Friday, November 18, 2005

Hands off

In response to my sweet poetic self-satisfying boys...

Yes, it’s true, I am a woman. I wanted to mention it before we go any further, get it out of the way, get it off my chest. And while we’re on the subject of chests, let’s talk about my exquisite flesh-weapons shall we?

I begin this with a quote from one of Israel Horowitz’s more sacrosanct pieces of art,"First off, the matter of my mammary glands....my breasts...my tits...my boobs...my jugs...my knockers....my set....my funny valentines....my PERFECT LITTLE ORBS...they seem to be causing you some grief, my breasts. I can’t say I find them quite as...exciting as you do...lucky for me."

And boy is it luck for me! If my feelings towards my own breasts was anything like your obsession for them, I’d get nothing done. Stirring a pot on the stove would be torture as I brushed against them with each circular motion causing them to stand up and beg for the attention they deserve. Dressing would be impossible as each time I succeeded in securing a button, I’d be forced to tear it all back off for another peek, to indulge the cop of yet another feel.

No, sadly, I could not worship my succulent front the way that you do. This doesn’t, however, mean that I disagree with or dislike your attraction to them. You see boys, we’re aware of their appeal. We know the power these fleshy little mounds hold and for some of us it’s a victory when we notice you noticing.

And if you know you’ve been noticed noticing....ah how sweet the victory. For that night at least, we own you.

Truth is boys, f I were in search of "the keeper", I wouldn’t throw out the peeper or the tom. In fact, I’d be much more likely to bring him back for round 2 knowing full well that I own something he covets and with that comes a power that no woman in her right mind could resist.

Plus, having a man around to enjoy my irresistible poitrine means that I don’t have to do it. And maybe that will free me to return to work, to sleep, or to anything else that has been put on hold to satisfy my constant and unrelenting self fondling.

And when I die no one would be able to say, "what a pity she had breasts, poor thing. They did her in."

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Boring

I am home sick today.

I don’t think it’s the bird flu, or the stomach flu, or anthrax. I do, however, think it’s work related.

Is stress contagious?

If so, you better stay away.

I plan to lock myself in my cold apple scented room and curl up on the big red bed with a cup of cocoa and an active imagination.

I don’t think I meant for that to be dirty but I’m not completely sure.

I’d like to crawl in a hole.

Hm

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Prolific Paws

Tonight
the tiger in her
takes pause.

Not every day can be
hunt to the kill
in this here
wild kingdom.

As the silver toothed
temptress
releases her grasp
on virtual manhood
to make way for the
fractious feline,
the scepter is passed with
delicate reservation.

The interregnum is bitter sweet.

Don’t mistake her
mellow meow
for anything more than
momentary metaphor

This too shall pass.

And with the return
of the wanton pariah
comes the
prurient playfulness
they long to devour.

Her esoteric game
is played by few.

But oh how she adores them.



Say hello

Not New

"Who is me?" Where to begin...?

I am by all means a paradox. Terribly excited at the possibly of happiness yet unable to find the right path. Strong willed and weak in so many ways. Femininity embodied, masculinity admired. Rough around the edges and looking for smooth without really wanting it. Confidence growing where confidence lacks (makes perfect sense.) Simplicity at the sake of utter chaos.

I seek for that which I have not yet had and desire that which I can’t. I love to be social, live to be loved, and long to be alive.

I’m constantly afraid that all I am to people is an act and more often afraid that I’m not even that. I wish I had faith in myself and love for "who is me" but unaware of what that is.

I sometimes think my destiny will be just out of grasp and I’ll forget to reach. I’m emotional, caring, genuinely optimistic, sarcastic at all costs, a great friend but sometimes a struggling listener, a peacemaker, an obsessive obsessor with no obsessions, I have no real collections, too many hobbies to count, I often start projects without finishing them (not always a bad thing, who needs glitter art and a piano shaped rug?),I don’t pick favorites.

I push the limits because I can and because I truly think the people in my life could benefit from slightly more open minds, I don’t have road rage but I do have road anxiety, I worry... a lot. I think about the people that are important to me every second of the day, sometimes I stop listening to others because I’ve begun thinking about myself.

I like shoes. And strawberries. And theme dinners. I dislike the texture of onions, people blowing their noses or picking their teeth at the dinner table, close-mindedness, bad tippers, bad teeth, bad energy.

I abhor Jon Lovitz.

I want to travel, often, and then some more. I don’t understand my religion. I admire many people in my life and keep those that contribute close to me. I do have Canadian friends.

I often find myself falling for the unattainable (in life, love, and every day occurrences), and usually get hurt in the process. Therefore I am more than normally hesitant and more than normally scared while at the same time more than normally fearless. Make sense? No. And that is me.

Now you.

Suitemate

Here’s what I don’t understand.

Just two days ago I posted my first thrilling ad on the brilliant beyond brilliant website known as Craig’s List (I admit it’s now an addiction) to advertise my room for rent.

