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.

Fur Locker

I have these really screwed up dreams. Although there was more to it, I'll share a bit of the dream I woke from this morning:

I was a waitress and a man came in to the bar/restaurant with a black dog and sat down. I asked for his order and he replied "a ferlacher." (I'm guessing on the spelling, it could have been "fur locker") So I went to the bartender (which is another wacky story) and asked her if she knew how to make a ferlacher. She said she did and told me to ask him how he liked the fruit in it. Okay. I went back to him, asked him how he liked it, and he said, "lots of grapes and no anchovies."

For kicks, I googled ferlacher today. Apparently, there is a Ferlacher horn in Austria.

Anybody?

God

Monday, I drove back home from my Grandma's and it gave me plenty of thinking time. Grandpa died two weeks ago and since I didn't make it to the funeral, I went for a visit after everyone had left.

Grandpa's funeral was the day after my grandparents' 62nd wedding anniversary. That blows my mind! I don't think I'll know anyone for 62 years, but to be truly and deeply committed to one person for that long? And to have it gone in a poof. I kept Grandma company, watching golf all day with her. Did you know that nearly every commercial during golf tournaments, is for either erectile dysfunction pills or financial planning?

We went to the graveyard to visit. The dirt was still cool and soft and the name plaque had not been put in place yet. Grandma was very upset because she wanted to put flowers in the little cup, but the cup is coming with the plaque. So I got down on my knees and dug a hole with my hands and planted the flowers. My tears dropped into the dirt and I felt sick. This was Grandpa's dirt and now it was stuck in my nails and the knees of my pants.

We tried to keep ourselves together for the rest of the weekend. I busied myself in her garden, I cleaned out Grandpa's truck. It smelled like skunk. Probably from the ranch, Grandpa loved that goddamn ranch and that's the place that led to all this. The morning I left, I lost it. I cried so hard, my grandma sobbed and we hugged tight for a long time. Grandma doesn't show much emotion so this was strange. Plus, she sure has shrunk. She had packed me a lunch (grandma's are awesome that way) and the 8 hour drive began.

Plenty of crying moments came and went, but there was one defining moment. There was an area that had chain controls. So here I am, driving 30 mph through the snow with chains on my tires. It was a nice distraction from my thoughts. Eventually, I took the chains off, and was driving in sunny weather surrounded by snow. A mom let her kid out on the side of the road to make a snow angel and I couldn't help it. A few yards down I pulled over so I could make one too.
As I laid on my back in the cold snow, I stared up to the sky and wondered if this is why people believed in God. When you imagine the dead, living on somewhere nice, it is strangely comforting. I tried to imagine how different I would be feeling if I believed in God. Would it hurt this bad? Would I feel this disconnected? The cold air was building up and starting to sting my tear-soaked cheeks. So I got up, dusted the snow off, and was back to driving.

My va-j-j has a first name...

A few days back, I was unable to get a line from a movie out of my head. I think it was a movie, anyway. I can't, for the life of me, remember which movie it was. All I know, is there was a 'mentally challenged' boy that loved a girl, named Julie, and at one point, in his crooked-jaw language, said "mah joo-lee." That kept playing over and over again in my head.

Once I really thought about it, I realized how pure, true, innocent, and intense retard love is. And you know what? That's how I feel about my kitty. So my vagina is now named Julie. Because my love for her is pure and true.

I just wish I could remember the movie! Maybe I'm confusing Forrest Gump's Jenny with something else. Jenny. Julie. Whatever.

I look at it now and lovingly holler, "mah joo-lee!"

I guess I could tell you my bummyhole is Alejandro. No reason for that, but that I like to say "Alejandro is muy caliente."