Friday, December 30, 2005
I wanted to share a bit of myself with you, because it occurs to me that you don't know too much about me except that on occasion I can be a bit of a cheeky lust monkey...so I thought I would let you in on the night of my birth, and see what you all thought. Of course, this means my writing so skip to the end after the stars if you aren't into it.
However, it has also come to my attention that you all might not know how to pronounce my name. So, if you like, please tell me how you pronounce it by spelling it phonetically for me, and we'll see if anyone gets close. I'd promise a prize, but I don't know anything worth giving, unless...well. Lets say I might let you tell me what to write about if you get the pronunciation correct. Exactly correct. My first name, that is. Because all of you better know how to pronounce Giovanni. Bonus points to the first person who knows the lyric I took my title from. (except ST, who doesn't count, because he already knows)
So, without further ado, the tortuous description of the birth of Alecya G.
The base of the speakers is thudding loudly overhead. People laugh, the smell of hundreds of cigarettes floats down the stairs and to my nose. The stairs, rickety wooden stairs painted with peeling industrial blue paint that flakes under the spike heels of women floating up and down them. Stairs that would give the heart of the most fearless roller coaster rider a jolt. And all to soon, I am going to have to climb back up them. It scares me.
Its not just the stairs, but the act of going up those stairs and past a curtain, our into the lights. Across a stage, amidst loud music and lewd. Prying eyes. My own personal "Allegory of the Cave". I already can’t wait to get back to the shadows of the basement dressing room.
I suppose some would say tonight will be an epiphany for me. The moment I break through past all of my sterile, Midwestern, barefoot, pregnant, pink gingham upbringing ideals and step out to bare my true self to the world. Literally. Good Lord, who signed me up for this??
For my moment in the sun, I’ve selected black. They say it’s a slimming color, and even for a ‘skinny’ girl like me, that will be a comfort; knowing that the bit of me covered will look slim.
Jason, the manager, brings me a drink as I pull out my make-up box and tiny dance bag I carry (as though I am going to the gym) He mouths to me that its water. Uh huh. I plug in my curling iron and take a sip of the drink. As I suspected, its gin. I don’t think Jason knows what water is. There’s been speculation among the other dancers that there is a gin tap in his sink at home. I wouldn’t doubt it.
As I pull off my jeans, socks, and top I lay my leg on the vanity to inspect my shaving job. I’ve brought an electric razor just in case. I have never been what you would call an "expert shaver" an on occasion I have been known to miss a spot, or five. I should just wax and be done with it, but I am a bit squickish about getting my eyebrows and bikini done, so the thought of all my legs covered in hot wax makes me shudder...
After okaying my legs I start putting on foundation. It seems a little silly, I am so pale they don’t make a foundation in my skin tone, but the girls reassure me that it will even me out in the light, so I do it anyway. There’s strong doubt in my mind as to why anyone might find me attractive anyway. My legs are far too long for my body; and as I’ve mentioned before, I am so plae you can nearly see through me. Jason says I have a "gothic" appeal, that is both frightening and sexy at the same time. Apparently, there are guys out there who find the glow of my pasty skin appealing - a turnon even. Whatever.
That aside, I’ve decide that me an my gothic alter-ego are taking out act on the road. So here I am. Although she’s not quite here yet.
My alter ego, she is not afraid of anything. Bit by bit I become more like her as I ready myself. With the aid of pink shadow on my eyes and a large amount of eyeliner placed strategically on my lids, my face takes on a smoky quality. After my green contacts go in, I can see less and less of the peeling paint on the stairs. My sense of hearing sharpens and I can pick up voices, specific conversations. Over the din, the clink of glasses and sultry music I can detect the sound that brings out the woman hiding inside - lust.
Jason and another man I don’t know start to play with my hair, and as the long black tresses curl and move, I stop seeing myself in the mirror. I take another drink of the gin and look into the mirror again. The burn of the drink makes the woman looking at me smile. She needs rouge, and lipstick, I think. Something to go with the throaty laugh that boils out of her and spills past her lips.
My hand skitters across the dressing table to my make-up and I select a pale pink rouge. She’s so pale - too much would be noticed. I brush it lightly across her cheeks and she purses her lip sin a pout. I’ve almost put too much on. Her evergreen eyes shoot sparks. Tonight she must be perfect, alluring, subtle. Don’t worry, love. I tell her. I can take care of it. I dust her face with powder, and the soft, unearthly glow returns. Her eyes glow in approval. The look she favors me with makes my heart jolt. Jason and the other man curse me, I’ve managed to get powder in my hair. They can fix it, though, and I return my attention to the sultry woman in the mirror.
Her face is perfect, and I find that I can’t help but stare. She’s so beautiful. I watch her, fascinated, as she pulls out a bottle of lotion and smooths it on to her legs. I’ve never seen legs that long, and the way she lotions them makes me think of sex. She knows it. She smiles at me mysteriously. I take another drink and she lights a cigarette.
When she breathes out, smoke spirals tiny kisses up the stairs to the men laughing, waiting for her. She rests her feet on the vanity so I may continue to admire her legs and her slender, dainty toes. She inhales again, and I can feel the burning in my chest. I think she must smoke strong cigarettes because my mouth feels hot with smoke. I suppose I am right, because when she exhales again, she winks at me, as though we are sharing a secret.
I watch her, as she smokes, drinking between puffs, as the men make her lovely. Her hair is a vision of silky raven locks that curl tantalizingly down her back. But there is something missing, I think. Lipstick. Red as blood ans thick as the smoke in her lungs. She puts in on and I know it must be almost time. She stands up and reaches for my bag. She pulls out the thin, silky, nearly sheer black garments and begins to pull them on.
I feel like a voyer now, because she is so beautiful naked. I am nearly disappointed when she slides in her bra. But then I have to envy the way it looks, because surely my breasts never stand out like that. Her hips seem smaller and legs even longer when she slips on the bit of material that covers her waistline. As she pulls on the strappy spiked heels that have ben sitting on the stool next to her I envy the length of her perfectly shaped legs.
I wonder a bit at how graceful she looks, because every time I have ever worn shoes liket at I felt like I was wearing lead boots, but she is tripping around the room in them now like they weigh nothing. They make her a good four inches taller and I am more than a little impressed. We did it. Or we will. One more thing, and we’ll ooze sex.
I reach into my bag and pull out the vial of jasmine scented oil I jeep there. A little on the ankles, a bit above my navel and the customary dab to the wrist and neck - nothing can stop us now.
Jason is standing behind me, and its hard to tell who looks more satisfied about my look -me or him.
"You look amazing" he says.
When I turn to him, she takes over. Its her show now.
"Do I?" I purr into his ear, with soft tones that barely scratch at the obscene. I see him nod and step closer, an then closer again, my hand slipping around his waist for the briefest moment. "We have to go."
