Just keep 'em comin'

So I was doing the usual, a little internet dirty talk with a friend while on a break at work. Then something funny happened:

First let me explain something. The office I work in had a huge water leak that caused a flood about 1.5 years ago. It got nicely patched up and everybody went back to work as usual. A couple months ago, there was a leak again. One of the 'Buildings and Grounds' fellas came to investigate, to see if the leak had caused mold. Now, on with the rest of my story.

So there I was, a little hot from the messages I was sending/receiving. I internetally implied that I was about to have my way with myself and was feeling a little rambunctious. (You should probably know that I had been moved into a different office since the walls in the back, by my usual office, were wet.) Suddenly, I heard a man's voice in the reception area and he was asking the lady at the desk if anyone was "in there" - meaning the office I was sitting in. Since she is not used to me being in there, she said "nah, go on in."

I'm sure there's no need to explain why he should NOT have just gone on in, but when he did, he was surprised to see me sitting there (evidence concealed, haha!) and could only utter:

"I'm just looking for dampness."

Are you kidding me?!?!?! If he only knew, there was good chance of him finding it!

Just might be a true story.

Father's Day

It's been a strange weekend. Lots of rain and my aunt died Friday, this makes the third relative since August to die. So yes, another funeral.

I was out and about, and the displays of 'Father's Day' gifts and cards got the best of me. I had a moment, in that bright box-store, right there in the aisle next to the cards. For the first time, I have no one to give a father's day card, or phone call, to. The last time I spoke to my father was 2 years ago, Father's day.

But we've got nothing, him and I.

Grandfathers? Lost both of them within 6 months. Dead. That was a real hard-hitter. Father's Day, what a crock! I'll be heading to Northern California tomorrow. I'll see my uncle, the one who just lost his wife to cancer and his father to a ranch accident, who may need to be carried out of the bar...

Oh so angry

You ever seen a crotch that was so crazy looking, it just seemed angry?

The semester ended, so I went with three friends to a 'clothing optional' hot springs for the weekend. It's a bit calm for my tastes, but what harm could a retreat weekend do? I mean, I have been rather on edge lately.

So the Saturday after finals week, the 4 of us gathered up our things for the weekend and headed out. The nudist of the group, I'll call her 'flowerhead,' was driving. Then there was the youngster, the little stoner -chick, she'll be 'burnblossom' and the only guy and he is, well, I'll call him 'Broadway gay.' And me.

The place is B-and-B style with a few small rooms, but it also has a campground. There is a communal kitchen, so you bring your own stuff and cook. I liked that plan. We take the hike, in the hot-ass heat to the springs and head inside the shower room. Apparently you are supposed to wash all oils off your body before getting in, but it was at this moment I forgot it was clothing optional. In the shower area were a bunch of naked men. I thought, for a moment, I was in the wrong place. Nope, right place - get in the shower.

Flowerhead immediately took all her clothes off. Burnblossom was in a bikini and kept it that way. Broadway headed to one side, obviously disturbed. I maintained my modesty - kept my dress on.

Out by the hot springs, which actually looked like an in-ground swimming pool you'd find in any backyard, Broadway and I struggled to share a belt-strap of shade. The others soaked in all that nasty heat. I nearly vomited. We all decided it was time to head back to the lodge. As we started hiking, we saw a bus drive by and we thought - we hoped - it was lost. This place accommodates 15 people comfortably; no way will this be good if a busload of folks is dropped off.

As luck would have it, it's a busload of hippies fresh from a hippie festival. Once each year, they have this festival and when it is over, the staff of the festival descends upon this little lodge and takes fucking over. Thank god Broadway brought some wine.

Next day: the hippies have given the lodge a fine (as in not fine) odor. And they have taken over the kitchen, which means we had a 4-hour wait to cook our breakfast. Oh well, we got it done, Flowerhead whipped out an awesome meal, and headed to the springs again.

It's the same story: Flowerhead is completely, birthday-suit-naked. Burnblossom is bikinied, lying in the sun. Broadway Gay and I are struggling for shade, fully-clothed. Then HE walks by:

He was with the group from the bus, rather attractive fellow, about 5'9" with pale skin and mosquito bites. He had a strong, somewhat stocky-like build and the reddest hair down there I've ever seen. The hair on his head is blonde, so the contrast was interesting in the least. He settled in about 10 feet from us. I looked over and he was lying on his back, eyes closed, fire-red flames of long hair standing straight up from his crotch. I swear, I was ready to crawl into the shade his cock-wig was making! It seemed so cooling, yet so hot at the same time. It seriously looked like he had caught his dingdong on fire.

