I brought the grey back. I like it and I missed it from my previous designs.
I think I finally hit on levels of grey that work both for effect and legibility.
It feels more comfortable, like turning the lights down a little.
So things are more about you and me.
Did you know I have your birthday marked in my calendar?
And I watched the day arrive. And I hoped it was good to you.
You are fresh-ground coffee, black, first thing in the morning.
You are a life-giving substance. The US government has secret stockpiles of you hidden in caverns under the Rockies. When for some reason you are late to a meeting, world financial markets are thrown into chaos. Your presence can cure warts and mild depression, and when you enter a room, you diffuse a gentle fragrance that reminds people of the happiest moment of their childhoods. Cats and children adore you; they curl up at your feet, where they torment small crawling things and occasionally lick your toes.
What kind of coffee are you?
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Blogger support did finally write back to me. They thanked me for writing and claimed they would look into the issue and take action as appropriate.
No promises made, but a polite reply.
Do you want a Gmail account?
Well, do ya?
I've got ten invitations.
And I know you want one.
Nevertheless, I love you still.
I started reading Controlling People last night.
I want to learn how to break away from my desire to please my parents.
In the process, I'm learning that my inability to make my own decisions about my life comes from my having learned to define myself via the perceptions of others. So I don't know what I want because I only pay attention to input from others... and subsequently I ignore my own emotions, intuition, and experience.
Great.
Oh yeah... I'm seeing that I'm perpetuating some of the same abusive crap in my personal life.
No.
This will not continue.
I need to finish this one.
I offer my essence, that I may be embraced.
And I'm glad she did. Who knows how many others might have tried to comment over time but didn't mention it.
I'm hoping that's fixed now. It seems to work from where I'm posting this entry.
You're either with me or against me.
And it feels like
The only way is the wrong way.
-Filter
Because then, it *is* all about me.
Imagining I'm in a pool of female sharks, swimming around me...
Fighting each other off.
Trying to get closer.
Good girl.
*kiss*
Good girl.
She has used terms like "Sweetie" and "Honey" when talking to me.
But she wears sweatshirts and jeans all the time.
Super not sexy.
More sweaters.
I even caught a whiff of perfume the other day.
But she's exhausting. Very demanding of attention.
Last night she kept singing a Papa Roach song. The verse had something to do with ripping her heart apart in order to feel.
That was great.
The thing is, I don't give a flying fuck about the fact that her half-elf character happens to resemble her RL description even though it was all determined by rolling die. I don't.
But the fact that she will seek me out to tell me things, personally?
Don't. Stop.
I happened upon the works of Anaïs Nin. We have her in the literary fiction part of the store—as opposed to having her work relegated to genre fiction—which I noted and apprecciated.
But it occurred to me that some writers I have read recently may have alluded to her work overtly and I hadn't realized it until just then.
Must. Read. More.
I see these things at work... and my mind starts, um, racing.
Remittance Girl needs your help.
Some one has stolen her old blogger account and has co-opted her old blogs and twisted them to his own evil ends. He has even re-used some of her old posts.
The old blogs in question:
remittancegirl.blogspot.com
remittancecat.blogspot.com
divestiture.blogspot.com
This amounts to theft of her content and her identity.
Please contact RG with suggestions and/or lobby Blogger to get her account back.
Thank you all for your help!
I felt like the nut that needed to be cracked.
I felt analyzed.
I felt like... a terrified little child.
I went into a Wendy's in North Minneapolis tonight between jobs.
I thought it was funny that every single person I saw was both african-american and *surprised* to see me. Apparently my fellow caucasians do not frequent that part of town at that hour.
I will say, though—I have never had a bigger Biggie Fries.
If they keep that up, I'm gonna keep going back.
She's left leaning and natural looking. From small-town Minnesota.
She's close to my age and single.
She is probably cool enough.
But she has pointedly asked me how old I am or if I have children.
I don't believe it's conversational for a moment.
Shields on full.
Yellow alert.
Mind you, I still wonder...
The other high-school girl... She is always demanding attention from people.
She doesn't like that I won't kick people in the shins for her. Well, one boy in particular. I don't like to be mercenary. If I do that shit, it's gonna be for me.
Anyway... Her tattoo it turns out is the Redmond products logo—you know, that kangaroo in silhouette? Yeah. Thats the tattoo she has on her spine.
Someone else asked. I didn't have to.
She has really large canines. Her teeth. Protrude.
And she is a little heavy to wear the low-waisted pants and midriff-baring shirts... but only a little heavy. It makes her bust large and that's fun to watch.
She only ever wears tight t-shirts.
Last time I worked with her, she wore a shirt emblazoned with a large letter F. Ostensibly it was for a New York Train. Um, right.
She still loves to yell my name from half-way across the store so I will stop and wave.
Poor thing.
I wonder if she like spankings.
Or ball gags.