I ignore his puzzled look as I trip up the stair and out into the lights.
alright, finish the laughing and get to guessing, you lot.
Love and kisses-AG
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Lots of love for you guys-AG
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Do you know how you got me to that moment? Had you counted the seconds until I was there, planning for the capitulation you knew was coming? Did you laugh and smile on the inside, that moment, when I was standing there, feeling as though I was ready to drop to my knees if necessary, so that I could show you I meant every breathy word of it? Or did it surprise you as much as me, to hear my voice, throaty, rasping and soft, begging for you to make me yours at last.
You charmed that plea out of me, with every sweet word you spoke, with every eyebrow you raised and every smile you flashed my way. You put a photo album in my head, and each moment was bringing me further into the picture, and yet, I wanted the best shot. The one of me sighing in your arms. I couldn’t pinpoint that moment, when I realized that I would get to that place, so hungry for the taste of you that I would do whatever I needed to drink from your mouth. But I do know this, the moment you told me you thought I was lovely, I slipped.
And I’ve been tumbling since then, and it landed me there. With you. Out in the cold air, wrapped in a woolen scarf and shivering on my porch steps, reaching out for you and doing something I never envisioned myself doing. The wool was scratching me painfully, and the ache in my legs and back told me to go in and forget this madness, and you. The feeling in my chest of cold air and snow on my face told me to rush into the warmth of my bath, and soak steaming there, and to find the answer to that begging question somewhere in my mind, where I didn’t have to ask and you always said yes. But there was a sick feeling in my stomach and it told be to wait, and to breathe, and to beg. So I did.
You were worth the wait, I will tell you that. When you scooped me up into your arms at last and made me feel like we could melt a whole street’s worth of snow with our kissing, I knew I would beg again if you asked me to. Your mouth descended on mine with a fury I had never seen in you before, and it was fast and deep and fevered – yet you were taking your time with me and I could feel it. Somewhere, inside you, you were savoring that moment as much as I was. I was shocked at how hungry I was for you, and amazed at the tenderness of your lips on mine. You pulled my breath out of me while you kissed me, sucking at my lips and then licking your way down my neck.
I could replay the next moment in my head for an eternity, when you wrapped your arms around me and pulled me against you tightly. There was nowhere for me to go. Nowhere for me to hide. And you were there, unashamed and unabashed at the feelings I inspired in you and you let me feel it. You pulled me closer, and you asked me to let you in. Of course, you wanted to get in out of the cold. You wanted into my house. But my wild thoughts chased through my head and I was sure that I would let you in, deeper than I had let anyone before and I nodded. I could almost feel my breast opening up to you, and reaching out to pull you deep inside me and share with you those shuddering, shaking feelings you were giving me. But you looked at me oddly, and I shook it off, reaching for the keys and letting you into my house.
I felt awkward, and after all the times you had been there, it seemed wholly unnecessary for me to gesture to the couch as I crossed to room to light the fire and mess with my thermostat. But I couldn’t escape you, not that night, and not ever, I think now.
You swooped down on my like a shadow, wrapping around me as if to trap me and pulling me down the hall where you knew my room was. Funny, how after all the times you had been in my room it was suddenly exciting and erotic like it had never been before. I have spent hours there with you, laying against you, telling you everything I could think of, idly stroking your arms and half daydreaming. But it was never like this.
The change from the cold of the outside to the heat I was exposing myself to now was enough to make me feel like my skin was on fire, and that was before you resumed kissing me, as if you were determined not to let me down in fulfilling my request on the porch.
You burned me, with those searing, hard, long kisses. On my face, in my mouth and down my neck. When you pulled aside that ridiculous sheer blouse I’d worn in hopes of tempting you, and began to kiss my shoulders, I know I moaned aloud. You must have liked the sound of it, because you let me run my fingers up your chest, and stroke it tentatively as you continued to pepper me with your passion, all over my neck and shoulders.
I was frightened. Frightened of what I was feeling and what I was doing, and of you and everything you meant to me. But I left my hands there, on your chest, and let you hold me, tightly -as if I was going to fall, and felt the heat on you. You were softer than I had thought you would be, and firmer, somehow, as well. You were warm, and strong and beautiful though, and I couldn’t bear the thought of letting you get away. So I pulled your mouth back to mine, and slipped my tongue inside you and let my fingers move from button to button on your shirt, until your beautiful chest was bared to me at last and I slipped the shirt from your shoulders and buried my face where your shirt had been. I kissed down your breastbone and across, stroking you softly and listening to your moans.
I felt suddenly so weak for all my bravado, and I felt my self slipping in your arms. It causes me to reel, to think of that wavering between desires to strong it made me want to fight, and to run, and passion so great that I cold barely stand under the weight of it. But you were there, knowing my every thought, and you lowered me onto my own bed as though it were yours and you were offering it to me. Your eyes, the way you looked over me and they way you were pleading with me, I knew, at that moment, you were ready to give me every bit of you and you were waiting for me to tell you so.
“Yes,” I can remember my whisper. “Please. I need you. I have for so long.”
“Oh,” It was a moan, more than a statement, and a tender, soft sound of passion and not surprise. You took your time, I was your prize, and you were going to open me slowly and patiently, I could tell. You pulled away my shirt and the skirt I was wearing gently, and ran your beautiful fingers all about my body, in long, swift, loving strokes.
I am sure I sounded a fool, whimpering and begging you for more, as you touched me with passion and tenderness I had only imagined in you, and had never thought I would experience. You found places on me I had not expected you to know, places I had dreamed I would show you but never expected for you to find without me.
My hips, my sides, the backs of my calves. You touched them with your sure strokes and made me cry out for you. You nipped and sucked at the small of my back, and the moved just as swiftly for my hip bones, my collar and my wrists. I lay there, bound by you, a sheen of passion glistening on me, and you fed the fire until I couldn’t see from the heat of it all.
I reached for you, blindly, as if there were nothing else I wanted or needed and in that moment. And to tell you the truth, love, there was nothing else. Just you, the feeling of you, and that soft, whimsy feeling you were invoking in my chest, in my mouth and between my legs. And you were there.
You had slipped into your own nothingness faster than I could see it. And you were slipping inside me.
As much as I would have loved a long tender amount of foreplay; as much as I would have had you linger over every part of me; as much as I would have loved to explore every bit of you with my mouth and fingers and tongue – you did what I needed you to do. That was what I wanted above all those things. You, all of you, filling every part of me. And I couldn’t have it soon enough.
You were deep, so deep inside me. And you were hotter than I imagined. You knew how to move. It was fast and yet laboriously slow lovemaking. I wanted it to go on forever. You touched inside me with expert ease. You stroked me with movement that gave me the fleeting thought that I had been haunting your dreams in much the way you had danced in and out of mine for as long as I could remember.