Broadway Gay leaned over to me and whispered, "It looks so, so…angry."

Ass

To the boy in my history class, the one who clears his throat every 34 seconds:

Get a fucking drink of water already! Jesus!

How many ways can you say "single?"

I have managed to become screamin' single. Yes, that's different from my prior state of singleness. See, here's what happened...

I had the most beautiful, perfect bed. It was firm, big, and I rolled myself all over it. There was wrought iron head and footboards that were perfect for the occasional tie-up. Or tie-down, whatever. The pillows were billowy and I wanted to always stay there - forever and ever - until one day...

I moved back in with my mom so I could go back to school. We have become more like roommates rather than a 30-something living with her parents. The problem is the space I get to live in is quite small. The den is stacked with my crap and my bedroom is a bit on the tiny side. So I made the decision to get rid of my bed and get a gasp! smaller one. Mom's bed is far too old so I said she could have mine (I feel a tear cracking out right now), it's better for her back.

I moved her bed out of her room, and then moved mine in. Mine is so dense and heavy, I needed her help. However, I forgot my little bag of, ahem, tricks were under the bed. Once the boxspring was up a huge "uh-oh!" crashed out silently. I tried to nonchalantly pick up the bag, pretending it was nothing, really. But, oh me, I picked up the wrong end! But I was saved from the embarrassment of my mother seeing my pink glittery dildo because it is contained within a medicine bag, which is inside a shoe box, which is inside the bag. The shoe box fell out but I was able to pounce on it and keep the lid on. "Ha-ha!" I yelled, to myself, in my head, because I made quite the save. As I shoved it in the closet, still as calm as can be, I noticed a square purple thing on the floor where the bag had just been. A condom. An unused condom snuggly contained in loud, purple packaging. Fuck. So I tried to hide it by stepping on it. So sure she had not seen it, and shuffled it away, ninja-style. I think I am cooler than I really am. How could she not notice all that nonsense? Me: not cool, dumb-ass.

Now I am in a bed that fits ONE. Hi single. I used to flop about in my other one, and now I rest like I'm in a coffin. I had to push it against the wall so I had only one side to fall out of. But now I bang my arm on the wall. Dear god. My first night in my bed-for-one, something on the floor caught my eye: A clear, plastic travel-size of lube. Please, please make it STOP!!!

White Bread and Optimism

Oh, I must express. I am trying to approach with positivity, but I can't help but be annoyed. There was a presentation of the documentary of "Chisholm '72, Unbought and Unbossed" at our campus. I mean, here's the story of a woman who ran a campaign for the Presidency of the United States. As if being a woman wasn't a big strike against her at that time, she was BLACK!!! Anyway, NO ONE SHOWED UP.

I tried to think that maybe the planning was off. It was at 6pm, on a Wednesday. Perhaps that is too much to ask for. But really, I can't help but be dismayed at the people who live here. Are we that isolated from the struggles of that 'big, scary world out there?' Is there not one female student who appreciates the women in our history that paved the way for us to have rights and to be able to do little things like, I don't know, RUN FOR PRESIDENT!?!?!? Is there not one student who is interested in the American history with regards to civil rights?!?!?! Geez, where do I live?

TMI I'm sure

Although I have had a few misadventures when I have gone to get a-waxin'. Like the one time the petite el salvadorean lady forgot to lower the bed down and I fell off of it, onto her. Nothing like getting slammed into a cabinet by a puffy, half-naked, pasty white girl! Nonetheless...



I just visited the lady who has been handling Julie and Alejandro for 1.5 yrs now (Don't know Julie or Alejandro? Read the Jan 13th blog). Apparently, she is quite comfy with my business, because she doesn't make me hold anything to the side or do cute, discreet poses. She takes care of it. She wipes me down like I'm a pee-pee-poopy baby and moves things where they need to go. She's also a bit cruel, quite the ripper-outer, but she's fast. A sturdy, older, blonde lady with a job to do. The only issue: I have to do the whole "dead puppies, dead puppies" thing. Staring at the ceiling, my body finds it very easy to react to fingers in the hoo-hah and hot wax. Geez. What a forgiving lady. I just wish she had an accent.



Update: I ate the yam and it was gross. I still think I got confused with Forrest Gump. I had my dream analyzed...it was work-related. If you care. Yawn.