Tactile

Funny how memory works, isn't it? I've showered far more often than not over the past 13 years, opening and closing a shower curtain the vast majority of those times. Last week, however, as my fingers touched the shiny side of my shower curtain, I got a glimpse of John's old shower curtain instead of my usual mindless routine, and found myself momentarily transported back in time.

"Why do you have the map on your shower curtain facing inside the shower instead of out?"
"Why not?? I can see it when I'm in the shower that way."

I laughed and mentioned that I thought shower curtains were printed as decoration, rather than for personal amusement while showering. John resolutely rejected my argument. His opinion was that if he had picked out a shower curtain that he liked, why the fuck wouldn't he look at it while he showered? Didn't what he want to see on a daily basis matter more than what a possible visitor might see on rare occasion?

He was right.

I was lying with my head in his lap on his beige and white striped sofa bearing a rip with three inch-long sides of a square on one arm. I had always played with the rip. John never noticed it, but I just couldn't keep my fingers off the imperfection. For three years, without fail, when I sat on his sofa, I sat next to the hole, feeling and poking along the fraying edges of the inconsequential cosmetic imperfection. The day we were discussing shower curtains, I was either newly pregnant, or newly not, and I needed him. I needed his perspective, his practical approach to life that was mirrored in seemingly silly things like facing the shower curtain toward himself, and keeping his fingers from creating a bigger hole on his sofa.

While I don't know where he is right now, I find I still need John's acceptance and perspective. He quieted a part of my soul that needed soothing, and sometimes still needs soothing today. I still need quiet reminders to stop picking at imperfections and to enjoy what I like in my own way. I hope he is still doing those things for himself.

Dealbreaker

You can never tell what will push someone over the edge between "acceptable" and "I've had enough of this shit". Sometimes you just assume that if someone has put up with ridiculous stuff, just about anything will be OK. Sometimes life reminds you of that whole saying about assuming making an ass out of you and me.

David was able to overlook the fact that I didn't want to leave the bar with him the first night we spoke until I finished doing dishes, even though I didn't work there. He was able to overlook the fact that when we got to the hotel room that magically appeared for us, I forgot to remove my tampon before sex and screeched and screamed at the top of my lungs about how much it hurt. He didn't seem too put out by the fact that I was pissed off to learn the next morning that I had apparently offered to drive him somewhere and I kept muttering about how I hadn't wanted to sleep with anyone I just met ever again.

On the contrary, he was exceedingly polite and inviting. I often visited him at his mother's apartment, where he was staying for a month or so in between races. When I sucked his dick in the living room where a two foot pace would've enabled his mother or grandfather to see us, swallowed, choked, ran to the sink and then spit, sputtering "My Gawd! What the hell do you eat?? That tasted HORRIBLE!!! I've never tasted anything LIKE it!!" he actually seemed rather amused.

He more than tolerated a drunken night visiting his friends in a town five and a half hours away that resulted in me saying the wrong name when his friend asked if I even knew who I was there with. He started forgiving me rather quickly after he realized I had no memory of accusing him of taking advantage of me. He didn't even get too annoyed when his grandfather fell ill on Christmas Eve and instead of being alone in the apartment we had to go to the bar bathroom.

He was rather good natured about my little rant on New Year's Eve concerning sex in a car, especially in the fucking cold. He even laughed the next night when his friend's dog knocked open the door and started licking my tit and I freaked out.

The next night, however, was the last night. What the fuck else could I have done to this guy?

I tickled his butt in the bar.

OK, so it was repeatedly and in front of his friends and he asked me nicely to stop about ten times, but hey, who would've known he had limits?

******Ahhhh, I wrote this years ago for that other place I used to blog. Today, while chatting with one of the mothers at homeschool co-op, we realized that her husband's best friend is the guy in this piece. Awkward.

fluffy undies

Yeah, yeah, got sucked in again. Read all about undies here.

Underwear Survey from Quizopolis.com

What's your favorite underwear you own?