I stroked your back, feeling your firmness and pulling you closer. I couldn’t bear it, it almost hurt to have you there at last, in the back of my mind I could feel it wouldn’t last forever. You were beautiful though. The soft sighs escaping your lips and tickling my ears were like soft gentle music I wanted to fall inside of. The smell of you, your body and your arousal was heady and I felt dizzy as you moved with me.
Soon, all too soon for me, I could feel that dam inside me tearing and tumbling forward into a crashing symphony of moans, pain and beauty all at once. I wouldn’t stop, and you wouldn’t have let me stop if I had wanted, you moving more surely, as if this was all you had wanted, all along, to see me like this, tears rolling down my cheeks as you brought me to a place I had never seen or felt before. Pulsing, pulling, pushing away with hard passion – my body did all these things at once as I pulled your tighter and harder into me with a groan that tore out of me before I could stop it. I was crying, I know, and calling your name and holding tight to you as if you were the only thing that kept me attached to reality.
And then you let go. You let your passion finish me completely, and I am still amazed at that moment when I could see how far gone you were in your eyes. They were afire and cold as ice at the same time, heavy lidded and wide open. Your gorgeous lips, so delicate, so sensuous, were parted with a beautiful look dancing about them. I want to hear the sound of you calling for me again and again. Love, that beautiful word, and you called me it. Love. With your voice hoarse from the beauty of what you were feeling and shaking from the intensity of our feelings for each other. You called me love. And it was amazing.
When you collapsed on me, half sobbing yourself, but still there, with me, waiting to show me more of how you could make me feel, I let you in completely. We lay there, my arms slipped behind your shoulders keeping you close to me. You kissed on my cheeks and nuzzled into my neck and sighed softly. You kept your mouth close to mine, breathing in and out with me, in an intense almost-kiss that kept me shivering long after we had both finished. I looked into your face, and I showed you my eyes. My emotion, the longing I had hidden from you for so long. The desperate need to have you with me, the way we had just been, again and again, as long as you would let me.
“You’re beautiful.” I whisper, softly, with every bit of feeling I can muster. I stroke your face, and pull you close to me, kissing you deeply, as though you are a wine I cannot drink enough of.
Yes, you made me beg. You made me feel weak and shaky and perfect and beautiful all at once. You moved me beyond the lines of my own sanity, into a new place, a place I’d not felt. You moved my world, you re-arranged it, and put your passion in the center. You took every bit of me and tasted it. You made me yours. And tonight, I will beg. “Love, do it again.”
There, I hope you like it. Made me feel better....
I just lost my job, kids. And not becaus eI am bad at what I do or slack off or am lazy or any of those legitimate easons I could be fired. No. They "Don't like my personality. [I] don't fit in...Wouldn't be fair to others to make them be around someone [like me that] doesn't mesh well"
Assholes. Seriously. In teh space of 6 months I have gone in, reconfigured all their filing systems for them, re-organized thier receiving, designed a new process to make them more efficinet in the making of tehir manuals, caught them up on 6 months of backwork, have them 6 months ahead in manuals, and have done everything I told them I would do when they hired me, plus answer the phones, learn payroll and all that.
And they fired me. Ass holes. But htey let me do 10 bids this mornign before I left.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Well, I finally got my head out of the bowl, which was a miracle, but then I went to go see my mom which is enough to make anyone want to vomit. Really. She made the kids nuts yelling at them and telling them to 'be good' and 'smile' and 'be quiet' and 'all these other things that you don't tell kids on Christmas when you've made them wait until 6pm to open presents.
My brother was an hour late, of course, and when he did get to the house, he was high (I could smell it on him when he came in the door - I was 15 feet away) and completely drunk and he brought some random girl with him, per usual. This one however, was particularly odd because she graduated with me in high school and she got suspended from school after she got caught having sex with a girl in the showers in the locker room. And now she's "dating" my brother. After dinner they ran off to the basement to do god knows what...
Mom got upset I didn't want to eat, even though I had called down and told her I had been sick all day. (and she made Chineese, I could barely stomach the thought of a cracker, let alone chineese!) And then she insited I have some wassail, even though I objected that alcohol might make me sick again. ("Oh, just one glass, please, i only put a little alcohol in it. I made it just for you, you aren't going to even try it?!")
Anyway. It was a less than pleasant experience, and I will leave out most of the gory details for your sakes...
So I do have some pictures developed and thought I would share those with you, these are from earlier parties. The ones of Christmas day have yet to be developed.
So, here we go.... (I might also add I messed with the sizes of these a bit, and if you click them, you can of course see them better. But then, a close up on some of these might be a bit scary.)
This is me and Beloved at her mother's house. Beloved is actually much shorter than me. She sitting on a stool, and I am in the floor. Isn't she cute, though? We're both dreadfully pale. I suppose I ought to get outside more...
This is my Granmother, my mother and the aunts that I get to see every year. Which one do you think is my mom? Curious to which you all peg for her. My Grandmother is of course the lovely lady in the middle, wearing white. Hoped you guessed that much.
This charming fellow is my brother. He's darn tall, isn't he? I was so bitter when he passed me up. As a side note, I also think this is the most coherent he was all night....funny that...must have been the bright lights.
This is me and my cousin Lovey, whom I have written about before. She's an excellent girl, and I love her very much. Sweet thing. She's 16 now, and its nice she can drive about. We might get to see each other more often. She also much smarter than I will ever be, and is enrolled in a program in her high school that will allow her to be a sophmore in college by the time she graduates. And (LOTR fans) she's fluent in elvish.
And the pic of the Christmas tree still doesn't want to upload. Bugger. Well, C'est la Vie...
I'd say happy christmas and all that, but I don't think any of us can be fooled at this point. So 'll just give you all my love, and hope that counts for a little bit...
Sunday, December 25, 2005
We went to have dinner at her grandmother's and we had a nice time. I got to play with her cousins, and they are all adorable. I got some nice pics, so as soonas they ae developed I will put them up.
Beloved liked the sweaters and watch I got her. She was very excited. I got the nirvana "Withthe Lights Out" CD set, Imajica by Clive barker and a (huge suprise) saphire and diamond bracelet that took my breath away. So I feel quite spoiled.
We're off to my mom's tonight, and I am sick, so I am not looking forward to it one bit. Hopefully, I will get over the nausea before we go. Must be catching, eh Swiss?
Hope you are all doing well....
Friday, December 23, 2005
That's right. I am a shameless attention whore. Thus, I would like kisses. So you better leave me some.
Heh heh heh.
Jsut kidding. I'll be hanging round for the holidays, though, so you all better keep coming by. I'll get awfully lonely.
Plus, there will be no one to feel sorry for me when I whine about how bad Chrsitmas was at my mom's or cheer for how much I loved Beloved and her family. I was telling Sunshine, though, I think I am going to "forget" no one in my mom's side of the familt drinks wine, so when I get there I can crack open the bottle and at least be mildly hazy during all teh madness. And yes, I know I shouldn't be using alcohol to cope. But if you had my mother? Exactly.
