Thursday, August 30, 2007
Getting into the car showed me some potential problems that I'd be facing as the day progressed. See, I nearly pulled a Britney Spears. Getting out, I DID pull a Britters! Thankfully noone was around to see it.
And it got me thinking. Which can be seriously dangerous. Travelling on stairs, calves must be touching at all times. Getting into/out of a car is difficult. You need to put one leg in, then kinda sit on the edge of the seat and bring your other leg in, before rotating into position. When I'm in a skirt, I have to do everything differently. I even have to walk differently. Because if I fall over I'm going to make a whole bunch of people go blind!
Everything that your legs do in a skirt, they have to do it together. Which just isn't something I'm into. Don't get me wrong. I'm not promiscuous. But I'm a jeans girl. i'm the girl who sits at the bar, with each leg wrapped around the legs of the bar stool. I run up stairs with my knees apart. I sling one leg into the car, before getting comfortable, and then I bring righty in. Legs apart the whole time. You can't do that in a short skirt. If you even tried you'd make Britters look like a nun. You even have to sit differently! Thighs, knees, calves and ankles must be touching the entire time you're sitting. Its like you're posing for your damned class photos all over again!
So today was a lesson in decorum. And I passed. With flying colours. Honestly, I'm surprised.
Have you ever noticed how people check out other people when they're alone? Its deliberate nonchalance. I was walking to lunch with the GalPal and there was a hottie waiting by himself outside some door. I noticed as we walked up and decided to play it cool. He was watching the scenery and I knew he'd spot me soon. My legs have toned up really well with all the dancing I do, and the weight I've lost, so I knew he'd cop a good look at them. And as I went passed I snuck a glance at him, you know, casually, only not.
And we made eye contact. He looked a little bit stunned. I'm not sure why. I didn't even have my boobs out! So we did our 'casual' thing of sliding our gazes over each other. But we both knew we were checking each other out. Its funny the way we work.
So I have these two new blogs. I made an offer and it was thrown back in my face. So now I have a few new blogs that I won't give up, and I have no idea what to do with. I'm using one for posting forwards, funnies and pics of hot guys. If anyone wants to put something in, email it to me.
As for the other one... currently its in lockdown. I guess I'll keep it in case I ever want to use another blog for something.
Oh, and before I forget. This weekend is smut weekend. If you don't want to read it, or you're sensitive, then stay away over the weekend and Monday. You have been warned and/or teased...
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
You are my 10,000th visitor since I changed my template back in late May. Just over 15,500 page views.
Congratulations to me. I personally think you're very strange. Why do people read my drivel?
I'm so tired. Last night I got to bed at about 1 am. Same the night before. I haven't been cruising many blogs lately. Last night I had 100+ blogs in google reader to get to. I read maybe three... Now I'd have over 150. I'd hate to see how many I'd have if I went away for a week.
Please forgive my tardiness. Its always like this on dance nights. I'll be around to visit you all in the coming days. I don't backread all of your posts. I want to, but its a matter of time. If there's anything you think I should read, drop me a line. My email is over there, under my profile.
I still haven't done my job application. My bad.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
I'd forgotten about what its like to be around you. Even thought I could go it alone, get over this by myself. But you've dragged me back in. Well and truly. And I can't fight it anymore. Seeing you today has made me realise that. You're like nobody I've ever met before. Why do you let me twist in the wind like this?
I seriously want to tell you to go shave. You're scruffy and you have one grey hair living on your chin. But you're just not you without your beard. And I do like that little grey hair. But at the same time I love it when you shave. You have the most kissable skin. Your shorter than the usual model, you don't care what you wear. I, on the other hand, am very fashion conscious. You love your bike. Not for the attitude that goes with it, but for the freedom. I love that too, but its appeal to me, lies more in its appeal to you.
You're so smart. I've never been with a guy who's smarter than I am. But you don't make me feel stupid. Nor do you see it as your role to teach me everything you know. I have my own knowledge and you value that, as highly as you value your own. It fills in the gaps in your intellect.
Your advice is the one I trust blindly. Your experience far outweighs my own. Your so damn stubborn and hotheaded. But so am I. Yet you don't devalue me where I'm inexperienced or naive. You make me want to get out there and do things, just for the hell of it. Take that chance. Encourage risks, but don't be stupid. Live on the edge. The safe edge. Travel, see the world. Love. All risks.
You make all of my problems seem so... insignificant. When you smile at me with that special smile, and I see your feelings in your eyes, I ache on the inside. I want to be able to tell you all of this. I want so much to just be with you. To be able to relax in my own skin and forget all of my problems and irritants. Just to be with you, and lie in your arms, smelling you, feeling you, hearing you.
Damn you Green Eyes. Damn you and this hold you have over me.
I want to date others. I really do. Just to prove that I am my own master. But I can't, you see. So while you've bid me wait, I will. I hate it. I truly do. I'm impatient and restless and frustrated. I want to move on, but I'm trapped here. Waiting.
But I'm not sure I want to be let go. I like the feel of the wind in my hair.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sunday, August 26, 2007
I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat, but always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
Chorus: I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance
and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance, I hope you dance
I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances, but they're worth taking
Loving might be a mistake but it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out, reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance (time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance (rolling us along)
I hope you dance (tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance (where those years have gone)
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
dance (hold for 2 4 counts), I hope you dance,
I hope you dance (time is wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance (rolling us along)
I hope you dance (tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance (where those years have gone)
(tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
(where those years have gone)
I don't think this is the actual video. Its got pretty pictures and the song.
In year twelve I entered the spotlight with a bang. I shaved my head for the Anti Cancer Council, and raised $4800 by my own initative. Read about it here. It was huge. And I quite often had people in my year level offering to help out with different things. People from all clicks helped out. It was a real bonding experience.
