This makes me so sad...
Monday, October 5, 2009
Sad
I sent my sister a couple of emails and most recently a letter and enclosed some class pictures of the girls. Never got a reply. I never do.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
I got it
For so very long, I toiled and despaired over my writing style. I finally understand it now though, how to tell my story without sticking to the formal writing styles. I need to do it my own way... express my thoughts and ideas in my own way. Write it and fuck it. It's what I do best.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The best nickname ever
I knew this guy who was always fishing for reassurances and compliments. One of the things that he use to seek reassurances for was the size of his manhood. I dated him for a while, and while I hadn't thought he was inadequate, he certainly wasn't - um, overwhelming. I never said anything about it, because 1. I didn't care 2. because I didn't think it was anyone's business.
Apparently, though, other women he dated didn't think so. Issues concerning his size became a topic of discussion on two separate occasions. Once to me, and once to her sister, at least that I know of. I didn't say anything about it for a while though. I never mentioned it to anyone. That is until her sister and I went drinking, and she let it slip about her sister's complaint about the size of his penis, and since I had dated him too, she asked if it was true. I laughed and laughed and laughed. At this point I was annoyed with him, and I have no sense of loyalty to him whatsoever, but I never brought it up. I just never said anything, when I figured out that his current girlfriend was a paranoid psycho. Too bad her sister is my closest friend. Hence, the reason I never said anything except to bitch about my own issues. So, after I got over my hysterical laughing fit, I calmed down and explained to her that if her sister was really that into him, then she woulda just kept her mouth shut. She took that as confirmation, and we laughed even harder.
As the behavior and false intimacy of the paranoid psycho and the fisher started getting more and more annoying and bizarre, we just let our guard down and let our sarcasm take over... and boy did we come up some great nicknames. The best of which was STD (Stupid Tiny Dick). It was our way of venting and expressing how betrayed we both felt by someone so inconsequential. The best part about it, though, is that the nickname is totally appropriate and accurate.
It's a good thing that we don't see him, and I no longer see her. Otherwise I'd forget to call him by his proper name, and just keep referring to him as STD. At the very least, however, I suppose he can consider his fishing quest complete... he's penis is small, it's not even average, and yeah...I lied, I did fake it, almost every time.
Apparently, though, other women he dated didn't think so. Issues concerning his size became a topic of discussion on two separate occasions. Once to me, and once to her sister, at least that I know of. I didn't say anything about it for a while though. I never mentioned it to anyone. That is until her sister and I went drinking, and she let it slip about her sister's complaint about the size of his penis, and since I had dated him too, she asked if it was true. I laughed and laughed and laughed. At this point I was annoyed with him, and I have no sense of loyalty to him whatsoever, but I never brought it up. I just never said anything, when I figured out that his current girlfriend was a paranoid psycho. Too bad her sister is my closest friend. Hence, the reason I never said anything except to bitch about my own issues. So, after I got over my hysterical laughing fit, I calmed down and explained to her that if her sister was really that into him, then she woulda just kept her mouth shut. She took that as confirmation, and we laughed even harder.
As the behavior and false intimacy of the paranoid psycho and the fisher started getting more and more annoying and bizarre, we just let our guard down and let our sarcasm take over... and boy did we come up some great nicknames. The best of which was STD (Stupid Tiny Dick). It was our way of venting and expressing how betrayed we both felt by someone so inconsequential. The best part about it, though, is that the nickname is totally appropriate and accurate.
It's a good thing that we don't see him, and I no longer see her. Otherwise I'd forget to call him by his proper name, and just keep referring to him as STD. At the very least, however, I suppose he can consider his fishing quest complete... he's penis is small, it's not even average, and yeah...I lied, I did fake it, almost every time.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Annie Sprinkle
I recently picked up season 4 of Weeds. I'm too cheap to pay for the HBO/Showtime subscription, so I love TV shows on DVD. Anyway, Nancy was having a conversation with her sons and she quoted Annie Sprinkle!
I haven't thought of Annie Sprinkle in forever! I was 14 years old when I first read about Annie Sprinkle in a underground magazine. I can't quite remember the name of the magazine, but they had a "Gross Issue". It was thee most awesome issue ever in the history of publications. There was a column that told EMT's stories, and all the gory scenes and accidents that EMT's had to answer in emergency situations. Which was told in very graphic and explicit detail. It was awesome. There was editorial and feature stories about exhibitionists and fetishes. It wasn't porno. It was more like beyond porno. I am so the type of person that loves knowing all this stuff.