And in that very same ad I mentioned, rather specifically, that I was looking for female roommates only. So why is it that within a few hours of posting, my cell phone inbox was full of messages from Leon, John, Matthew, Spence, and Charlie respectively?

Call me crazy but I’ve never known a female named Leon.

The first four managed to explain their ignorance of my "females only" rule by stating "I know you only wanted a woman but I’m gay, it’s kind of like the same thing."

I tend to disagree. A penis is a penis no matter where you place it.

And then came Charlie. Poor desperate Charlie

1:30 am. "Hi...my name is Charlie (long drawn out pause followed by the breathiest excuse for a message I’ve ever heard) your ad sounded sexy and I like sexy girls. If you feel like to have fun and never want the party to stop, give me a call..."

I made the mistake of calling each of them back. To the first four I am sorry, I may have told some untruths in my return call. I haven’t filled the room nor am I as open to the idea of living with a man as I claimed to be. I’ve done that, it turned out poorly.

And Charlie, dear sweet Charlie, here’s where I admit your voice wasn’t a charming as I claimed it was and the part in my conversation where I said that "38 year old red-headed cubicle monkey with a passion for young party girls is hot" was a complete and total lie. I’m afraid of you, rather afraid. Please do call at 7 after work but forgive me if my phone is already disconnected, you know too much already.

I understand that my mention of being an artist opens the gate to all kinds of interpretation and in the future I suppose I’ll need to learn to be a little more specific about my requests. And I guess some of you out there just have to understand that when a person says "female only" they just may mean "female only."

I mean no harm boys, I simply need someone to give me manis and pedis and run around the house with while wearing skimpy lingerie and pillow fighting. I don’t think it’s too much to ask.

Chase Unruly

Tuesday, November 8, 2005

Kitten Tyro

It’s a constant thing,

this glorious game of

cat and mouse,

this surreptitiously unruly

chase.



Please do attempt

to resist.



I only ask that when you

return

squeezing proverbial tail

between hermetically sealed thighs

that you sign our

tacit agreement

with the sharpened side

of your talented tongue.



I like the way your danger tastes.



Close your eyes,

dear mouse,

and allow my

mellisonant machinations

to sink in.



Are we on par now?

Have I your attention?



My turn

at secret nothings

through heated whispers

and gutteral growls.

I have a few moist things to say.



Please do attempt

to resist.

Sunday, November 6, 2005

Utter Doggerel via the Cheshire Cat

"Be still," she growls from her post

atop the random cottonwood tree

as she digs her razored fingers

into the wet brown flesh of

her high standing pedestal.

Beneath her slinks the aged

form of youth, pond variety

drunk with delight from a night

of rich stories begging to be told.

Face to face.

His intentions betray him

they are not good.

She yearns to be further down

that random cottonwood tree of

raw unadulterated tales

minced to a fine concoction of

late wet words.

She dreams of sinking her

silver tips into his

box of inspiration

proving nothing more than the ability

to deflate

or become.

He needs a muse.

He would be sure to be

stunned

by her incredible pulchritude.

He would be sure to be

awed

by her fustian presence.

He would be sure to be

silenced

by HER.

But tonight atop the tree she remains

her burgundy feathers ruffled

in a playfully histrionic way

as if to say,

"Try harder my irresistable friend

this kitten sits

waiting for the story

she couldn’t refuse to write."

A green-eyed Cheshire is just as obstinate

as she is curious.

Saturday, November 5, 2005

So close to being over

In case you hadn’t noticed, dear world, my mood as of late has been less than perfect. Today is no exception. It’s a big day for me.


I decided to start the morning off right with a tall glass of starfruit juice and a hot bubble bath with a little Miles Davis to match the mellow grey skies. Lovely? Yes. Invigorating? No.


After picking out the most summery and bright outfit I could muster (hoping that even a little color would bring out the sun) I headed off to the natural market for some organic energy supplements that have seemed to work for me in the past. I’m determined to make the most of this lazy day.


It’s now 7:15. I’m due at the office at half past the hour and even my need for overtime hours doesn’t seem to be enough motivation to carry me on my satin heels across the street into the world of the bronze.


I’m expecting 3 calls today. One I am dreading because this is a big day for more than just me and though it may kills me, I think I need to have that conversation. Two: someone else is dreading because both of us know it’s time. And three is inconsequential and therefore welcomed.


I’m planning on making two of my own. One because I owe many apologies and two because I’m ready to hear one in return.


Truth of the matter is, I’d like to just shut off my phone. Damn this grey mood.



I’m wearing pink. This usually works. Maybe it’s the weather.

Friday, November 4, 2005

You're so vain...

Get out of my head, I need all the room I can get to pack in these flashcards of vocabulary words and quantitative B.S.

Anyway, aren't you tired of taking up so many of my thoughts? Doesn't it get old standing there on that pedestal?

Step down before I'm forced to give you the credit you deserve.

I don't want to blame you for making me want to be a better person but I will.


You probably think this blog is about you, don't you? Don't you?