Now days I talk to some people that I graduated with, and they tell me that our year level was very clicky. You had your friends, and you excluded all others. I never saw that. I could easily cross from our group, when they got to be too much, and go sit with anyone else when I wanted. The arty kids, the popular’s, the muso’s, the burn outs, the smokers, the farm boys, the brains, the jocks… everybody. Basically, if I wanted to talk to you, I did. And I was never rejected by any groups.
I went from a named blip to being someone who was well known, easy to get along with and was everybody’s friend.
This kind of phenomenon isn’t limited to high school. It was also a fact of life at college. I quite often had people coming up to me, referring to me by name, and talking to me. I wasn’t a random. I was quite the party animal in my first year, was quiet and withdrawn in my second year (another long and depressing story), and one of the most recognised people in my last year. Like high school, I crossed all clicks. I was in the ‘popular’ group, but my main group wasn’t popular by any standards. We were the strange ones. I could visit anybody, whenever and wherever I wanted. Nobody going up to the cafeteria for dinner? I’ll find someone to sit with when I get there. My friends gone away for a few weeks? No problems, I’ll just make new friends.
On my graduation day I had a guy I have absolutely no recollection of ever meeting used my first name, and then, without asking, used my last name as a reference for where he should be in the procession. He already knew my last name!
But, still, it extends beyond that. Where I shop I’m remembered. The girl at the bakery remembered me, even though I’d been there six times in three months. I’ve met some of my roomies mates twice, maybe three times, in just over a year, and they will approach me when I’m shopping, and talk to me. I’ve been to the very busy café opposite work twice in three weeks, and on my third visit a week after, the waitress recognised me.
Facebook has bought this story about. I’ve been on facebook for only a few weeks. And I’m getting people requesting me as a friend, when I have few or vague memories of them. And these people aren’t friend-whores. They seem to genuinely remember me, and want to stay in touch.
I have had several people who’s ‘friends’ I’ve had to look at, to see where I know them from. Its frustrating, but at the same time its nice to remember just how varied my past friendships have been, and remember how each person has added to my life. As someone who had quite a few years on the outskirts of it all, I'm grateful for each friend that I have.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
I've known Ange since I was 5. Since prep, our very first year in primary school. My family moved from central Victoria to a border town when I was 7*. Shortly before we moved my Mum's sisters came up to say goodbye. It was this day that my cousin took me away and did what he did.
I repressed the memory and it almost destroyed me when it surfaced, six years later. I was in year eight, in high school.
I met Ange again in year seven. And we were good friends. We used to sit together during classes and hang out at recess. We had quite a few friends. Mostly the odds and ends of people who had come to our school, when their mates went to another school. I guess you'd say we were the rejects, but at the time it didn't seem that way. We weren't shunned by anyone else. We were our own group.
Anyway, when I was in year eight, the repression started to crumble. And I became temperamental at best. I had a huge fight with another girl who was in our group, who had been shifted into our class that year. She and Ange were getting close and I was jealous, though I'd've never admitted to it at the time**. So when I walked past her to go into class one day, and she started hitting me with her ruler and calling me fat, I lost it. I ended up pinning her against the wall. She thought she could take me, but she couldn't. I won the fight, but I was pretty much kicked out of the group because of it.
So I spent the next few months in solitude. I bonded with one of the girls who was an outsider of our group. And we became best friends, right til the end of high school. But she was in a different class to me, so I spent lessons sitting by myself up the front. I was pretty much blind, so that was the only place I could sit and still do my work. But I excelled at classes. And my class knew me as the smart, fat girl that you didn't cross. I got into quite a lot of schoolyard fights. But I never lost, no matter how hard the other person fought. I learned to channel my pain into a anger and strength. Its not a lesson I'm proud to have learned, but it was something that I had to do. My emotional pain would have killed me otherwise, and it almost did several times.
One afternoon during Phys Ed, I was having an argument with Ange. For some reason I still needed her approval and understanding, and I ended up blurting out that I was abused as a kid. She clearly didn't beleive me and turned and told one of the popular guys. Who had no brain-mouth filter, and so spread around it as a bit of juicy gossip.
Devastation doesn't even cover what I felt. It doesn't even cover the pain I feel for this now, over 10 years later. I don't remember the end of the lesson. Word spread quickly, and before the end of the lesson, I think everybody knew. I remember crying so hard I could barely breathe. For what felt like hours and hours. But in reality it must have been half an hour, maybe 45 minutes. I remember one of the popular girls asking me what was wrong. I remember being unable to answer, I was crying so hard. None of my 'friends' were there, they had caused this and they didn't know how to make it go away. Of course, by this stage they knew my statement was true. I was just by myself, crying, wishing I was literally dead so I could feel nothing. God. Right now I feel like my face is going to burst from all the tears.
The popular girl ended up taking me to the counsellors office, but she was gone for the day. The office was across from the music block, and our music teacher was either going to/coming from the music block, or she saw something going on. She ended up coming out and taking me into her office. I ended up telling her everything.
She was quite upset. She knew me on a personal level. I was friends with her sister-in law since I began high school. At the time I thought she might have been abused. She might have told me, I'm not sure. I had the feeling she was so upset because of it. At that stage I didn't think that anybody could understand what I was going through without having gone through it themselves. Though now I know different. Now I know that as a teacher she genuinely loved her students and to see one like this, being unable to do anything but offer words, it tore her apart.
The first thing she did when she found out, was to ask, eyes brimming with tears, if I still saw my abuser. There wasn't any relief when I told her that he lived in Melbourne. My state had her seriously worried. She made me promise to go see the counsellor the next day. In fact, I think she turned up at homeroom the next day*** and took me there, to make sure I went.
I saw the counsellor quite often over the course of that year. The next year I decided to be strong and stop. I wasn't ready and attempted suicide for the first time that year. My parents took me to to a shrink, but I wasn't emotionally comfortable there. I went back to the school counsellor, whenever I wanted. Sometimes I'd talk. Sometimes I'd just play with the stuff she had in her office and read a book, other times I'd just sit. Once I went with someone else, who's parents were going through a divorce. We ended up just sitting around talking, and the counsellor pulled out a few packs of compliment cards, spread them out face down on the floor and told us to pick the one we felt was appropriate for the other. We both picked 'You are an interesting person' for each other.