None. I don't give a fuck about underwear. There were a few pairs that actually got me laid a few times, but they also gave me crotch rot, so ... I have sensitive junk, like I can't switch toilet paper or soap without issues, so all cotton, white, boring ass shit keeps me smelling better. I can pretend I look fuckable and stink and scratch, or be boring. *shrugs*


What's the worst pair of underwear you own?

Hmm, I think I tossed the flowered granny panties I accidentally bought once. My ex thought my left behind cartoon character underwear were going to get him arrested for being a pedo if he ever got raided, so in his opinion, those were the worst. Not sure why he thought he was going to get raided ...


What's the most embarrassing underwear you own?

The kind where the dog ate the crotch and for some stupid reason I keep forgetting to toss the bitches, keep washing them and end up wearing them because I am lazy and wait until the last pair is used to wash more.


What's your favorite color of underwear?

Unstained


What color underwear will you not wear?

I wear underwear my dog ate, do you think I have standards?


What's your favorite underwear on a member of the opposite sex?

Commando


What underwear do you hate seeing on a member of the opposite sex?

Any?


Have you ever lost your underwear while out somewhere?

Yes, yes I have. On several occasions, usually if they weren't bunched up in my pants/clothes, I didn't even bother looking before trying to sneak out. Of course, that was generally a failure, since I had no clue where I was, was still drunk and needed to ask for directions home. (Once from a whole ... 4ish blocks from "home".) I also once drunkenly sharted and decided tossing my underwear while wearing a dress with an unpredictable ass was a good idea. I was lucky it turned out relatively OK.


Have you ever found someone's underwear while out somewhere?

Yes. More than once, even. Apparently I'm not the only one with the aforementioned shart/toss idea BUT *I* wrapped mine up and placed them in the garbage, thank you very much.


How often do you buy new underwear?

Not often enough. I keep putting it off until I lose weight. But I've gained weight since my initial decision to wait until my ass was smaller to spend money on it, so I either have to get to work, or give in.


Do you buy underwear for anyone but yourself?

Yes. Clone Wars briefs yesterday, even.


Where do you like to buy your underwear?

Wherever I happen to be when I break down and grab some.


Do you have a favorite brand of underwear?


Whatever the dog hasn't eaten.


Is there anywhere you refuse to buy underwear?

Yeah, Amelia's thrift store idea is a good one.


Do you own any novelty underwear?

Technically, the dog created crotchless for me ... Hmm, actually, I might still have a leather set around, not that they'd fit anymore ...


Have you ever bought novelty underwear for anyone?

I don't know. I keep having horrid sock/thong in leopard print visions, but luckily, I've supressed whatever it is causing those visions enough to doubt my role in purchasing them.


Have you ever worn someone else's underwear?

Plenty of times. I always forget to pack em.


Has anyone else ever worn your underwear?

Yeah, but not often.


What type of underwear do you wear most?

Cotton.

Is there any kind of underwear you refuse to wear?

Well, um, I'd like to say granny panties, but I think now if it was granny or eaten, I'd pick the bloomers.

Take This Survey at Quizopolis.com http://www.quizopolis.com/survey/4614/Underwear-Survey/

15 Qs

15 Would You Rather Questions Survey from Quizopolis.com

Be a poison tester or suicide bomber?

- Poison tester. Normal healthy food doesn't agree with me, what are the odds that poison would actually harm me?

Fat and short or fat and tall

- I am already fat and sorta tall, why shrink? Then I'd never be able to say shit like, "Your face only reaches my boobs, bring it." again.

Wet and cold or dry and hot

- Dry and hot. Or wet and hot really, just FUCKING HOT. I'm sticking with Amelia's answer.

Vampire or a cat

- Ugh. Blood or fish for dinner?? Hmm, I guess vampire, at least then I could have hot food every now and then.

Be george lopez or brad pitt

- Brad Pitt. Really, who *doesn't* want the chance to bang Angelina Jolie??

Eat sand or dirt

- I've had sand in my mouth and it just stays there, gritty and clinking. I'll take dirt, nice clean dirt.

Be 30 or 1

- Um, let's go with being 1 again, but the 1 in whatever country it is that considers you 1 when you're born.

Pro skater boarder or singer

- Do I have a good dental plan? If so, I'll take skill and balance.