She's large enough to resist. That would be fun.
She wears black all the time, too. She's only like 17. Never wears makeup. Has some acne but is otherwise always very pale and matte. Publicly a conservative. Her family is monied.
Only child.
She. Will. Not. Stop. Talking. If I walk away as though to work, she will follow.
She decided the other day that I was a Dungeons and Dragons expert.
I've never played—but I did read the player's guides back in the day. Her boyfriend is into it. So I helped her understand what it was about, to the extent that I could.
Her "I am wierder than you" thing is still there. And annoying. Especially since I am not interested.
She has moved down my interest level, rather than up. Too bad. She's a smart girl. But she hasn't figured out how to make that one of her wiles... therefore she has nothing for me.
I've learned a lot about her over the weeks. We have a bit of a bond in that we started effectively at the same time and we both have noticed what we perceive to be outright rudeness and coarseness on the part of younger employees both toward us (as coworkers) and toward customers.
She's about the same age as me. Studied ballet. Studied and taught french.
Impulsive yet demure. Nice person. She thinks some of the things she does are a little out there and she seems genuinely surprised when she doesn't hold back a little.
I found myself feeling jealous when a male customer was flirting with her. His kids and wife were elsewhere in the store.
Good grief.
She is fuckable. I could see her backing herself onto my cock.
I wouldn't see anything in it more than fun. You know.
These things come to mind at work.
She wore a pink sweater over her black today.
At one point she saw me looking at her and she said "What?"
Dammit.
Today I was putting CDs back in the racks at the bookstore when a young girl appeared close by. I'm guessing she was 13 or 14. I wouldn't know... but certainly not yet a fully-formed woman. She was wearing a pink insulated winter jacket and turquoise knit gloves. Plastic-rimmed glasses and no makeup to speak of.
She asked me "Could you help me find Allman Brothers' Eat a Peach album?" She enunciated carefully.
Of course outwardly I said "Yes" very politely and positively as I wheeled around to walk in the direction of the CD.
OK, but I couldn't look at her. I was thinking about eating a peach. And as we all know, 15 will get you 20. And I'm not into that. But I am into eating peaches.
Oh!
Sometime later she stopped by the info desk to ask where the rest room was. It's close by the info desk so with a few words and a gesture she was quickly on her way.
As much as I am not into pee, I'll be damned if I didn't imagine a lithe little thing holding herself open and urinating in an arc into the toilet.
Porn has completely warped my head.
I was checking you out, too.
Apparently I was feeling sorry for myself last night.
That's OK. I mean, I'm entitled every now and then, but I know it's not necessarily that amusing to read.
For not getting much sleep, I feel remarkably bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
But I prefer your bush and tail.
;)
Good morning!
How many bloggers are you?
Be in bed. With you.
I would love that.
Right now, though, I'm tense. Through the next two weeks I'll be working a shitload of hours. Plus... I'm supposed to be finding a place to live. We're finalizing the sale of the house—closing—on Jan 19th... moving out on the Jan 15th.
To... where? I don't know. I could shack up with friends. But what I need to do is get a short-term loan from my parents. I can pay them back as soon as I sell—I need first month's rent and deposit money. So I'm tense.
I hate asking for anything. Especially money. From them.
It could be much worse.
But I'm tired and I have no personal time and certainly no spare cash.
When I have a few moments here and there, I find myself fantasizing about what I'm going to do with the cash that comes from the sale of the house.
It's gonna be messy. But it will all work out, right?
Checking me out.
Reading this article on iron age textiles was interesting to me. I do have a fascination with history and prehistory, as well as alternate views on the same. Especially when new things are discovered and the two intersect. So I would have read with interest, anyway.
But I found this passage in particular to be a turn-on:
String skirts, the first garments women wore, were too skimpy to provide warmth or modesty. They are widely believed to have been an advertisement of sorts for childbearing potential.
All I can think of are skirts and swinging hips.
Who knows if the above assertion is true?
Just let me have this moment of beauty.
0900-1730, then 1800-0015. That's enough work for one day. I'm tired.
But alas, as I am fond of saying—no rest for the wicked.
I work again tomorrow from 1100 to 2000. And Sunday from 0900 to 1800.
Happy Holidays, everyone!
I miss you.
Last night, me and some of my best buds went to see the good Reverend play at First Ave.
The show was incredible! Lots of old stuff, lots of new stuff...
And I found out that what the Loco Gringos really have in the bag is *corn dogs.* Everybody thought it was pornos. Although it should be noted that when frozen, corn dogs are really hard.
Tap my anger.
That is the well from which springs my desire to subdue.
Cruelty and coldness can be yours, for a simmer.
Why I enjoy giving.
Bonds a little too tight?
Does that hurt?
Do you trust me?
Answer me.
Doesn't that feel good?
Answer me.
Well, then... Come here and sit in my lap.