My friendship with some of the girls did improve. I would help tutor the girls when they had trouble in classes. I am still friends with Ange to this day. We kind of drifted apart a bit during the end of year nine, til year 12. Our group splintered again, and, sick of the crap that happened, she moved onto another one. Though we were still close and had a few classes together at the end. I was the first person, outside of her family, that she told when she was pregnant. She was one of the people I turned to when I had the miscarriage. In fact, her asking how I was, and really meaning it, is what made it really hit home. Up until then, I was grateful that I didn't have to chose between keeping or aborting. That I didn't have to deal with the father. I was grateful because my life was so fucked, and having a kid would have been impossible. Though she made me realise how much I really did want my son.
I digressed. The point that this story aims to make is that everybody knew me in my year level. But for all the wrong reasons. I was the fat, troubled kid. Unstable, hurt, abused. A smart loner, quiet, unless provoked.
* I used to say eight. It wasn't. My counsellor said that I was self blaming to tell people I was eight. It is difficult to say seven even now.
** Seriously this girl was a fucked up bitch, and I didn't like her. Still don't for that matter. And not because of what happened.
*** yes I did return to school the next day. I didn't tell my parents so as far as they were concerned, I had no reason to stay at home. They obviously found out. I'm not sure who from. I suspect a girl in my year level told her mum, who was a friend of my mums. When my mum asked me, she already knew the answer.
Friday, August 24, 2007
Opening a new book for the first time. Smelling the tightly bound paper and ink. Hearing the pages zzzipp as you flick your finger along them.
Finding out a blogger that I've known of for ages (and have been reading for a short period of time) is the father of one of the girls I went to high school with. I'm not going to name any names. We weren't really close, so we had lost contact. But one of her besties from that era just added me to facebook! I'm still tripping out about it.
I've taken to playing my entire music library on my computer. All 16 days of it. At least, that's what it was at last count. I've added and deleted quite a lot since then.
And I love it. I used to browse through to find the type of music I wanted, play it, and get bored ASAP. So when I play my whole list I get to hear stuff I like, and its completely random. I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to get next.
The good news is, that I can also go back and delete anything that got added by friends and roomies an age ago, that I don't listen to. And it gives me more space for porn.
I found my earrings. I really did take them off in my sleep. They were under my bed. True joy was found elbow deep in dust and cat hair. I seriously need to vacuum.
Finding your dream job listed on a jobsearch website, calling up to get a position description, and finding that the person who answers the phone sounds like someone you want to see every day.
Trying on a new uniform at work thats THREE SIZES smaller than the current model. AND finding they fit. Though, out of modesty, I choose to wait a week before wearing them full time. They're a bit tight across the lower flabs.
Seeing your ex drop by your blog religiously on your sitemeter page. *Hello there, I seee you.*
And then was the moment today, where I just had to say "That was easy."
Thursday, August 23, 2007
So my new underwear is seam free, black. I guess you would call it a bikini, but its cut a bit severely in the butt. Its very... sleek. And it has a really cute silver butterfly over the left hip bone. No. Its not my earring. For the record, I still haven't found them.
But I've cracked it. No pun intended. I've figured out how the seam free underwear sits so snugly against your skin, and doesn't fall down. It rides up. And when I say up, I mean UP. I may as well have been wearing a g-string. The good news is, that there's not really a whole lot of fabric there, and it is very slinky. So when it goes up, you don't really feel it.
And there are other advantages. Because they're so fitted, they make your ass look hot. No matter where they are. Sitting normally? Fantastic, it provides support for your ass, lifting it up for the world to see. And it smooths out any ugly dimpled bits. Not that I have those anymore.
Riding up? PHWOAR! That one gives you a really sexy walk. Not the obvious 'there's something up my butt and I'm trying to clench so it doesn't keep traveling' walk that you get. But the oh so hot 'Somethings rubbing on my ass and it feels kinda nice' walk where you unconsciously really roll your hips and strut what God/Dr Jeckyll gave you.
I love my new panties!
I've wanted to blog this for quite a while, but I didn't have anywhere to put it without being really obvious. My butt isn't saggy (anymore). Hooray for weight loss! It's not pert and/or toned and/or firm. Its not perfect. But I don't care. Its mine, and its new, and different, and if it gets spanked it doesn't jiggle for the next minute or so. So hooray for my huge but saggy-no-longer bum!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Men need an orgasm. Full stop. Roll over and go to sleep. Well, maybe they need a little more. But to be truly satisfied, they HAVE to have the grand conclusion.
Women need soo much more. We need contact, and foreplay. We need someone we connect with, even on the most base level. We need someone who we feel will support us, or give us the illusion of support. We need to know that we are safe to go to sleep tonight in your arms. We need lots of contact and a few deep, passionate kisses throughout. We need you to be unafraid of the perceptions of our own bodies. What we think is ugly, what we try to hide, we need you to touch and taste these, to tell us that we, in ourselves, are ok.
Orgasm isn't the goal. Don't get me wrong. Its good. Its better than good. Its earth shattering and toe curling. But its not the goal. Orgasm is the metaphorial cherry on top. Pun fully intended. And a big fucking cherry it is too. I was going to type a big BLOODY cherry, but that would just be wrong.
With all this in mind, its amazing women are satisfied after sex at all! Guys don't always understand it. If they don't get you there, then its a terrible experience. They might still be satisfied, but they'll have a nagging feeling about it. If they even notice it, that is.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Last night I dreamed that I was getting ready to go somewhere. I'm not sure where. And I was doing my hair. My earrings were tangled in my hair so I tugged them out. I put them down *somewhere* and I remember thinking, in my dream, 'I must remember that I put them xxxx.'