Beloved got me a present I didn't ask for and I've been shaking the box and have no clue what it is. I am dying to find out. On teh flip side, I got her a few things she didn't ask for, and I keep telling her its an emu. She doesn't believe me.
He's cute, right?
Well then. I hope everyone is all settled in and excited for their holiday. Goodness knows I am. And then [squeee!] in two weeks its my 24th birthday and I get my new tatoos. And I will surely post a picture of them, along with my exisiting ones, for all of you to see. But I'll warn you, 'cause its likely you migh tget a shot of my knickers, since my one tatoo is so low. It occurs to me Iwill have to take my top off at the tattoo shop this time around. Last two times I just pulled my shirt up. Goodness.
Right, well, with that frightening thought, I'll let you all run to your respective homes and enjpy the eveing/morning/whatever.
Lots of Yule Lovin'
PS- here's those kisses - ******************* feel free to pick one up.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Tonight I walked home, savoring the cool air of the winter, scuffing my feet as I walked and listening to the soft skitter of pebbles beneath my feet. Ahead of me, I saw two young lovers stumbling off of a bus together. Their laughter echoed off the cobblestone and the walls of the apartments that line my street. Their hands were interlaced, and they pulled each other along easily, every once and a while stopping to kiss and hold each other tight before bursting into giggles and running on. They stopped in the doorframe of an old brownstone that was just a few paces from mine, and they could hardly seem to focus on the door, or the key, as they continued tugging, kissing and loving each other.
I thought of you. I thought of the first breathless moment that you kissed me and I felt the world moving beneath my feet. I remember the feel of your hands on my shoulders and the way your thumbs would stroke them in a steady, loving rhythm. I remember how you lifted me up into your arms and held me as if you never wanted to let me go. I remember that feeling of you, pressed so close to me, as I wrapped my arms around you and laced my fingers behind your neck.
The breeze was cool that night as well, although it was certainly not winter then. But it moved, tickling me, swirling my skirt around me ankles and nipping at my toes as they peeked from the tips of my heeled sandals. My hair, shifting back and forth, caught in the wind, would stray into my eyes and you would push it back from my face before leaning in to kiss me again and again.
Do you remember that night, I wonder? Do you remember how I whispered to you that I had waited an age for you? That it seemed a lifetime before your lips were finally on mine? It was forever, closing that gap and letting myself become yours as last. But I gave myself up to you - every kiss, every sigh, every touch that night was completely yours.
I begged you to take your time. I begged you to go slowly. I was desperately afraid it was going to be the only moment I had you, and I wanted it to last. I wanted to write the story of us in my mind so that I could relive that beautiful moment any time I wished.
And you did. You were painfully slow in kissing each of my fingers, in stroking my ankles and the tips of my feet. You would look up to me, moment by moment, with those huge, pleading eyes of yours, as if you were somehow asking permission to go on. You must have memorized every feature of my face, looking up to me like that, and listening for the sound of my sighs. I could never forget those looks- they were love, in a single glance.
Do you remember kissing the tear tracks down my cheeks when I lay at least in your arms? I cried, so hard, because you had worshiped every part of me and I loved you for it, whether I felt I deserved it or not. I remember the musk of your breath tickling my nose and embedding itself in my senses as you moved those soft, amazing lips of yours from my cheeks to my eyelids and then to my forehead.
Tonight I let the image of those lovers and of you chase themselves in a dizzying frenzy through my mind. Sitting by my window, letting the cool breeze blow in, I shiver, more from my need of you than from the cold. I think of where you are, what you must be doing, and I wondering if you miss me the way I am missing you. I think of your laugh as I hear those young lovers, smiling, cooing and making love beneath my window. I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and try to let you go.
Behind my eyelids I see us lying beneath a soft fleece blanket. I can feel the strong warmth of your arms, holding me tight around the waist as you and I settle in to say nothing and yet share everything. There is a strange comfort in knowing I will never have to speak to you to tell you how I feel. You know me in this still quiet better than my voice could ever tell you. As I lay there, safe, held tight against your chest, I know I could tell you everything. And you would whisper, "I know."
I could tell you anything. I can tell you the things I keep from everyone else. I murmur the moments I tuck away behind my heart to make sure no one else sees them. I can tell you the way you make me feel when I am close to you, without guile or shame. I know you'll smile softly at me and put your lips to my forehead. I can tell you the things that make my blood run cold and keep me up at night. And you'll pull me tighter, put my head to your shoulder and sigh a beautiful, deep, protective sigh.
You linger at my neck, your lips brushing me gently. Your breath moves my hair, your soft spoken words chasing tiny bumps of anticipation down my spine to the tips of my feet. When you are a hair's breadth away, so incredibly close to me, I feel nearly faint. When your mouth closes on mine, when your hands are threaded through my hair, when there is nowhere to go but closer to you; that is when you are a whisper to me. When you make me call to you, softly, insistently, sincerely. When you make me show my need for you - that is when I whisper for you.
But when you are far away and I am without you. When there is nothing but the pale memory of you and I, I take comfort in you being a whisper away. To say what you are to me, under my breath, when I miss you, is breathtaking. Suddenly, I can see your smile, remember you laughing, and all the little secrets we share. I remember the stolen seconds we get, when you and I seem to be the only people that matter. When all that matters is the moment, and you, I whisper.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
Well, the Christmas party is over and done with, thank goodness. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, and I am happy to say not everything I thought would happen. So, if you want, here is an account of my evening.
We arrived early, and the family ws mostly there. I went into the basement where the tables were set up and chatted to my Great Aunt M and my great grandmother, who told me I looked like I had lost weight. (Whee)
My aunt R arrived and passed out some rather sentimental pictures of her son, who passed on at Chrsitmas about 5 years ago. She cried a lot, but not as much as normal, and she settled in with a drink and chatted to me until dinner. She invited me to her house after, which I hadn’t seen yet. Beloved and I agreed.
The kids were loud, and broke some ornaments on the tree and were promptly sent upstairs to stay out of the way. My Great Grandmother settles in next to Beloved, and asks if they can sit together during dinner (this is a first, and a very big deal to me)
MY brother showed up late to the party, and added to the list this year by bringing a friend who was as high as he was. My uncle offered him a beer and we all gathered round for prayer. This year was a record year for her, only 3 minutes 15 seconds. I was impressed. Beloved says her bloodsugar was probably low and she was hungry for a change.
My mom made all of her customary foods that no one really likes and passed up on the way around the buffet. She whined about making too much food, agin, before settling on my other side. She went on and on about how she wished she could have gone to the church play the night before, but she had no one to go with. She looks pointedly at me, because she had invited me and I had declined. I tell her I was at the ballet with Mystery, as part of my Christmas present. She throws a huge fit that I would rather take a person ‘I hardly kow’ than my own mother to share in such a nice Chrsitmas gift and how she had really hoped she could spend some more time with me (yada yada).
