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| 9.8.2004 |
10:56 PM important words You are what you do when it counts. |
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| 9.6.2004 |
10:47 PM plain plumb nutty Yes. Me. Yes, life can be fluffy and cute. But it can also have aspects that are deep and ponderous, strange and confusing. I can't scurry away from what I want. Everything else just seems banal. (sigh) Despite my protestations, D still moves me. There's this... thing... between us. And we both get wrapped up in it. Enveloped. And strange, intense, but wonderful things happen. Regardless of best intentions and plans. He calls it animal attraction. I'd prefer to think that we vibrate on the same levels, and some type of harmonic develops that becomes its own chord. But I may be kidding myself. It could just feel richer, deeper, more profound because of what we do. I don't understand it. But whatever it is, it's up to me. what to do For now, I do a few chores, feed and water the cats, put away clothes, change the sheets. I comfort myself in what I know. I prepare for work tomorrow. I think of studying for certification. I plan my trips back to the heartland. (laughs) I knit, finishing a piece of a sweater that had two rows left. I lay out the pieces for sewing. I read up on Kitchener stitch, three needle bind off, and short row shoulder shaping. I forgive myself. I accept myself. I trust myself. I shrug it off. I let all of it go. (smile) It will be what it will. |
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| 9.3.2004 |
12:45 PM new (laughs) someone Literate. Articulate. Poetic. Intelligent. Funny. Forthright. On the (smile) Thinks I'm charming, smart, sweet, cute; in his words, delightful. (grins) Corresponding, IMing, and finally chatting. Hours and hours on the phone last night. Perhaps meeting. Soon. Hey, I'll bite. cookie The gentleman poet and I were discussing secrets last night, having something that makes you feel special underneath that the wider world doesn't see. I didn't mention the cookie then, but of course I was sure thinking about it! Since I'm back from the heartland (smile), I'm off to BellaPelle for my monthly touchup. Geez, I think I've become addicted to this, fuzzlessness is wonderful. And it's my secret. I mean, yes, I'm *talking* about it, but in terms of the up-close-and-personal, live-and-in-color, it *is* my secret. Now I want another one: A tattoo. Of what? Still thinking. Of course, there's limited real estate, but I believe that's a good thing. Perhaps a dragonfly, or a bee, or a simple flower. I have to pick it soon, though; I want to get it done before I go back to the heartland at the end of the month. |
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| 8.13.2004 |
10:48 PM crazy Me. Yes, me. point one He's reappeared. D. The black man. And I'm finally getting it, that holding lightly thing. I went about doing my thing, and then called after a bit to ask about stuff I had of his, stuff he had of mine, why don't we finally do an exchange, etc., and he was... nice. Sweet (or as sweet as he is able to be.) Interesting and funny, as always. And thoughtful. He even mentioned his needing to make up for my birthday. Really. Geez, I just really like the dude, gosh darn it! And if I had my druthers... But that's not how it works. We're chatting on the phone regularly again, and there's no pressure, no expectation on my part. He says he appreciates my supporting his going back to school, and I do find that quite courageous of him; (wry smile) shows he's capable of doing and experiencing something new and different. This dance is certainly new and different, for both of us. I know what I said before, but never say never. Not never. It's not yo-yoing, really it's not! (sheepish grin) point b Last night we were gabbing and bullshitting, like we do, about Rick James and Dave Chappelle, my new job, his new "suite"-mates (he's going to be living in graduate housing on campus.) The new digs are currently a bit lacking in the cleanliness department. His idea of a solution? "I need to find some submissive woman who'll clean up the place for me, that would be perfect." Ha! My reaction? "That's your perfect sub? Good luck, Mr. Man. You know, of course, I'm not the gal for the job. Sub in the bedroom, yes. Sub outside the bedroom, no. Or better yet, when I'm nekkid, bedroom or no, sub. When I've got clothes on, not one bit. I've got a job, and bills to pay. "Now, my idea of perfect is a Daddy top who will pay all my bills and allow me to live in the luxurious style I'd like to become accustomed to. I don't have to work? Shucks, I'd be happy to be nekkid all the time!" We both got a big laugh from that, and he conceded that our "perfect" situations were both unlikely and unrealistic. He may actually be getting the message. (I know, what's the message?) point another We have plans to go out tomorrow evening, but I may decide to hang out with a gal pal and watch the Oakland/SF game. As I told him, I'll see what I feel like tomorrow. (Lightly, lightly.) I'd love to see him, but I love me some football, and nothing gets in the way of that. The *other* black man, we were talking this evening. He always has some intereting words for me: "You know, the longer I live, the more I believe in the yin and yang of dom/sub relationships. There's the black, the sadist, the dominant, wrapped around the white; the white, the masochist, the submissive, wrapped around the black. And always, in the black there's a leeetle bit of white, and in the white a leeetle bit of black." (chuckles) |
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| 8.3.2004 |