But fuck me dead, when I woke up this morning I wasn't wearing my earrings and I don't know where the fuck they are. I thought it was real, so I initially didn't freak out. I checked the bathroom, my bedside, my tallboy and my desk. Not there. Hmm. I checked them again. I even checked the kitchen. No dice. It was at this point I remember the haze around the edge of my view, as I put the jewellery... some place that I don't recognise.
I still haven't found them. So if anybody sees a pair of sterling silver butterflies on their dreamy travels tonight, can you let me know? Thanks.
Monday, August 20, 2007
"Well, I really want them all to be bare breasted. You don't have to be totally explicit, but your shot doesn't even show any cleavage. Now that I have a few more entries I want to keep it that way so I don't get a bunch of entries like that."
It seems that beggars CAN be choosers.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
There is a very simple reason for this. I have a philosophy. I have several in fact, but I will impart this one, now.
Regrets are a waste of time.
See, very simple. And it works as a philosophy as well. You've done something in the past that you cannot change. You wish you hadn't done it. But instead of dwelling on it, and never moving on, its better to learn from the situation. So you can avoid it in future, or deal with it appropriately should it ever arise again.
Classic example. Ex regret. We've all been there. You have just broken up with someone and you don't want it to be over. So you think about it all the time. You may mentally circle their faults, or your own, or certain scenarios that could have been better handled. And you never move on. You never heal the wound that was left when that person tore their soul from your own. You miss chances, at relaxation, at happiness. You may choose methods to forget. You may sleep with inappropriate people, because they have some characteristic which reminds you of the other. Or you may sink into drugs/alcohol to make you forget. You may be stupid with your money and try to buy happiness. Or you might even retreat into yourself, never to make new friends, let alone lovers, again. If you regret, you don't move on. You don't remember the good times. The hurt never heals.
But you don't. You dwell for a while. You nurse the pain. You turn to your friends. Thats normal. You remember the good times. The fun you had. The laughs you shared. You forget the fights, the disappointments. But you know they're not a part of your life anymore. Eventually the pain dims. You may be able to see them with their new beau without feeling the hurt again. And its time. Time for you to move on and begin again. To find someone who inspires you to try it all over again.
There are several big things I could regret in my life. My big one would be the move to Sydney. I could easily list why. But that would be a post in itself. Nobody really expected me to be able to make it here. I went from a town of 600 people, to a city of about 4.3 million. On the basis of a job alone. I could easily regret the move because of the journey. And long time readers will know that is has been extremely difficult. But I don't regret it. Not one bit.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
- Me falling like a tard, over absolutely nothing, getting up and whinging about my bruised ego.
- The Gay Biotch falling about three minutes later. I maintain it was to make me feel better.
- "How is everybody going?" Me: "Yep!"
- I am apparently very funny. Or the girls really like my sense of humour.
- The calories I burnt.
- "And up ahead, we're going to come across a large waterfall." "What, are you going to open your legs?"
- The end. It was a five hour walk. Rough terrain. My legs hurt. So worth it.
- The Blue Mountain Chocolate Company
Friday, August 17, 2007
I have just gotten a new haircut. Well, not new. Same style. Bit shorter. It looks good. Fun, flirty and can be put up into my usual style, or left out for a carefree look. And now I itch all over. I feel like I'm regrowing my bikini line, but all over my body. There was hair under my shirt, on my face, in my bag (how often do you get to say that) AND in my mouth by the end of it. I am in desperate need of a shower. But it looks good and is so worth it.
I went for lunch, only to discover my favourite sushi joint is closed. I was devastated.
I did a bit of grocery shopping. I joined the library (so I can borrow the book required for this). I saw a movie. I joined facebook last night. And have gotten an email from a friend of mine in the UK. She's recently engaged and I've been too slack to email her congrats. Which I have done now. (*Hi Katy*)
Tomorrow sees Phish out of water. I'll be in the mountains. Doing a hike. And God I am so excited. I haven't been bush for so long. And I used to live in the country.
Sunday... Maybe pick up some more groceries. I generally do it in one go in the car, or two (maybe three) hits if I'm walking my groceries home, so need two hits this week.
Monday... Maybe catch a movie. I still want to see Transformers (again), Die Hard and Chuck and Larry.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
So we wandered up to the cafe near work. I had to stop in at the ATM and they kept going. I had almost caught up to them by the lights. Almost, but not quite. So I did a quick sprint to catch up.
Here's the 'hence the title bit here' ==> First the bag started swinging. No problem, I'll grab onto the bag itself, not the handle. Then the necklace started bouncing off my chest. No problem, put other hand on necklace.
Then the boobs started swinging too. My hands were already full witht he bag and necklace. I ended up joggin with my forearms pinned to my bosom, one hand desperately clutching the bag (which had ended up near my ear by this stage), and the other holding down my necklace. And since I've been sick of late, I was wheezing and rattleing like a good little emphysemic biatch.
I gave up. I looked like a complete tard. I could have only looked more retarded if I had drooled. Which isn't completely uncommon.
I'm so bummed right now. I went to my favourite plus size store. And they had this absolutely amazing dress. Gold satin with black lace over the top. Stunning. I tried it on. And it was too big. I asked them if they had a smaller size, but I was already in the smallest.
I don't fit into the smallest sizes at the plus size store anymore.
My dirty little secret: I've been listening to Human Nature all night. Oh, the shame.
I'm in a bit of a pickle.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
I love these ads. They crack me up. For starters, the guy she hits on is totally inappropriate. Has anyone seen the dinner party version? But, the ones who are age appropriate are average looking. Not 'very' average looking, but not good looking enough to cause that kind of reaction. I mean, they're attractive, but not head turningly, insta-panty-change-time hot.
I'd love to do that to a guy. Picture it. The local open air shopping mall. I'm thinking Pitt Street in Sydney, wearing really hot shoes and a nanna top. Just walk up to a random guy, rip off my shirt to reveal a hot-as bra and huge jubblies, go all sexy (if thats possible) and start screaming 'Bom Chicka Wah Wah', whilst shaking as much of my flab as is inhumanly possible. I swear, when the dust settles, you'd see freaking skid marks from where he took off so quickly.