I change the subject and ask when my aunt A will be there, because my cousin Lovey would be there, and I love her. Aunt A is pretty cool as well. They are going to be late, Uncle L had to go home sick (turns out he didn’t want to come -haha) Mom looks at my hair and changes the subject by asking “what I did” to it.
Other things that happen – Lil Bit comes downstair for seconds and mom makes a snide comment on her not needing more food because she is “such a big girl” and feeds her anyway. Lovey, her sister Tiny, and Aunt A show up. Turns out Lovey has given up religion for spiritualty. They are into stones and tarot and allthose cool things I am into. My aunt A can see Auras, and it think its nice to have other pagans in the family after I have had to hide it for years. (see, in my family, I can be gay and no one will say anything, but if I were to be a witch…god save me…) We spend part of the evenign passing around her and the kid’s power stones and her telling me about a Native American Pow Wow she went to earlier in the year. My mom keeps popping her head in and inviting us to church, the kisd roll their eyes and mom mutters stuff about how no one cares about…I didn’t catch the rest but I could fill it in I bet. My aunt R takes off with her husband and we agree to follow A over to visit. My mom throws a fit when my brother and his buddy want to leave early. Beloved gets up to move about and be social, and my mom corners her, invades her personal space (Belvoed has a very.big.personal.Space.Bubble.) and drives her, in general, crazy. Lovey and I switch email addresses and agree to meet for coffee now that she can drive.
I go to hug my mom goodbye and she is busy talking to my Grandmother. I say “bye mom,” and hug her. She says “later, sweetheart,” and goes on talking. I shrug, get on my coat, kiss Grandma and head towards the door. My mom spots me and starts squealing about how I am leaving without saying goodbye and leaving early which is rude and I don’t love her and how dare I run off to my aunts when I haven’t spent any time with her. I point out that I went to hug her and she wasn’t paying attention.
We go to Aunt R’s and have an excellent time. She has a dance studio in her basement (like me, she is a former ballerina) and we danced about and in general did a lot of girly things. She showed us her new car (a red convertible soft/hard top switcher 1980 mercedes benz- *drool*) and then let us raid her closet. She shops at a local boutique that is so expensive they give you free alcohol and hours dourves while you are shopping there (as if it will shock you less if you’ve been drinking). She and I were the same size, but her Thyroid has been acting odd, and she can’t wear a lot of them anymore, so she went through her closet and dressed A and I up like real life Barbie dolls, and I went home with loads of nice clothes. So that was fun.
On teh way to R's and home we looked at teh lights, they were very pretty. R lives in a swanky neighborhood, so a lot of the displays were very nice. Of course, there were also four or five houses with manger scenes with *crosses* instad of stars near them, but, you know...I can live with it. It made us laugh.
All in all, we had a decent time, especially after we got away from the party. Beloved and I get home, see that Mystery has a cold, and we snuggle on the couch and talk about how much we love eachother and how nice it is tobe home with eachother. We watch a movie, take a bath, crawl into bed, read for an hour or so, and go to sleep. And that? Was the best part.
So, that’s the story of my extended family Christmas party. I’ll tell you all about the Yule morning when I finish it. In the meantime – lots of love.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Neither of these sounded like particularly appealing options to me, I am unsure why. It may be in part because I am not in the mood to cry. It may be in part because I don't feel like talking about books because I am in the middle of one now, and distracting myself with my favorites will ensure I never finish it.
What I do think I will post about is something that has been on my mind quite a lot lately, and it concerns all of you. Do you find it odd how attached you get to the people who's blogs you read? Does it seem strange that there are people you will never meet that you care about so much?
When Spins was talking about her issues that have been going on lately (and by the way, if you haven't, go visit her, she's wonderful) I had half a mind to send a package, or jump a plane and take her away from everything, or whatever...I felt a wild need to do something, *anything* to try and fix it. When Lord Bargain has his emotional moments (love you, darling) there are days I want to cry for him, and cry for myself because I can't fix it. When you lot get sick, I worry to death about your health, when you have a good day I do a happy dance on the inside.
So tell me, am I an oversensitive baby? Or does anyone else feel like this about people they have never met, and may never meet, depending on circumstance and life paths? Am I silly for feeling like this? I don't know...so I'd like a little feedback. That is, if you all aren't off to change your blog names and hide from me forever...heh heh.
Seriously, though. Tell me I am not nuts. Please.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
What I do not like is having to spend time with my family. Now, this may make me a terrible person, but it’s true. Last year I was fortunate enough to get really sick at Christmas, which meant I missed the party. My Grandmother, nice as she is, can be a bit overbearing and motherly to me, sent me an invitation this year, and in the RSVP section, it says “please come this year” like I got sick on purpose. Yes, Gran, I love the flu.
This year I fully intend to make it a short visit, not much later than dinner. Thankfully, it is not at a community center this year (which is incredibly stark and cold) but we aren’t exchanging gifts this year, which highly distresses me. Now, before I start sounding all commercial and greedy, let me defend myself. When I was a little girl and my aunts were still young and (mostly) unmarried, we used to buy presents for everyone in the family. That got expensive once all of my aunts got married and had kids. Then we went to just drawing names and getting gifts for the kids. Then we went to drawing names for kids too. Then we went to everyone bringing a $10 unisex gift card and grabbing one as you left the party. This year? No gifts at all. It seems weird. That’s all.
Things I Can Expect at My Family Holiday Party (taking place this Saturday)
1. My great grandmother asking me why I am not married yet.
2. My smarmy uncle hitting on Beloved.
3. My 6 cousins and my 3 younger siblings making enough noise for me to get a migraine; with at least one of them getting hurt, breaking something, getting grounded or any combination of the three.
4. My mom getting offended at either me or someone else at some harmless comment and making a scene
5. My mom asking to say prayer over dinner and it lasting no less than 5 minutes.
6. My oldest brother showing up drunk, or high, or both
7. My uncles giving him more alcohol anyway
8. One of my aunts telling me I look like I have put on weight
9. One of my aunts asking me when I will finish school
10. My uncle L spending 90% of the evening outside smoking
11. My mom will make far more food than anyone else, because “everyone loves it” and no one will eat it
12. My mother will make a comment about my hair being too dark and hoe I “used to be so pretty”
13. My mom will make my little sister take off her glasses for our family picture, because “it makes her look prettier” and will make reference to the fact that she is chubby.
14. My mother and oldest brother will get in a fight, and make a scene.
15. Beloved will be offended by something my mother says to her, a comment most likely offensive, because my mom is good at doing that
16. My mother will ask me awkward questions about going back to church at the dinner table, I will piss her off by telling her I don’t want to go.
Sounds fun, eh? On the upside, after the party Beloved, Mystery, Charlie Brown and Stage Girl (mystery’s excellent roommate) are all going clubbing, and I will get properly drunk in an effort to forget the fact that the older I get the more I resent my family.