Eat metal or bugs

- Definitely metal. I've had enough Goldschlagger in my life to either have already shit the equivalent to (of?) a gold nugget, or have one hanging around inside me, waiting to escape. ("Yes, I have gold to exchange, but the extraction process isn't going to be fun for any of us.")

Be a monkey or wolf man

- Hmmm, fling poop or howl at the moon?? I guess I'll howl.

Work at google or bing

- Whichever pays more and requires less. Duh.

Make a board game or video game

- Board game would be much easier.

Mini cooper or mustang

- I miss my MINI. *sniffle* Only if it's turbo though.

Dead or alive

- Sure, I prefer my dinner to be dead.

Singer or actor

- A singer, but a singer like the guys in the Gorillaz, where they use lots of computer shit to distort the voice and no one ever sees me.

There are other people doing this one today, but I'm too lazy to look for a link right now.

Edit:: Ahh, I was asked nicely, so I'm throwing some blood, sweat and tears into it and linking to JesterQueen. ;)

4AM

The phone rang at 4AM. She smirked.

"Sure, I'll come drive you home. You do know your house is closer to the bar than theirs, right? Shh, I'm just busting your balls. I know what you really want."


Trifextra-- 33 words, including "The phone rang at 4AM"

uh

The shock of his death rattled us all somewhere so deep we kept trying to rebury the pain, afraid that if it was allowed to surface, it would never again be content simmering deep within the confines of our hearts. Or maybe that was just me and I'm projecting, but I don't think so. When the guy who occasionally became the butt of "liver failure" jokes, partially out of concern, but mostly because we all expected him to be there forever, had a lethal heart attack out of nowhere at the ripe "old" age of thirty, pause was given. Questions concerning who dies and when and why bubbled into our brains.

Beyond and behind the immediate grief came creeping thoughts like "It could have just as easily been me. We ate Burger King and drank together and passed out on the same wretched sofa every day for years. Hell, he paid for me to do that for years." The future I was never sure I wanted no longer seemed to be a given. With his death, at least a few of us pondered our own lives more than we ever had before.




Trifecta's word this week is "wretched" and I seriously think I broke my brain. I can't even think of a title.

Doom, doom doom doom, doom!

Stress is no stranger in my life. I do homeschool a very, uh, active child on a very small budget. We all have stress though. Usually I can happily feed my stress pizza and put it to sleep. Really, my stress loves pizza. I can placate whatever crap is being thrown my way with cheesy goodness and go back to, hmmm ... doing nothing.

Today though, I have an unease gnawing at the pit of my stomach. It's a feeling of impending doom, like the world is about to implode. OK, maybe not the whole world, but my world. I don't usually get this feeling, and I don't remember ever getting it wrong, so it's rather worrisome. Ironic how unexplainable anxiety creates more anxiety, no?

Maybe it's just some sort of gastrointestinal distress taking it's sweet time manifesting fully. Awesome. It's very early in the day for me and I've already decided the world's going to implode or my ass is going to explode. I guess it's nice to have options and expectations for the day.

Dear Gumby,

I can't believe it's been 11 years since you've been gone. Sometimes it feels like it's been that long since I've had fun. I know it hasn't, but it's sporadic now, and different. I can't go back to our bar without a stab of pain because you're not there. In fact, dear Donna sold the place last year. After the initial feeling of, "Oh man, all the fucking times Gumby and Spar tried to buy it and got turned down are really annoying now," my second reaction was horror over the idea that the new owners might take down your little memorial on the wall, and that the monthly calendar would never again note your birth and death days. No one there now knows you died in the bar you loved. Ouch. That hurts the most. To them, you'll be nothing but a cranky ghost screeching in a Krusty the Clown voice for your "pint of Dewars, no ice!!" That is, if they even hear you at all. I hope your haunting has taken on a feverish pitch, rather than slowing down.