Anyhoo, here's the ad. Enjoy. I know I do :)
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I got offered a job in Sydney a month or so afterwards. And I thought it would be a perfect time to begin blogging. I used to keep a journal as a kid, but someone went through it and so I stopped. And in year 8 English we kept a journal, which had to have at least 10 pages filled per fortnight. This could be done with a combination pictures, or writing of any kind. I remember putting in music lyrics a few times, when I had writers block. It was very similar to this. It was all about expressing yourself.
Pretty soon I moved from merely chronicling my experiences. I put in my own twist and personality. I have always loved creative writing. I am very creative, but I cannot draw. Well, sometimes I can, but its always abstract. This blog has evolved into my outlet. I know I could not have stood my job without it. For all of its ups and downs, the blog has been here. And it accepts me as I am. And it allows me to experiment. This 'wanted poster' is one of my favourite posts ever. I'm not sure if the pics even work anymore. But it was so different and creative to put together. And then there's the descriptive stuff. The smut stories, the description of my apartment, the post a few down, about the Aussie bush. I've always had a talent for creative writing and in that genre, descriptive stuff came the easiest.
As with all blogs, I have seen mine evolve. I would love to go back and erase the first few months worth, because I think its shit. But I keep it there. Partially because it chronicles a very important journey in my life. But its more than that. I occasionally go back through my archives and have a quick read. And I remember. I keep those posts for me, more than for anybody else.
Find your favourite blog. And read the first few posts. They're shit. No matter who's it is. Most blogs I've seen begin as a chronicling thing, and you develop your own writing style. You work your own lingo into it, and pretty soon.
I know a few people personally who have taken up blogging. And they expect to be funny or entertaining right away. Not going to happen. If you try to emulate another blogger you will suck at it. Completely and utterly. Begin with your crap chronicling, and put your own twist to it, is the best advice I can offer anyone. That way, it will always be your blog.
My style varies dependent on my mood. Sometimes its quirky, sometimes its raw. And yes, sometimes it is boring too. But it is me. It is all me. Always.
There are two things I love about blogging. One is this - I don't watch TV or read the newspaper. So I get my news via the radio and by blogs. And its surprising just how up to date I really am. I can hold reasonable discussions about news things just from what has glossed over my brain during the three-minutes-an-hour dedicated to news on the radio, or by a passing opinion (and accompanying link) on a blog. Bloggers form so much of my personal opinion on so many topics. I'm not afraid to disagree, but you provide such a wide ranging point of view that I can't help but listen, and I can't be right all of the time.
The other thing I love about blogging is the interaction. I love bloggers who leave me comments, and I love the bloggers who take the time to respond to their comments. I love emailing bloggers. Seriously. Its such a thrill to see an email from someone in my inbox. Non-bloggers just don't get it. My readers aren't some random bunch of people. We share stories, ideas, opinions. Probably more freely than real life people do. We inspire and challenge each other. We laugh, we love, we fight and we cry. We feel what everybody else goes through as though we are going through it ourselves, because we know that person well enough to know exactly how they feel in that situation. We embarrass ourselves and then we put it out there so everybody can have a laugh. We have no shame because we hide behind the knowledge that we will most likely never meet the people who know our deepest, darkest secrets. But despite all of this, I feel I know some bloggers well enough to trust them, and I do. And I know that anybody who reads here for a length of time will know me better than the people I know in real life.
Blogging. Where the anonymously friendly meet.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Thank Christ its a Nokia. Those things never die. I sprayed it with metho (cuz it was gross) and left it to dry overnight. And it fucking works this morning.
I heard back about the job. They have offered it to me. I don't think I will take it.
- Three weeks to train for the job, whilst still having to do 10 days work where I am now to make up my notice period.
- The commute would be a killer
- The pay is about $4k more than what I get now, though no chance for overtime, so in the long run, less $$$
- I'd most likely have to give up dancing, which I won't compromise.
I've come off work sick today. Last weeks chest infection was an inconvenience. Just a gooey cough. But it has since migrated to my sinus. And I hate sinus infections. I feel fine in the body, but my head...
It feels like someone has rammed a rockmelon into my skull. Basically everything above my teeth hurts. And my neck too. And my shoulders. Codeine isn't helping.
So I went to the docs and got me some antibiotics. And while I was there I got my first HPV vaccination. I wonder if the upcoming election has anything to do with the timing of its release and it being free? Whatever. I still hate Johnny H for his workplace reforms. Thanks for the freebie though. If you want to buy my vote pay off one of my credit cards.
The second grossest thing I did this week...
I was clipping my toenails and one flew off and hit me in the face.
Don't ask about the grossest.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
I think it has special meaning for me. Mostly because I am, at heart, a simple country girl. I grew up a horse crazed kid. And absolutely loved reading Elyne Mitchell. In fact, I have bought the entire Silver Brumby series as an adult. And I still read them occasionally. I have also been to the Victorian Alps, which are breathtaking. Though they are nowhere near as impressive as the Australian high country, where the story is set, but I'll give you a brief picture.
It would be in summer. Hot and dry. The sun would be glaringly hot and seeming to leech the colour out of the surroundings. The ground is grey-yellow. The rocky outcrops are grey-brown, and areas of trees and/or low scrub are grey-green and brown. The sun even leaches the blackness. Shadows are grey. Flowers dot the trees and sometimes the grass. They are immune to the suns lecherous ways, and stand out, pinpoints of colour against the greyed backdrop.
Its damn hot. There is nowhere to hide from the sun. Your brow is peppered with sweat and the band of your hat is damp with sweat, sticking to your forehead. A gentle breeze sweeps across your face.And it feels better than any air con that you've ever experinced. Its dry. Breathing in heats your nostrils. The flies buzz around your eyes and your horse shifts slightly underneath you.