10 more days kids, 10 more days.
Fa la la la la….and all that junk.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
For the last few days I have had an inexplicable feeling of longing in my chest that I am reluctant to try and explain. It started out as an incredibly good mood and has morphed into something much stranger and harder to explain.
Part of me feels this incredible hollowness that echoes around what feels like the empty cavity of my chest. It tugs and pulls at me, and then moves up into my throat in this peculiar manner that makes me want to either scream out, or settle into a blanket and sob for hours. I can hear it moving around, bouncing off my insides and begging ‘please, please, please.’
The other part of me is the exact opposite of that strange feeling. I feel myself smiling secretly to myself, and giggling on the inside. Its a lusty laugh that invokes images of late nights, heavy lidded eyes and a bed piled high with pilows. I feel unusually pretty, and I have caught myself more than once looking in the mirror more than necessary, pouting, smiling and tossing my hair.
This other part is pushing out of me. It radiates in the sound of my boots on the floor, and from behind my eyes. People can see it, I am sure of it from some odd looks I’ve gotten. My skin tingles from the tips of my fingers all the way to the bottom of my toes. Wouldn’t you know, though, it settles around my waist, like someone holding me close to them, and I have a feeling like there is someone whispering in my ear all the time. My neck is prickling and there are odd times my skins feels as if its being kissed or nipped at.
Instead of screaming though, this part makes me want to moan, and to whisper secrets and wrap myself tight into a pair of warm and loving arms. Ironically, it also asks, in a completely different way, that odd refrain, ‘please, please, please.’
Odd. I cannot explain it. Its very odd for me to feel this way. Come think of it, I am pretty sure I have never felt this way. Whatever it is, its about to make me crazy, but in an almost good way.
Monday, December 12, 2005
I love you. In a simple, yet complicated, unexplainable way, I love you.
I love your obsessions and your passions. I love the melancholy that you illustrate so beautifully when you are having a bad day. I love that you overcome it with optimism and good humor.
I love your tenderness. You approach everything with a reverence I have not seen in many people. You respect everything around you. And yet, you never fail to make a joke. I love how honest you are, and how you give your opinion without reserve. I know I can disagree with you, and we will still be friends.
I love your foresight. I love that you know what life is and you take it head on, although you may be afraid. I love that you are honest and fearless about your weaknesses. I love that when I think of you I think of someone who is like me.
I don’t think I will ever tire of you, or the way you make me discover new things. I learn things I would have never known of myself if it weren’t for you. I feel like I have known for all the time I have ever existed, and am sure that even in a past life we were the best of friends.
I love that you always make me laugh. When I am sad or angry I can turn to you and I am sure to feel better. Your odd brand of cynicism makes me feel like its okay to feel angry with the world, every once and a while.
I love you for your beauty. Your unchanging appreciation for all the things in this world that move you, your commitment to all things that are important to you. I think of you, against the stars and against lights, and see your smile. You enchant me with the things you care for, and I cannot help but want to care for them too.
I see myself in you. I see you fighting for the things you are desperate to get away from and I cheer for you on the inside. I cry for your suffering and I shake with the pain I know you feel sometimes. You amuse me with your opinions. Your commitment to things that are important to you inspire me.
I love your love of life. Your sense of adventure is amazing. You seem like you can take anything on, and you will love it and make something beautiful of it.
I love that you light a fire inside me. You take all the things I want to be aware of and you give me something to care about. You put your remarkable brand of activism and awareness on everything you do and say. I look at you and want to be more like you sometimes.
Your sincerity moves me. Your soulfulness is so genuine and heartfelt it brings me to tears. I think of you and I ache for the beauty and passion I can tell you bury deep inside. You make me want to dance. You make me want to lay in the rain and listen to the sound of it, so I can call and tell you just the way it made me feel.
I can trust you, and when I need you, you are always there for me. You make me smile every time I talk to you. You make me feel beautiful, and your faith in me gives me motivation to never let you down.
I cannot help but love you. I cannot help but want to curl up in your arms and stay there for always. I want to feel you near me. I want to never let you go. I want to always be able to close my eyes and feel that first moment we touched, and I knew there was a little of me buried deep inside you, and I had found it. You’ve knocked my world off its axis, and I don’t want it ever set right.
You make me feel like myself. You make me feel like I am home. You make me feel loved. You make me feel like I am everything. And I love you for it.
Tonight I will lay with my head on my pillow, and look up into the darkness, and think of you. I will think of the things you are hoping for, I will wonder what you are dreaming of. I will breathe in the feel of all the things you are to me, and I will love you.
There's a bit of each of you in this. I hope you saw it.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Friday, December 09, 2005
So I am posting some pics of wedding gowns I like. Guys, turn your head for a minute. If you are anyhting like the guys I know, this will bore you to tears. These photos are courtesy of the Knot.com
Alright. So My ex fiancée, who we will call Jared, because he looks just like Jared from subway commercials sans glasses, was an interesting character. I can't get a pic to uplead, ut you can google him and see.
We started dating when I was a sophomore in high school. We began to talk about marriage when I was a senior. I already knew that I was interested in females, but figured it was a passing thing (denial) and tried to push through it.
I won’t bore you with the details but I’ll hit the highlights, you can see why I dislike him so much. And you can get a few good laughs. I know I will.
Basic stats, looks like Jared. About 6’3” tall. Lispy-ish voice when not speaking in public. Son of a preacher, mom was a nurse. He had a sister my age. Two dogs and a cat, lived in a split level house. I am not kidding.
His mom hated me. I was so small I never wore bras (Note: I wore trainers until I was 19. I really didn’t need them.) She always got on to me for this. She would embarrass me at the dinner table by saying things like “I know you have no chest dear, but at least go to the children’s department of the store, you look like a hooker. And I wouldn’t want to force you to wear one of (sister’s name) bra’s that would hurt your feelings. (she was a C)
My mom, as I have previously discussed, is a little nutty. She one time asked me at dinner in a restaurant if they were on drugs. Nice. Never once did he stand up for me.
I started going to church with him. He encouraged me to sell all of my secular music CD’s and give the money to charity. He told me he would leave me if I didn’t (I was stupid enough to do it…naive idiot me…)
He would cry at the drop of a hat. I could say something like, what if your dog died, and he would burst into tears.
He liked to share. You know what I mean. His friends were asses. They liked that he shared. I didn’t. Asshole. I will supplement this by adding that he was an active member of the feminism group on our local campus. He even wore a burlap ribbon on his coat to signify the oppression of African women. He spelled women with a “y.”
He didn’t tell me I looked pretty on my prom night. I remember this vividly, because a guy who sat next to me in my Literature of the Bible Class (he was on our basketball team and I adored him) stopped me on my way out and told me he thought I looked lovely. I remember Jared was angry and I was happy someone had said something.