My pain over missing you has slowed down. I don't even usually feel guilty about that. You don't mind, right? No, I didn't think so. Despite all the crap you gave me, and everyone else, I know you cared about me. Chris even said you were in love with me. I think he was just stinging after I rejected his offer to take me to your funeral. He had never offered to be there for me like that before, but it was already too late, and the idea of how pissed you would've been to see him there drove that home like nothing else could have. I'm sure you're glad I told him that. His response was that he was surprised to know that you didn't like him. When I pointed out that you knew most of the things that he had done during our relationship, he said, "Ahhh, it all makes sense now. I saw the way he looked at you when you weren't looking, but now I know he was in love with you." It has never occurred to me before now that he wasn't being honest. I guess it doesn't matter either way though, does it? I liked the idea of you knowing I'd turned him down because you disliked the way he treated me. I wish I'd done it while you were alive.

Anyway, I'm freezing and rambling and losing my train of thought, sure signs of sobriety. I hope you're drinking with impunity and enjoying the show.

perv

Linking up for Trifextraagain. Warning:: All I saw in the picture was raunch, pure and simple. I swear it's the missing pants. I've toned it down as much as I possibly could, but really, I spent too much time in fraternity houses and bars, so if you're easily offended or grossed out by inappropriate sexuality, just skip it. :)








Well, I don't really care how exactly you uh, ... fit. Please don't ever call me in here again unless you are wearing pants or I'm moving. The rent's not cheap enough for that.

Boiled Down

I could spend a lifetime retelling my lifetime. Many words could be used to utter meaning into grievances, passions and actions. I could simplify and save time by merely muttering the word "fool".

Trifectagain. Word of the week is "fool".

running

Last week I decided we didn't really need groceries and that the handy little feature my car insurance offers for deferring payment a few days would come in handy. In lieu of these items, I got a treadmill. (On a side note, I really need to cancel my gym membership. I haven't been there in a full year, I'm not quite sure how long of a contract I signed ... ) Ostensibly, the dogs would also benefit from this purchase.

Since accidentally owning a dingo, we have been trying to train her to properly use a leash, to no avail. She's just too damn fast (up to 30mph) and our pedestrian speeds simply annoy her. Despite possessing webbed feet, she is afraid of water, so swimming to get some energy out never worked either. Her natural state of affairs is ramped up and nervous. After watching a few too many episodes of The Dog Whisperer, a lightbulb lit. Oooh, the dingo could use a treadmill. Right.

So far, this idea has failed miserably. Just like with the swimming idea, our yappy ball of fur who could care less about expending energy on anything useful is much more interested. The dingo cowers, the yappy dog yaps and bats at the treadmill. Fun stuff. I doubt Cesar's crew would fit in my garage, otherwise, I might try to get him to teach the wacko. Maybe one of these days? Yeah, I know. I doubt it too.

I have used the grocery replacement regularly though. After convincing my son that screaming, "Run Fat Ass, Run!!!" while watching me was not good for his health, it has been much more pleasant for me. In fact, I have shaved nearly four minutes off my mile time this week. The bad news is that I'd have to shave another ten or so to make it an even slightly respectable time. :) Considering I have never run on a treadmill before, I'm OK with that. I've walked on them often. Forty plus minutes four days a week with my own personal trainer the summer- winter a year ago. I just refused to actually let go of the machine, so it never counted as running. Walking at 7mph caused me great pain, and is probably how I injured my knee, ending my training. *shrugs*

At first I listened to Alice in Chains, which was a Bad Idea. Nothing like suicidal thoughts and drug lust to get you motivated to move. :S The next day I switched to Rage Against the Machine. That was better. Rage gets me moving, always. (They also take the blame for my multiple speeding tickets one year when I played nothing but "Evil Empire" in my car.) After a few days, I started to think too much. I was pushing myself to run another 15 seconds while being motivated by political wrongdoings and General world evil? Could I really use oppression as a reason to make my ass stop jiggling? It just seemed kind of wrong.

Then I switched to 50 Cent. Now, I can imagine myself as a chunked up Fiddy trying to outrun the guys in his neighborhood who want to kick his ass for being such a cocky twat. This seems to work well for me. I mean, who can't picture a little extra jiggle in 50's ass? I suspect next I will have to become DMX, cracked out and running from the cops. There's nowhere to go but up from there.

twi-lite

Girl moves to land of fog and rain, hates life, meets sparkly killer, falls in love, gets stalked and carried everywhere. Sparkly killer's family hates whiny, clumsy girl with strong aroma. They suck.