Its slightly dusty. You can smell the dust, feel slight grittyness on your skin and your lips. In with that smell is the Australian bush tang. The combination of dried grass, horse sweat and leather, cattle dung, the freshness of eucalyptus all mix together. You breathe deeply. As much as most people dislike the smell, it is safe to you. Right now, in this moment, you are here. Somehow, there is an underlying scent. Almost like smoke. Although there hasn't been a fire here for a few years. Its as though the bush remembers the violation of the fires, and the new life that sprang up is tainted by the smell which gave it life.
The horse shifts again. You can hear its hoof scrape over the rock. You pause to listen for just a moment. It is peaceful. Noisily quiet. There are no cars, no phones, no music. All you can hear are crickets chirping, birds calling, the snuff as your horse breathes out. Occasionally you'll hear the screech of a cockatoo as it calls to its mates. Or the low, drawn out bellow of a cow. There is no constant noise.
But the view... the view is what gets you. Standing on the side of a hill, you look up. Stretching above and behind you, you can see a forrested dome. It appears to be quite dense, but its not really. Off to the left it sweeps up. Down to the right and in front of you it begins to thin out. You can see clots of brown rocks as it descends. Down in the gully it is densely wooded. You don't see it, but there is a creek burbling its way along the bottom. It is cool down there, dark and refreshing after this dry heat.
Immediately after the gully the slope begins again. Its really quite steep. The trees are mottled in their distribution. Parts look dense, parts are dense, and there are a few bare patches. You see the occasional flash of red-brown and white as a cow moves through the trees and disappears. This rise continues up,and up, and up. Far above where you are. It meets a ridge, which you know from experience, meets another, though you cannot see it. There are other inclines that join the same ridge. You cannot see sky, or water, or any distance between them. All you see is the mottled shades of grey, as they curve around and interlock, and the creeks runs wild and dark between them. It is a wild land, never to be tamed. The best you can do is adjust to it, and ride through the different 'scapes as they present themselves to you.
With this in mind I bid you to read on.
The Man from Snowy River, A.B "Banjo" Patterson
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.
There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up —
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.
And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony — three parts thoroughbred at least —
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say die —
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.
But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, ‘That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop — lad, you’d better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.’
So he waited sad and wistful — only Clancy stood his friend —
‘I think we ought to let him come,’ he said;
‘I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.
‘He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.’
So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa clump —
They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders, ‘Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.’
So Clancy rode to wheel them — he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.
Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, ‘We may bid the mob good day,
No man can hold them down the other side.’
When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.
He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat —
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.
He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.
And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.
And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
I was sitting here, minding my blogs like a sad, socially deprived biach should, when my housemate comes home. We have a quick discussion about what to do for dinner (she's going out) and she heads in to the shower. I can hear her talking, and assume that one of the cats are in there with her. Then I hear her call my name. I wander in to see whats up, thinking that maybe one of the cats has vomited and she wants me to clean it up.
As I wander in, she comes out, all of a tither. I ask whats up and she whinges, 'there a roach in the shower, and its stuck!' Ok. My shower is pretty bad, but the mould isn't thick enough to bog a roach. Unless its in the far corner and I'm not going near that bit.
I soon see what she means. The roach is indeed stuck in between tow of the sliding glass doors. She's sprayed it, so its pretty out of it. She tells me that she's tried opening the door and pushing it out through the gap but it made a crunchy type noise and she couldn't do it.
I grabbed a bit of toilet paper (cuz I wasn't touching it) and dragged it half out. Then sprayed it, because trying to hold a twitching roach is one of the most disgusting things you can do. When I went to grab it again, it fell down. And framed between the runners of the shower door I saw this:
How disgusting are roaches? I generally have respect for life. But that looks very alien and its nothing that I want to touch. I picked it up with about 2cm thickness of toilet paper, and took it away. All while my housemate was flipping out behind me.
I googled the image and as I was typing google put up some suggestions. Cockroach facts was one of them. I read it as cockroach farts. I can just imagine a roach running along the edge of a bench somewhere, letting off a little green gas cloud.
I've eaten 3/4 of a cake today. And thats about all. Granted, it wasn't a really large cake, but my god its an effort to get all of that in. You don't get up to being a size 24/26 without serious commitment. My diet is shot to hell these last few days. I'll be back on the boat tomorrow.
Friday, August 10, 2007
I made Green Eyes blush at work today. I don't know (nor do I want to know) what caused it to happen, but it was funny. Poor guy.
Sometime over the weekend expect a post as to my blogging roots.
That is all.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
But I went, I sussed it out. And I choose to stay where I am for now. Or I will choose if they offer me the job.
But, on a lighter note. I got a submission for Penis Secret. DO NOT OPEN AT WORK. But DO send me pics of more cocks.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Its the kiss where you tingle from just being around him. And you laugh at his corny jokes. Then you tell him they're corny and he laughs too. You both know whats coming up. You're both waiting for the other to make the move. You walk back to your place to say goodnight. Its now or never. Standing close to each other, talking, he reaches out a hand to brush away a lock of hair. Its stereotypical. But I LOVE it when a guy plays with my hair. His fingers comb through the silky tresses, tucking it neatly behind an ear. His fingers trawl a bit further down, ending up cupping part jaw, part neck. You both lean in. Your lips meet, and in that moment, there is nothing else.
Its the most natural feeling in the world. Its a kiss that holds promise, but gives away your secrets too. You feel so exposed to this person, it feels like they're trying to absorb who you are. They take up every sense, they are all you can see, smell, feel. But its comfortable, for all that its overwhelming. Its like being wrapped up in a sweet smelling blanket, one that is warm but cool at the same time, that shuts out all the hurt and for that moment, you feel all that is good with the world. Its gentle and intimate. It tells you to take your time, that you're happy in the moment.