When I broke it off we still hung out. We got an apartment together. He forbid me to smoke in the house. I came home one night and he was smoking with his buddies.
He forbid me to drink in the house. (house rules, that is) I came home one night and he was having a party with the neighbors.
He came out as gay after we broke it off, and then retracted after he thought his parents would find out. His boyfriend (one of our neighbors and a friend of mine) was devastated. They had been dating well over 6 months.
He supported my drug habit. He started doing them too. Then he told me I was going to hell because I got him involved in drugs. He told me I had a problem and I needed to take care of it.
I had a fling with a guy when I was living with him. He kept knocking on my bedroom door while I had him over (the door was locked, of course, but we weren’t “doing” anything.) He kept yelling that he *let* me break things off with him because I liked chicks, but he’d be damned if he would let me have sex with some guy and not him. (he didn’t use polite terms like that either. The guy I was with went out and told him to shut up or he’d kick his ass. He shut up for a while and then yelled when the guy left.
He hit me one night when I had an argument with him and he wouldn’t let me out of the house. I tried to get out and he caught me in the yard of our apartment and hit me. (Don’t worry, I got him back. I broke his nose and collarbone. Ladies- take self defense.)
After the fight, he moved out the day before rent was due. Told out landlords I kicked him out because he was a Christian. They came knocking on my door, all up in arms, and demanded rent or eviction. I had to peel them off the ceiling by showing them my bruises. They let me stay a month rent free until I could get in to my Grandmother’s for a transition period, bless them.
He also never pointed out to me that 85 lbs was not a healthy weight for me. Let met think I was fat. I should not need to point out that at 18, 85 lbs is not fat for anyone.
So I know all of this in not his fault, but I feel like he didn’t treat me as well as he could have, and I know it’s a laundry list of things, and I know I have more, but I’ll spare you. Suffice to say, I do not like this guy very well. He hurt me a lot. And I don’t have a lot of respect for him.
He is married now. And has a lot of kid. 3 I think, and one on the way, from what my mom told me (he stopped her in a grocery store to ask after me a few months back, stupid ass) He is a preacher at another church in town now. He got an evangelical degree of some sort. I think he is a hypocrite of the highest order.
And that’s part of the story of why I loathe him more than any person ever.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Coming out. Hmm. It came in a lot of different stages. My brother Punk (the oldest one) and my cousin Lovey just asked me out of the blue. Both of them are totally okay with it. Punk also made it clear that if a girl ever hurt me he didn’t care how wrong it was, he’d kick her ass. I told him I appreciated the sentiment but it wouldn’t be necessary.
My Grandmother sat me down, asked me if I thought she was a smart woman. I said yes. Then she asked if I trusted her. I said yes. Then she asked if there was anything I wanted to tell her. I told her I was gay. She hugged me, told me she was happy for me and asked when she could meet my girlfriend. Then she told me not to tell my mom just yet.
I came out to my mom on National Coming Out Day. Gran and I had planned everything out, how I would tell her, when and all that. Gran was ready for damage control. We talked about what I would say and how to answer her questions. It was a bit like a role play. Grandma had a little tip sheet she got somewhere on how to not do it. (i.e. like you are dying, or you are ashamed) This may surprise you, I told her over the phone. Normally this would sound like a terrible idea, I always advocate personal revelations in person. In my mom’s case, it was for the best. She didn’t freak out, per say, as in she didn’t disown me.
First, I got a huge speech about how when she was a young girl, women didn’t get to make choices like that. No one would have supported me when I was growing up in the 70’s if I had decided I didn’t like men. I’d end up old and alone with a million cats.
Then she gave me a speech about how she has never had personal support for any of her personal decisions she has made in her life – be it having children or divorce or not finishing school or whatever. (I tuned out a bit of this part, it went on for quite some time.) No one ever cared about how my mom felt about things, to hear her tell it. No one in the family cared now, either. And you can bet no one asked about her and how she was doing with the guy she was living with. (I refrained from pointing out they weren’t dating.)
Then she launched in to a big hoorah about how she hoped this wasn’t my way of lashing out at The Church for my poor relationship with my Ex Finacee (who was a preacher’s son – looong story for another time) and for my unhappiness about my “faith.” I let go of the fact she was ignoring my alternative faith. She went into a spiel about how she went to a lovely church that would accept my lifestyle and not hate me for it. I should go and talk to her pastor about my afflictions. Thanks, mom.
Then she told me she had no interest in my personal life and did not want to know about it. The details were none of her business, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want to know about how I did it, or why. And she certainly didn’t want to meet any girlfriends or whatever. Was I hanging out in bars to pick up women?
Then she told me she would do me the favor of “breaking it gently” to my Grandmother, who she was sure would not take it well. I tried to tell her it wasn’t necessary, but she wouldn’t listen. She told me that if I told her she would die of shame, right there, and how would I like to give my Grandmother a heart attack after all she had done for me (I was living with her at the time). Was I having sex under my grandmother’s roof? No, she didn’t want to know, but I better not be! How terrible for poor Grandma… I eventually got off the phone with a “oh, I think I have a call on the other line, mom. Better go now…”
Well, a few days later she tried to break it to Grandma, who I had planned with ahead of time. She let her know she already knew and that my girlfriend at the time was a sweet and lovely girl. She told mom that she had no problem with it, and that she was glad to see me happy and with someone who honestly cared about me and did not treat me poorly. Then she told my mom not to go and upset me by making a scene.
I should interject at this point in the story that when Grandma says “upset” in reference to me she means “piss Alecya off.” I should also point out I am also a very patient person, except when it comes to my mother. She is a “give and inch, take a mile” type person, who I am still learning to handle. She also has a special knack for pushing my buttons.
I am sure you can follow the pattern. She made a scene. Came hollering down the hallway with a load of ‘how dare you tell Grandma first’ and ‘I am your mother, young lady’ and ‘can’t you trust me with the details of your life’ and ‘not fairs’ and ‘you obviously love Grandma more than me’ and ‘…better be glad you aren’t living under my roof’ and all that rubbish that comes with the scenes that my mother makes.
For anyone interested, the answers to those statements are as follows: because she noticed first, I don’t care, no I can’t, I don’t care, yes I do, and yes I am, respectively. Not that I would ever say those things to her.
Instead, I gently pointed out to her that she said she didn’t want to know about my personal life, and Grandma did, so I let her meet my girlfriend. I told her Grandma had figured it out on her own, and that she got to know first because of that. (I lied a bit there, I would have told her first anyway.) She ran storming from the room and went to yell at Grandma for letting me lead such a lifestyle under her roof. I went and interrupted, led her to the door and told her Grandma didn’t need the stress and to come back when she was more calm, and thank you for the visit.
Gradually, she started asking about if I was seeing anyone. Then she started asking questions about why I choose to be gay and all that stuff. I explained and then referred her to PFLAG. She never went. Then she started asking how I had sex and I told her to go get a few different books on the subject, I didn’t want to talk about it.