Here's another for Trifextra. The whole series blended together in my head, (Yes, yes I did just admit I read them all.) but I'm pretty sure this sticks to simply the first book.

belle

She only agreed to see him to help her father. He was mean, needed a shower and grooming. Eventually, she began to enjoy his company. With her encouragement, he revealed his outer beauty.


Trifextra time again! This weekend, the challenge is to retell a famous story in exactly 33 words.

jar of flies

Trifecta's word this time is "safe", and I kinda cheated (yet again), but, eh.


We spent most of our time together at my (parents') house. The few instances we spent time at his house stand out vividly in my mind, even though nothing special happened. I think his father's everyday things, still occupying their home and spilling out of their medicine cabinet three years after his passing, alarmed me enough to pay attention.

Usually we went there so I could use his computer. He'd put on music, I'd complain about it, and he'd launch into some dissertation that I barely heard, let alone comprehended. He had taught himself six instruments by ear. I am tone deaf. You'd think the "winner" in these arguments would be clear, but when the basis of one person's argument is, "This shit is getting on my fucking nerves Turn It Off!!" things can get a little murky. At least that's the way it happened in his basement, anyway.

One band that could always get me to shut up was Alice in Chains. I remember when he bought the "Jar of Flies" EP. One of my favorite songs opened with the words, "I want to travel south this year. I ... Oh I won't prevent safe passage here" The EP was released in January, I always want to flee to warmer climates during winter, so it worked for me, actual meaning of the song be damned. Simpleminded as I can be, I loved the plastic flies encased in the edge of the CD case. I'd tilt it this way and that, watching the fake flies jumbling together, stuck, but with just enough room to allow them to crash into each other. Those flies were greatly symbolic of how I felt about my life at the time, but I'm not going to pretend I was cognizant enough to realize that then. I preferred the simple idea of listening to stuff that didn't suck while playing with a toy.

bedroom door

I remember you from then.  How could I not?  You moved me in a way I could never describe, nor forget.  Something deep inside stirred when I looked at you.  When I touched you, I forgot the world.

I remember watching you, just completely mesmerized by your music.  Watching your fingers, they way they moved over your guitar strings. The shy smile that couldn't hide the eagerness behind your eyes.

When our skin met, I was transported to another world, a world where nothing but us existed.  I remember slamming up against a wall next to your kitchen, the force of our appetites burning through my skin.

I wanted to move to the bedroom.  The door was partially open, it was calling me, inviting me in.  I wanted nothing more than to remove all of our clothes and get lost in that room for days.  I would've given up anything at that moment, just to have you inside me.  Just to see how that animal magnetism I felt through your mouth and fingertips could consume my whole body.

The bedroom door was next to the main door.  Instead of moving towards the bedroom, I found myself being moved into the hallway.  I wanted nothing more than to stay holed up behind that other door.  Instead I found myself outside your apartment, blindly fumbling my way to my car, never to return to you there.

I wonder if I'll ever know what happens behind your almost opened door.

***************

This week's Trifextra was a love scene, minus 33 commonly used words. I admit, I kinda cheated, as a whiny kid is not conducive to writing love scenes, and used an old piece I had written, replacing a few words.

jack handey

He used to quote "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey" on a regular basis, each time trying to improve upon his deadpan. (“If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.” ) His eyes always betrayed his amusement, his theatrical gestures hinted at practice alone, in front of a mirror. Sometimes he couldn't make it all the way through a quote without grinning wildly, eyebrow raising slightly, watching for my reaction. More often than not, I'd furrow my drunken brow in confusion. He'd start to explain, only to be interrupted. "I get it. I just don't get why you think it's so damn amusing."

Funny Bone

I hadn't written anything since the months after we first met when I started typing away nonsense to post to my.spa.ce. Then he became my friend, and I started writing to him, without saying a word. I didn't always tell him my heart, I liked to tell him fun drinking stories or how my ass was doing that day, you know, the usual. Every now and then I'd slip in a paragraph or two hoping he'd feel my longing. He didn't.