Don't cheat your first kiss. Its not something that you can get back. And don't cheat any kisses after that. I love to kiss for the sake of kissing. For all that I dislike public displays of affection, there is nothing more divine to me to give you a deep kiss, full of longing and desire, for the hell of it. I love to kiss for kissing sake. But it is a special gift, and you have to earn the right.
SR was the best kisser. But he had one very annoying habit. We'd be giving each other the most fantastic butterfly kisses as we worked our way to the nearest bed/couch/wall he could slam me up against, and he'd stick his tongue out for me to suck on. Bravo! What a way to ruin a bloody good kiss. There are better things for me to be sucking on than your tongue. I always hated that.
Tell me about your best/worst kiss.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
I was browsing the employment website a few days ago and I noted that it was still advertised. Last night I hurriedly finished the selection criteria and zipped it off. I got a call this afternoon. They want to interview me. Tomorrow. But I'm not sure I want to take the job, for the following reasons.
- The guy who pre-interviewed me seemed to be picking holes in my application. i.e. I had the wrong date on the cover letter (it was from a template whoops). Also when he asked if I preferred 'phish' to 'phishez', I responded 'phish' and he commented that I had signed off 'phishez'.
- My resume isn't impressive enough to warrant next day interviewing. Its good, but its not exactly what they're after.
- He asked when I would be able to start. The person they are replacing is leaving in three weeks. I don't want to go into a job because I'm the only option, especially if its not going to work out and I'm going to be unemployed in three months. I might hate my job at the moment, but I still have some wonderful co-workers (Green Eyes and the Gal Pal), and its stable. I know I'll have that job until I choose to leave.
I got this award from Ingsoc.
I choose to do something different. I WILL pass this one on (to three people, as is required) for once. I choose a few relatively new bloggers. Well, new to me anyways. They are (in no particular order)
Monday, August 06, 2007
‘First write a nauseatingly perky paragraph about your life, the type of paragraph you see in alumni newsletters. Then write a franker, funnier one.'
"Phish is a gorgeous, well endowed redhead with a passion for passion. She enjoys long walks on the beach, by moonlight of course, and dancing. Phish loves deep, intimate conversations, though she has a very sharp and quick sense of wit. She loves spending time with other people, though she is quite happy with her own company as well."
"Phish has great cans and a huge fat arse to balance them out. She loves to wined and dined, so long as there is plenty of sex afterwards. Though she hasn't even seen a cock (outside of her porn addiction) for a long time. Phish loves stupid people. They make her look incredibly smart. She can turn any comment into something sex based. If she's not spending her life at work or blogging, she's probably busy masturbating."
I tag everybody who's got blogstipation.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
- Four red bulls in six hours will make you feel like you are high on speed. wOOt. I shouldn't say wOOt. Thats shameful. Drugs are bad mmm'kay. Bad but fun, just like having sex with players, which isn't something I did over the weekend.
- Sleeping for four hours makes me kinda manic. I'm still terribly, terribly alert.
- My green shoes are hot, but fucking painful.
- I make new friends really easily.
- I love going out with gay guys. You can do whatever you want to them on the dance floor and they have no expectations for you to go home and follow through. For example you could dirty dance them, rub yourself all over them and do the drop-down-to-your-cock move, running your hands all the way up their legs and to the back of their head whilst never breaking eye contact, and they are content to buy you breakfast and drive you home. Not that I want to ruin my sweet innocent image and have certainly never done anything like that. *cough*sarcasm*cough*.
- The Biotch's boyfriend has a really sweet ass. The kind of ass you can dig your fingers into. Not that I did. *innocent image*innocent image*
- I hit 91kg this morning. That 17kg lost since April. But I was dehydrated and I'm pretty sure I've gone up since then.
Oh, and if anyone was at Star City this morning, between 6 an 7, and saw a group of people sitting in front of the big sports screen, you may have seen me. Of the five of us, four were asleep and at least one was drooling. I was sitting up, very alert and possibly twitching, completely enthralled in the baseball game*.
*I'm female. So my sports knowledge is nil. And baseball isn't a native sport for me.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
She looked fantastic. In a short grey skirt that accentuated the curve of her ass. And a white blouse. Perfectly buttoned to be feminine but reserved. He could vaguely see her bra through the shirt. Maybe he was imagining it. Whatever. The overall effect was a suggestion of her soft tits, without being obvious. She threw the spoon into the sink and turned to him. "Its all ready."
They were throwing a dinner party that night. It was time for her parents to meet his parents. She wanted everything to be perfect for this one occasion. And it was. Except for one thing. "My mum just rang. They're running a bit late. She didn't want you to worry."
A small crease appeared between her eyes. She scanned the area, looking for something to do. Harry moved closer. Her scent right now was driving him crazy. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. "Everything is perfect babe," he murmured into her soft blonde hair.
She turned her face to him, tilting upwards for a kiss. He held her tighter, pressing her into his well muscled body. She slowly slipped her hands up his chest to his neck, winding her fingers into his hair as they kissed. It began long and slow, reassuring. But suddenly all of her nervous energy reached boiling point. She kissed him hard, biting his lips slightly, pressing her tongue into his with such urgency that he couldn't help but respond.
As she pulled at his hair he lowered his hands and tugged at her skirt. It was so damn tight. She could feel him straining against his jeans as he began to instinctively grind against her pussy. He stepped forwards, pushing her roughly against the bench. He made to pull her skirt up but she shoved his hands away. She unzipped it and let it drop, taking her panties with it, scooting them out of the way. He put his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the bench. Moving in to kiss her again. And as he kissed her she undid his jeans, yanking them down in one swift motion.
His mouth was hard on hers, his body was hard against hers, and his throbbing cock was hard against her glistening pussy, separated by a thin layer of cotton. He could feel her wetness seeping through his underwear. Her hand was down his pants, on his arse, moving with him as he ground against her. She pulled away from his kiss and cried out in pleasure. He bent down to remove his pants and caught sight of her pussy. He glanced up at her, to meet her eye, but she was leaning back slightly, panting. Her hands caressed her breasts through her shirt.