Well, Annie Sprinkle definitely was into weird shit (literally). She was a performance artist. The magazine ran an editorial about her, I think it was back in 1991. She talked about some of her performance art shows... people would pay to watch her have her period, she would make weird concoctions of meats and fruits (pretty much anything you can find) throw them in a blender and put them in a one of those icing bags, squeeze it into her ass, shit back out in pie crust, and eat it....ahahahaha.
That woman is hilarious. She's a former prostitute, porn star, PhD in sexology, and artist. I think they also did one of the HBO sex specials on her. She's extreme, she's funny, and she's honest.
I think it's good to have this kind of honesty around. More harm comes from ignoring things you wish didn't exist or don't want to acknowledge or understand, then it is to just confront it. Sex is one of those things for a lot of people. Just because you don't acknowledge something doesn't mean it doesn't exist, or that it can't affect you. It's better to deal with things head on and treat it with a little hearted sense of humor (within reason of course, like all consenting adults, no one gets hurt kind of thing). As disgusted as you might be about people like Annie Sprinkle... I think there are far far worse things brewing below the surface of normal conventional people. At the very least she makes me laugh. That goes a long way for me.
I haven't thought of Annie Sprinkle in forever! I was 14 years old when I first read about Annie Sprinkle in a underground magazine. I can't quite remember the name of the magazine, but they had a "Gross Issue". It was thee most awesome issue ever in the history of publications. There was a column that told EMT's stories, and all the gory scenes and accidents that EMT's had to answer in emergency situations. Which was told in very graphic and explicit detail. It was awesome. There was editorial and feature stories about exhibitionists and fetishes. It wasn't porno. It was more like beyond porno. I am so the type of person that loves knowing all this stuff.
Well, Annie Sprinkle definitely was into weird shit (literally). She was a performance artist. The magazine ran an editorial about her, I think it was back in 1991. She talked about some of her performance art shows... people would pay to watch her have her period, she would make weird concoctions of meats and fruits (pretty much anything you can find) throw them in a blender and put them in a one of those icing bags, squeeze it into her ass, shit back out in pie crust, and eat it....ahahahaha.
That woman is hilarious. She's a former prostitute, porn star, PhD in sexology, and artist. I think they also did one of the HBO sex specials on her. She's extreme, she's funny, and she's honest.
I think it's good to have this kind of honesty around. More harm comes from ignoring things you wish didn't exist or don't want to acknowledge or understand, then it is to just confront it. Sex is one of those things for a lot of people. Just because you don't acknowledge something doesn't mean it doesn't exist, or that it can't affect you. It's better to deal with things head on and treat it with a little hearted sense of humor (within reason of course, like all consenting adults, no one gets hurt kind of thing). As disgusted as you might be about people like Annie Sprinkle... I think there are far far worse things brewing below the surface of normal conventional people. At the very least she makes me laugh. That goes a long way for me.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Unblocking writer's block
I've read more than a dozen books in a period of 3 months. I've been trying really hard to read everything I can to keep my mind open and going while I write my book. I'm writing fiction, so I read non-fiction, memoirs, fantasy/sci-fi novels, mysteries, newspapers, magazines, young adult novels, children's books, poetry, philosophy, plays... jesus, I think I read more in the last few months than I did my entire college career.
My book is progressing, and evolving. I know the story, and I now how to write it. It's just hard sometimes to sort it out in a descriptive way. I worry about little things, like am I moving too quickly, am I not moving fast enough, does this need to be developed more. I think it about constantly, and it's the only thing on my mind. I swear if this was a man, I'd would have been obsessed and arrested for stalking. I don't know how Nikolai puts up with me and my inability to move away from my computer and office for 12 hours out of the day. I only really stop to eat, work-out, and sleep. There are occasions when I realize I hadn't left the house in days. How sad is that?
Despite this commitment I've made to myself, the distractions are endless. Children are too fun to just keep writing non-stop sometimes. They crack me up. Malena, she's got free dress this week and she has been doing such a good job accessorizing her outfits with scarves and boots...hehehehe. Layla? She's just awesome and hilarious all the way around. So, the writing isn't moving as quickly as I would like, but I'm getting there.