After a friend was offended by something I wrote, with no intention of being offensive, I started a new page. I had made a few blogging friends and invited them to the new profile. He was the only person who knew me in person I told about the new page. There, I wrote to him more. I spilled and spilled and spilled some more. I wasn't sure I had any guts left, the floor was so messy with them.

Then he asked to meet up again.

I was terrified. This man had read the contents of my heart, soul and bowels. It took 30 seconds to get over that fear. I kept spilling, he kept reading, and I kept wondering when I would decide he knew enough, and silence my fingers. I never really decided he knew enough. After things fell apart, sometimes I'd write something I didn't want him to see, and I'd post it here. (Shit, there goes my secret.) Those times were few and far between though.

In spilling it all for Patrick to know, I met quite a few people I still treasure and "talk" to now. Then I stopped writing for a little while. Then he was murdered and I wrote regularly again. Then I got tired of being all angsty and stopped. Then one of my favorite and most treasured blogger friends passed away, and I wrote again, but sporadically. Throughout all this, I somehow stuck my funny bone up my ass or something. Not sure how it happened, maybe I've told all the funny stories, maybe not. In any case, I hope to be digging that bone out of my ass again soon. It might take awhile to angle it the correct way in order to fully extricate the bitch, but I'll get there. I will find something funny to say again.

Story in 3

She sank to the ground, and began running the mulch through her fingers, hoping to feel some barely tangible particle of his soul that might have gotten trapped there as it left his body. The door to the place he called home opened, revealing a slightly familiar pair of quizzical eyes still rimmed in raw pain, and noticing her for the first time. "I'm sorry, but I loved him too," was all she could offer as an explanation.


It's Trifecta time again! This week, the rule was to tell a story in 3 sentences. The variety of responses to these challenges amazes me.

14

All I ate today was popcorn and jelly beans. What am I? 14 and basking in the glow of being left home alone for the day?? Oh wait, I had a Pepsi too. Apparently the thought of dissolved mice in my beverage wasn't as strong a deterrent as I had hoped it'd be. *shrugs*

My kid came up with some really wonderful quotes recently. I'll share.

He woke up at 6:30 one morning, sick to his stomach. I had fallen asleep a mere hour before this, so I SaaS hoping he'd moan and groan a bit, flush and go back to sleep. I should never hope for things. He moaned, and groaned and whined so much I got out of bed to see how he was doing. He sent me away, saying I didn't want to see his piles of poop making mountains above the water. You're probably right kid. He flushed, explaining that he wasn't finished yet, it was just too gross to keep around. Next, he proceeded to tell me he was shitting turds the size of eyeballs. Exactly what I wanted to hear. He was awake until 1:00AM the next morning, after being sent to bed at 8:00PM. At about midnight, he snuck to the kitchen and stole some pretzels to eat. I demanded them back. The response was classic. "I'll give you the pretzels back in a little bit -- when I SHIT THEM ON YOUR HEAD!!!" I kinda lost it and went on a tangent about how if I didn't beat him before he finally fell asleep I should get a fucking mother of the year award. Uh huh.

Another good quote was, "Is your name Farty McFarterson? If so, you have won an all expenses paid trip to Shitland, located in New York City." I wonder why none of the homeschool moms want to set up play dates with him?

He also came into my room, and instead of asking if I wanted him to shut the door on his way out, inquired wether I wanted "to repel some ass". *sigh* Um, at least he's creative?

33words (times two)

I've written two 33 word stories for Trifecta's Triextra over here. The rules were simple: Write a love story in exactly 33 words. Of course, I can't abide by 100% rule compliance, so I wrote two.

1--- The first time they met, oceans swelled and crashed, car tires squealed, jets flew, and bugs crawled, but the only thing she would ever notice near him was his heart calling her home.




2 -- He joked that the faces she made upon meeting him would make a story to amuse their kids. Their babies never drew breath, and their explorations left the fertile grounds scorched and barren.