He moved closer. Reaching out a finger to gently touch her pussy, he heard her panting stop. He gently slid one finger in, slowly. He pulled it out, equally as slowly. His finger glistened too. He moved his fingers against the smooth opening to her pussy, before sliding two in, applying gentle but repeated pressure against her g spot. His mouth slammed against her clit unexpectedly, and her back arched. He nibbled it for a moment, feeling her tighten around his finger. She moaned and began to rock her hips to the rhythm that he sucked at her.
Looking up he met her eyes. Her gorgeous honey brown eyes gave him the most lusty glare they could muster. The sight of him rising to her, eyes never wavering from hers, her excitement smeared across his face, was too much for her. She made to slide off the bench to return the favour, but he pressed her back. His hand was on her waist, his lips were on hers. She melted into his embrace as he slowly slipped his fat cock into her. Grinding slowly into her, she could feel him slowly approaching her most sensitive spot. Moving faster, she was stimulated beyond crazy, but he wasn't quite hitting the right zone. Though she was still enjoying the feel of his cock, the connection, his mouth on hers, the frenzy with which he pumped her.
Gasping she pulled away from the kiss and pushed him backwards. He was caught by surprise and stepped a few feet back. He looked offended, but the sight of him standing there, naked from the waist down his hard cock pointing straight at her, quivering as he breathed, was almost burned into her retinas.
She, in turn, was still sitting on the bench, naked from the waist down. One leg dangled, but the other was slightly raised, from where it was wrapped around him. He could see her pussy. He could see into her pussy. It was dark, tight and inviting. She closed her legs coyly, and slid off the bench. Never breaking eye contact, she turned and leaned over the bench, thighs parted sightly, a clear invitation.
He stepped forward and slipped the tip of his cock into her. Putting a hand on each hip, he used as much force as he could to slam straight into her. She screamed. This was more like it. With this position, he always hit her exactly where she needed it. Each thrust sent a ripple through her body. Harder and faster he went, she moved with his rhythm, back arching and screaming as she came.
Reaching out, he grabbed a handful of her hair. Her screams encouraged him. Pushing harder, he felt himself begin to come. He pulled out and came on the back of her legs, watching it begin to run slowly down as if through a haze. Their breathing slowed, as if in sync. He leaned over her and put his hand next to hers on the bench. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck as she struggled to open her eyes.
A knock at the door aroused them from their stupor. Janine's parents were at the door. Hurriedly, Harry pulled up his jeans and did up the zip. Janine leaped for her skirt and panties. She couldn't find anything with which to wipe the come off her legs, so she used her panties. Pulling up her skirt she could hear Harry opening the door to them. She checked her reflection in the fridge door and smoothed her hair. Glancing at the panties she bent down and shoved them under the fridge, straightening up as her mother entered the room.
"I don't know what you've been doing in here, but it smells wonderful."
Friday, August 03, 2007
Girl smut is really long. Really, really long. As a comparison.
I have decided to do a more regular smut feature. But I'm not sure how regular. With the current frequency of writing I'd say it would be at the beginning of every month. A post. Two tops. Over the weekend. Which means...
Its smut weekend. You have been warned. Don't read the next few posts while at work.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
I didn't feel it though. I was wondering if my boobs were too out there, if I was walking funny (because the height of my heels was hurting the arch of my foot), if anyone would notice my hair was gritty, or that the boots made my calves look fat. But I knew the general impression was of hotness, so I worked it. And apparently I worked it rather well.
So I got my drink and headed back to work. Sitting in the tearoom reading and talking, when Mr Perpetually Single walks in and sits next to me. He's quite the boobs man. I'm still in my mega boobs outfit. Lunch is finished and we're still sitting around talking. I'm playing with my earring (I'm a fidgeter) when it undoes. And falls out. I track it as it falls, but not fast enough. I think its on me somewhere. I check my lap. No earring. I do a quick scan of the floor. No earring. I glance at my cleavage and somewhere in the back of my mind I hear a soft belch.
I say softly, 'I hope it didn't go down there.' To which my boss quips, 'Into the abyss.' Smartarse. I check my lap again. It hasn't turned up. I play with my dress, hoping its hidden in there somewhere. Its not. The floor isn't giving up any secrets. I stare at the far corner of the room. I'm going to have to check my bra. Its gotta be there. My colleagues laugh. I slowly stand up and exit the room, face burning.
Hitting the change room I fossick in my bra. I can't find it. I give up and begin to get undressed. Shaking out this bit of my dress and poking that. Still no earring. I get back into my work uniform (the fuuugly one) and head back to the tea room for one last check.
Fucker was on the floor under the table the whole time.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Its the kind of crazy where you just want to grab a guy, throw him back on the bed, rip his clothes off and have your way with him. If he's still asleep you just jump on and kiss him as he wakes up. Maybe not his face, cuz it can be dangerous being in someones face as they wake up. But straddling him and kissing his neck, caressing his chest or other assorted body parts is very effective. And very obvious as to exactly what you want. There's nothing slow or sensuous about it. It gives a new definition to 'hard and fast'. You want to taste and feel every inch of him, but at the same time you want him inside you. Its animal and instinctive. Its rushed but not hurried. Its being in control, out of control. There's no sense and thought involved. All you can think about is what you need at that exact moment, where it would feel best and what will make your back arch and you claw at whatever's in reach, screaming for more. Its all about the now.
He doesn't have to do anything but lie there and not be scared. And maybe provide a little hair pulling. Even if it means you'll be late for work you can't resist it. You have to have it, consequences be damned.
It is summed up best as this. Its the kind of urge that can only be sated when you think you might have bruised your kidneys.
I thank my ovaries that it only lasts a few hours at the most. Of course most of the time I'm *something*something*H. But thats a natural part of being a redhead I guess. Makes the crazy horny so much more fun. ;P