Finally, she started inviting girlfriends over to family functions. By that time I was with Beloved. Beloved tried hard to like her, she really did. But my mom’s personality is hard to take. Even for me. Mom likes Beloved, I think. But she is always trying to get me to go to church with her. She also has a tendency to imply that my male friends might make good companions. She’s never said it outright, if she did I would tell her off, but I always catch a hint of hopefulness in her eyes when I mention a male friend. I’ve given up on the idea that she will ever accept it is more than a rebellion or a phase. But she has given up on the all out war. Although, I have no idea what she tells the kids….
Well, there you have it…
In other news, it is snowing. We got an inch last night, and it hasn’t stopped. Its just flurries right now, though. Dang, it is cold. They say it won’t even break the teens today. It’s weird, considering two weeks ago it was in the 70’s.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
We had a really bad ice storm one winter and we didn't have school. My brother and I duck taped butter knives to our snowboots thinking we would be able to ice skate. It didn't work.
The Christmas I got my first cat they hid him in the "back" bathroom in the house, where the laundry room was, and I had to go really bad at the Christmas party and one of my aunts was in the main bathroom. Theywouldn't let me go back there, said there was a leak in the faucet.
I collect nutcrackers, I have since I was about 6. One year my mom and step-dad got me a huge styrofoam one as tall as me (4' or so) I was dancing around the living room with him and my brother knocked his head off. I cried all day. I eventually superglued it back on.
There was a bad snow in the early nineties and school was cancelled (again). There was a oark right up the street from my Grandma's house, where we were staying, and my brother and cousin and I went up there and played in the snow and built forts and sledded all day long. We came home when I hit my head on a tree I didn't know was there while digging a snow tunnel.
My mom used to put a Christmas tree in every room in the house.
My birthday is in January. I always hated it because I wanted to have a pool party. One year, my Grandma rented a hotel room and reserved the indoor pool at a awanky local hotel for me. It was my favorite birthday party.
I had a friend over to spend the night once, and my mom took her home in my step-dad's thunderbird. We sld off her steep driveway down through the trees and into an embanksment. I remember my mom screaming. I spent the rest of the day wrapped in a blanket reading "Sweet Valley High" books.
I built my first snowman with Beloved when I was 19. I have pictures of the both of us with it.
I took my cousin Lovey with me to go ice skating just after I came out to my Grandma. She had just startd 8th grade. She asked me if I was gay on the way home. She replied she thought it was cool, but I had better not tell my mom just yet, she might freak out. She was right.
Alright. That's enough for now.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
1. Angelina Jolie. Argue with me, do it.
2. Ellen Degeneres. I love her smile, and she can dance.
3. Christina Cox. Aussie actress. Lovely girl.
4. Katherine Moennig. Nicely androgynous. Shane on Showtime's "The L Word"
5. Felicity Huffman. I liked her before she was a housewife. Even now, she's lovely. Very jealous of William H. Macy.
1. Nigel Barker - yes, I watch America's Next Top Model. And he is pretty in a manly way, something you don't see often.
2. Lenny Kravitz- nice body, nice voice, beautiful with long hair (I am a sucker for long haired men...)
3. Jason Isaacs. Another that's pretty witha wig, I dig this one's eyes and voice.
4. Stuart Townsend. I can't think of a reason not to love him. Eyes, mouth, teeth, Wow. Handsome fellow.
5. James Spader. Handsome in a quirky way I can't explain.
I have a feeling I'll want to change this list later. But I like it the way it is for now...
Thoughts? Agree? Disagree? Who do you like?
Friday, December 02, 2005
Okay. I talked in my previous post about a story I was going to tell everyone about when I went and got my last tattoo(s).
I went on the evening of my birthday, because there is nothing interesting to do on a Monday in January in my town. My local tattoo parlor, or at least the one I go to – we have several in town, is in a little strip center in the middle of town next to a head shop, a leather store and a health food store. (In theory I could treat myself to a tofu burger, a new pair of leather pants, a tattoo and a hookah and incense to calm me with after I get it done all in one trip. Note: I do not smoke a hookah, just sayin’) You cannot make an appointment there, you just have to show up and hope.
I got there at about 4:00, at the time I got off at 3:30. I got there just as another guy and his buddy did. The guy looked really tough. His buddy reminded me of a human version of an Alaskan Malamute. Tall, shaggy black hair and cuddly. Tough guy wanted to get a tattoo with big gothic letters across his back. I settled in for a long wait.
Tough guy was apparently not so tough. 5 minutes into his work he stopped the artist and said he thought he was going to be sick. The artist kicked over the trashcan without blinking an eye and went back to work on him. Every five minutes for nearly half an hour this guy stopped the artist, claiming he was going to vomit.
In this time I learned several things. First, a group of about 6 “soccer moms” came in, looking very excited. And sober. (which surprised me) I learned they were a breast cancer survivors group and they were all getting pink ribbons tattooed on their chests or ankles.
I also learned from Malamute that Tough Guy had his nipples pierced and had passed out when he got it done.
Well, true to form, Tough Guy passed out just as the outline finished. When he came to he dashed to the back and threw up. We could hear it. Ick.
The soccer moms were looking a little concerned over the idea of tattoos now, because of this big baby. I told them they could watch me get mine and see that it wasn’t a big deal. I of course knew this meant I couldn’t move the entire time that I got it done, but sit there nicely and chat playfully to them.
Now, I won’t say I am tough, and I won’t say I have a high pain tolerance, but I managed to make it through with only one incident.
The one time I flinched the artist had hit a ticklish spot on my spine. I had him pull off, to the worried glances of the SM’s. Then I cracked up. It tickled so bad! I am not kidding! They looked a little puzzled and the artist said he had never seen someone laugh at getting a tattoo, but I made it through.
I even stuck around afterwards to watch he soccer mom’s get theirs done. It was a lot of fun.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
My blog is titled in part after her 11th album, Little Plastic Castle. The title track on this album is the first of her songs I ever heard, and I was addicted from day one.
I'm going to be a little lazy and not post lyrics today, but I seriously encourage you to check her out. She's amamzing, she writes almost all of her own stuff, and has been doing this since she was 19. A lot of her albums have political tracks on them ,and she is deliciously liberal. Her voice is also very unique, and she uses it in more ways than I have ever seen a singer do.
If you do check out her albums, and youdecide to buy some, my favorites are:
1. Living in Clip - her first live album
2. Ani Difranco - The first Album
3. Little Plastic Castle
I own quite a few more than these, but I feel like these three really give youa good idea of the deapth of her work. If you like somethign a little more Jazzy sounding, check out "Revelling and Reckoning" another 2 CD set that has a lot more instrumentals in it.
I edited this to add another picture of her, because, I'll admit, I think she is beautiful. Silly me.