Sucks having writer's block for the last 2 weeks. I think I'm good now though. I finished another chapter, and am excited to get to the next. I usually have this big conclusion at the end of my entries, but I think I'm just trying to sort out what I'm doing, remember why I'm doing it, and keep on doing it. Seems self defeating to write about having writer's block, but there you have it...I'm self defeating.
My book is progressing, and evolving. I know the story, and I now how to write it. It's just hard sometimes to sort it out in a descriptive way. I worry about little things, like am I moving too quickly, am I not moving fast enough, does this need to be developed more. I think it about constantly, and it's the only thing on my mind. I swear if this was a man, I'd would have been obsessed and arrested for stalking. I don't know how Nikolai puts up with me and my inability to move away from my computer and office for 12 hours out of the day. I only really stop to eat, work-out, and sleep. There are occasions when I realize I hadn't left the house in days. How sad is that?
Despite this commitment I've made to myself, the distractions are endless. Children are too fun to just keep writing non-stop sometimes. They crack me up. Malena, she's got free dress this week and she has been doing such a good job accessorizing her outfits with scarves and boots...hehehehe. Layla? She's just awesome and hilarious all the way around. So, the writing isn't moving as quickly as I would like, but I'm getting there.
Sucks having writer's block for the last 2 weeks. I think I'm good now though. I finished another chapter, and am excited to get to the next. I usually have this big conclusion at the end of my entries, but I think I'm just trying to sort out what I'm doing, remember why I'm doing it, and keep on doing it. Seems self defeating to write about having writer's block, but there you have it...I'm self defeating.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Sway
And she swayed to and fro
As she walked in and out of the room,
All eyes on her.
Her movements,
The shifting of her round hips,
Rotating her ass with each step.
Everyone knew this walk,
Everyone knew what each sway of her hips implied,
And what it would mean if you could get her alone.
Jo.-
May 30, 2009
As she walked in and out of the room,
All eyes on her.
Her movements,
The shifting of her round hips,
Rotating her ass with each step.
Everyone knew this walk,
Everyone knew what each sway of her hips implied,
And what it would mean if you could get her alone.
Jo.-
May 30, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
Art of smoking...
An excerpt from the book I'm writing:
She leaned her side against the wall, took a deep drag, and exhaled the stingingly sweet smoke from her lungs out of her nose and mouth.
Clara perfected the art of smoking, and she thought about her actions deliberately and carefully each time she lit up. She loved it. She loved the look of it, the smell, the way it felt between her index finger and middle finger, always between the top and middle knuckle. It always irritated her to watch people who socially smoke holding a cigarette like it there’s a bomb between their fingers and a stiff hand. Stiff hands are always a dead give away, when you were dealing with a novice smoker. That and the way they took a drag.
Clara liked to let the thick tendrils of smoke creep out of her nose and mouth, draw it back into her lungs, and then blow it out in a long steady stream. When an "amateur" smokes, it's always a quick drag. Then they hold the smoke their mouths, never taking it into their lungs, until they practically spit the smoke out. Why bother, if you aren’t going to learn to appreciate it?
"Ok, so maybe I take smoking entirely too seriously," she thought sarcastically and smiled to herself as she watched the cherry burn and creep up the cigarette paper turning everything in its path into ash, "Like a fucking metaphor for exactly who i am..." she thought. Being a good girl was tough for someone who can’t help being bad.
She leaned her side against the wall, took a deep drag, and exhaled the stingingly sweet smoke from her lungs out of her nose and mouth.
Clara perfected the art of smoking, and she thought about her actions deliberately and carefully each time she lit up. She loved it. She loved the look of it, the smell, the way it felt between her index finger and middle finger, always between the top and middle knuckle. It always irritated her to watch people who socially smoke holding a cigarette like it there’s a bomb between their fingers and a stiff hand. Stiff hands are always a dead give away, when you were dealing with a novice smoker. That and the way they took a drag.
Clara liked to let the thick tendrils of smoke creep out of her nose and mouth, draw it back into her lungs, and then blow it out in a long steady stream. When an "amateur" smokes, it's always a quick drag. Then they hold the smoke their mouths, never taking it into their lungs, until they practically spit the smoke out. Why bother, if you aren’t going to learn to appreciate it?
"Ok, so maybe I take smoking entirely too seriously," she thought sarcastically and smiled to herself as she watched the cherry burn and creep up the cigarette paper turning everything in its path into ash, "Like a fucking metaphor for exactly who i am..." she thought. Being a good girl was tough for someone who can’t help being bad.
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