12:20 AM yo-yo? no! Well, as you can see from the front page, there's been a lot going on out there. And a little bit that I haven't mentioned that would be more suitable for over here. Miss Crystal says that when boys sulk and pout, you've just gotta ignore them and leave them alone. (sigh) The friend thing, you know, with you-know-who... There's too much there, too much, memories of good stuff, and still electricity when we see each other, geez, when will that stop... sounds great, doesn't it? (eyebrow raised) He's disappeared again. I told him he was the most stubborn man in the world. What he forgets is that I say this with affection and some amount of admiration, as I'm the most stubborn woman in the world. (wry smile) His itchiness, needing go to ground, his hackles at the ready. My memories of his disappearing, my unspoken, underlying mistrust, I want to trust, really I do, but... A little story: Back in March, he asked me if I'd be willing to fully give myself to him, submit to him. You know, the BDSMNOP thing. I asked him "And what do I get in return?" He answered, with no small amount of incredulousness in his voice, "You get *me*!" My reply: (pause) "And what else?" what else My buddy Terry and I (who I met on the job and coincidentally has the same kinda bent, and who I now call, thanks to the black man, "the *other* black man" ) were chatting one day back in June. He was very sweet, commiserating the end of things, and being very understanding, of course saying I'm beautiful and wonderful and he's stupid, stuff like that. He's a good friend. The black man and I had always had issues with the "L" word. As I told Terry, "Geez, like it's cussing, LOVE for heaven's sake, it's love, and I loved him and told him so, which made him uncomfortable." "'Keep it light,' he'd say. 'Enjoy the moment,' he'd say. And indeed, one should hold on lightly, not grasp with desperation, not choke. And one should enjoy every moment you can share with someone. But for crying out loud, for *that* stuff to happen, there better be some love up in here! What kinda braindamaged idiot would I have to be?!" Err'body deserves to get their needs met, folks, err'body. Even this uppity bottom over here. |
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| 6.14.2004 |
8:05 PM sometimes i get nosy The last time I looked up searches that call up this blog, I found this one. Now, at least this time, this dude (on AOL, of course) was looking for practical information, something useful to do with himself. Sorry I couldn't help. (smirk) p.s. How the *heck* did I get to the top of *this* pile? |
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| 6.12.2004 |
1:19 AM what's the fuss? I'm a studette. (smirk) defuzz or not defuzz? Brazilian. I'd been thinking about this for a while, just pondering it in my mind. The black man would mention it every now and again, but I would complain about my schedule, lack of time, etc... But really, you all know, I can be a bit recalcitrant. Silly, but that's me. And frankly, doing something to myself because someone else wants me to do it? Eeek, doesn't sound so nice when I put it that way, does it? Well today, I woke up and decided to do it. It's my cookie, to be fuzzy or nakey as I like. I've shaved before, very impractical. You really need help, since there are not enough mirrors in the world to be able to see everything you want to see, in order to do a good job. But who else would you trust other than yourself with a razor? And self-waxing? I just don't think I could be ruthless enough, even with 20-odd years' worth of eyebrow plucking experience under my belt. So I knew if I was gonna, it was gonna be up close and personal with an esthetician, somebody who (hopefully) knows what they're doing. I found several highly rated salons on Citysearch, made some calls and decided on the folks at BellaPelle because they didn't have any bad reviews, they had evening hours, and they could see me today. I made the appointment and drove into the city. carpe defuzz! In a small but lovely office on Geary across from Neimans, I sat and knitted and sipped lemonade and waited my turn for their Itsy Bitsy Brazilian Bikini Wax. The receptionist asked me if I were interested in the June bonus, a free pair of crystal-embellished thongs for each IBBBW with the added Glamourpuss option. What's the Glamourpuss, you ask? Post-Brazilian, having Swarovski crystals, kinda like rhinestone studs on jeans, glued on you. I was thinking about a cute little red-bejeweled ladybug but I passed; I'd be giggling too much and wanting to talk to strangers about it. Indeed, as noted by others describing the experience, I stripped to my waist, lay on a table, and let a very nice woman named Gianna apply wax to me then rip it off in strips. And yes, it hurt, and not a good hurt, not at all, but it wasn't agony, it wasn't torture. I've read others that said they loved so-and-so at fancy-doodle salon who did it in 10 minutes. After being on the table myself, I have no idea how, in the name of heaven and all the angels, you could do this thing in 10 minutes. And I don't think I would like that person very much; I believe they could make me cry. But I was in fine spirits during my session. In fact, after the first few pulls, I couldn't help but ask Gianna, "Is this it? I was geared up for pain falling somewhere along the line of childbirth. Who couldn't do this? This isn't that bad!" We talked of politics, fashion, family... and I realized that I have no shame whatsoever. None. Must be all those years of gynecologist visits. Knees wide... legs in the air... on the side... 45 minutes of chatting and, well, waxing on and pulling off. all gone! Well, not quite. You see, when there are areas that no longer have fuzz, other nearby areas that before seemed relatively fuzzless now feel fuzzy as all get out. I know that to satisfy myself, I'll have to get out the razor tomorrow to get things matchy-matchy. And at my next waxing (in 4-6 weeks), I'll make sure to mention the outliers. One could get caught up in all this glorious hairlessness! |
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