the cruise directors for these little soirees. We didn't want to be, but somehow it just happened that way. It's so high school (how appropriate) how I'll like, sidle up next to some teacher in the hallway and be like, "You going to be at the, uh..."afterschool meeting" on Friday?" Yeah, I'm hella smooth!! And then they'll be like, "Really? You sure? Is it okay?"

AGHHH! We're all peers here. We all need to get shit-faced to the same degree! Like I would be all, "No, you're not one of the popular kids! Get fucked!" I know this makes me look like such a bitch. I'll even get the casual, "Hey, can I come with you guys tonight?"

Just come. Really. I never get my shit together till the last minute. Expect that you are always invitied. The time and place never changes. Fuck, just come already and stop making me and 31 look like those girls in high school that we hated. FUCK!

I need a drink. And conveniently enough...

March

I hate this month. Somehow, I both want it to over and want time to stand still forever. March is a bad place to be.