Will you call upon the force of my lust?
Will you summon my fury?
Lightning strikes of sensation?
You would open yourself to my fuck?
To sheets of sweat?
To my torrents?
'Til the final thunderclap?
Wear heels.
Good girl!
I think I may have worked everyday at one job or the other for the last 7 or 8 days in a row. I've lost count.
After I get off from my second job tonight, I think I'm just going to collapse face down.
This just in:
I am Meredith Gentry, P.I., solving cases in Los Angeles, far from the peril and deception of my real home—because I am also Princess Meredith, heir to the darkest throne fairie has to offer. The Unseelie court infuses me with its power. But at what price does such magic come? How much of my human side will I have to give up, and how much of the sinister side of fairie will I have to embrace? To sit on a throne that has been ruled by bloodshed and violence for centuries, I might have to become that which I dread the most.Enemies watch my every move. My cousin Cel strives to have me killed even now, from his prison cell. My uncle Taranis, the King of Light and Illusion, ruler of the bright Seelie court, makes no attempt to hide his deep desire to destroy or conqueror the Unseelie court—just as my aunt Andais, the Queen of Air and Darkness, would do to his court . . . if she could. The two courts have been enemies for centuries, but suddenly Taranis has invited me and my guards—the Queen's own Ravens—to the realm of the Seelie for a ball. Never before have the bright ones allowed so many of the Unseelie nobility inside their shining sanctuary, and the surprising invitation throws my mind into confusion. What does the glittering throng want with me and my men?
Before I risk the treachery of the Seelie Court, I want my allies firmly at my back. I will embrace Sholto, The Lord of that Which Lies Between, in all his alien beauty. I will risk the Goblin King's court, and my guards and I will show them that violence and sex are as popular among the sidhe as they are among the goblin kind. I will go to the beds of men I do not know, and do not trust, in a bid for political and military might. Passions undreamt of await me—and as my enemies gather, the future of both courts of fairie begins to unravel.
It seems like a good idea to have a web site. To have a blog. To post a few thoughts.
And it is. For me.
I just went through about a third of my links and found 5 sites that either took a break of indeterminate length or were offline altogether.
Either way, it's sad to see good sites go away.
But that seems to be the way things are... it feels like things go in 6 to 9 month cycles. Expansion and contraction. A community comes alive. Thrives. Fades.
But blogging takes a lot of time. Especially if you do anything other than use a default template on a free site. If you want to make the blog your own, more completely. If you want to feel connected to a community, more completely. If you want to understand who is reading you, more completely. And if you want your posts to not suck, more completely. This means that large amounts of time are dedicated to the production of small changes or few words.
The appetite of readers seems to be voracious. It is easy to feel inadequate in the face of sites that seem to be more popular or more attractively designed. It can be overwhelming.
I will admit I have wanted to release my domain registrations back to the ether, to delete the blog entries and to walk away.
But still have an active account on Blogger.
And I would inevitably start using that again. There is something that appeals too much about the thought of writing the exact thing that occurs in my head.
I am proud of some of the things that I have written and I wish some of them would go away... but in the end, I am a blogger and I will be one for some time to come.
These are some of the questions I've been asked recently, which I am thinking of including in my 100 things.
01. What is your favorite food?
02. Where do you live?
03. Who do you write about?
04. What makes you hard?
05. How old are you?
06. What is your favorite spice?
07. Silk or flannel sheets?
08. What part of a woman is most appealing?
09. What makes me shiver?
10. What is the most alluring fragrance on a woman?
11. Warm bath or steaming hot shower?
12. Stay out of the rain or play in it?
13. What color do you feel the most and why?
14. What musical instrument pulls at you the most?
15. Skinny dipping in a lake or hot tubbing in the mountains?
16. Vacation for luxury - where and why?
17. Vacation for purpose or to help others - where and why?
18. Why pink?
19. Are you still inhibited?
20. Which is better, being free and dating multiple girls, or being in a really excellent monogamous relationship?
21. When you touch yourself, do you use one hand or both?
22. Do you like to be begged?
23. What sounds do you make when you cum?
So one of the young girls at work is in the habit of asking me to cover the register for her.
Because you're not supposed to leave it, save for when you go on break or when you are scheduled to work another part of the store.
But I'm a nice guy and I like to help people out. Which marks me as a sucker.
Lately, she's adopted the habit of clasping her hands together low in front of her pelvis and twisting her shoulders back and forth while smiling coyly like a very shy little girl would. And she'll ask me to help her when she does that.
God help me. She's not pretty, but she is kinda cute when she does that. Which she no doubt knows.
Apparently she also has one leg out in front of the other when she strikes this pose, and the front leg twists with the torso.
Last night she asked me "Did you like how I pivoted on my foot like that?"
I glanced down.
When my eyes made it back to her face, my first thought was "Honey, I wasn't looking at your foot."
If you are real.
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