I don't think I've mentioned...

Lolita is one of his very favorite books.

weg

moodiness: mischievous

"Study at length that which is real."

I spent the night at cortneyofeden's house last night. ef2p was out of town, so we hung out and she made me a yummy pasta
with homemade from scratch alfredo that was to die for (and I gave her tips
on how to get the sauce to appear more appetizing, although it tastes good
enough that I wouldn't worry about it, except for being the persnickety sort
of person we all know I am).

I slept remarkably well in her little twin bed that she bought when she was
eighteen, curled up in a little ball under several quilts, head propped up
on several very fluffy pillows, just like I like.

We watched Fight Club and played online a bit. I was lounging on the
Lovesac, which I totally love, and every once in a while I would pop my head
up and say something about Gentleman C which she found thoroughly amusing...
Yup, I do have something of a one track mind.

It was so sweet, he sent me an email this morning and I had told him earlier
in the week that this is his nickname in my journal... He signed it
"Gentleman C". Lol

Not that he usually does, but it was an unexpected little treat.

The more I know, the more I like. The more I like...

It helps that he has such wonderful references that I know I can trust.

What doesn't help is that he seems to be treading into what is atypical of
him the past couple years... Not that I've never been known to incite
atypical behavior *snort*, but. Well. I don't know.

People are worried that I am on the rebound from D. Which may very well be
true. I am worried about it myself, a little. But I also know that she
would want this for me, has always wanted nothing more than for me to be
happy and fulfilled, the queen of my own little drama.

He actually wrote to me this morning that it doesn't bother him at all that
I knowingly play my life as if it is theater, that he would rather I
knowingly do so and keep myself fully engaged in my life than spend more
time outside of my body. It was a perspective I'd never thought of before.

Back to the subject of rebound, though, the past couple days it has become
extraordinarily important to me that I make sure that I am *not* on the
rebound. I think the very fact that I am this concerned about it means I am
... Have become, a more conscientious, caring person.

He is special to me and I would rather not have anything at all than hurt
him, in any way, even by being less than fully present. But it doesn't
honestly feels like that. It feels like I was in mourning, true deep
mourning, for so long. Dealing with it, working through it, for so long,
for months. Even as I tried to make a future I mourned what I had lost and
maybe on some level I always knew that for whatever reason it just wasn't
coming back.

Now I find that the worry, the weight, the heartache of it all slides off my
back like silk off my body... And I am left with the happy, the good. The
good that we did in each other's lives, the beauty that we shared, the
things that will always belong to us alone.

Yes, sometimes, I do still want to cry, that my body feels so good and she
isn't here to share that with me. I think of how much fun the *THREE* of us
could've had in bed and it is dizzying.

I hope she is okay. I hope things are going well. In the end, this was our
choice, together... And I hope she is satisfied for me and proud of me.

The pain is nearly gone. It strikes at odd moments, but gets chased out
with smiles and wriggles.

Life is good and I am here. Doesn't mean it's never hard or never hurts,
but it means that sometimes life does have it's own rewards.

I'm taking a quiet weekend. I'm not going out. Gentleman C will be coming
to visit me Saturday night and one of my close dear friends will be over
Sunday in the afternoon. I will get a lot of rest in. For some reason, I
feel as if I very much need it. I'm exhausted.

*bouncey bouncey bouncey*

(ssshhhh. lol)

two and a half days is sometimes a small eternity.

I almost hate how ... infatuated I sound. Almost. But it is too amusing,
honestly.

want. *whimper*

So the utility which lets you back up your journal also has a nifty little program that analyzes all of your journal entries and then compares them to the journal entries of others and rates specific characteristics.

Of no surprise to anyone should be the fact that I scored very high as narcissistic. However, something that was rather a surprise to me was that I scored in the upper 90th percentile for aggression. Apparently my self-image is incorrect, because I have never really viewed myself as aggressive.

Guess I should've warned you to put down the coffee cup before you spewed over the monitor.

Seriously, though, I don't. In fact, there are a lot of times I want to say things in RL and can't hardly manage to get a word out.

So either a) I am aggressive and just need to be more aware of that tendency of mine that I didn't know I had or b) I am much more aggressive in my writing than in RL and need to find good ways to translate that into a skill.

However, I'm tending to think a) is probably the most accurate answer.

Desire is a double edged sword. I want him here with me, in my bed, his body in mine. It is a physical, emotional, spiritual ache.

"I would like to watch Audition with you some time. Put in on the list of
"Things to Do With Gentleman C", underneath going to the Asian Art Museum in San
Francisco."


My heart missed a beat or four.

I am particularly conflicted. I want, equally, to polish up my short story
and expound on it, right now this minute. It will be interesting to see
which wins out first. I suppose I should polish up the short story and see
if I can get it published. But honestly, I think the subject matter more
fitting for a book and I have always said I will write literature.

Other than O. Henry, there are not many literature writers who write short
stories. In my own nonsensical opinion.

Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play.
Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day.
The sun is up, the sky is blue.
It’s beautiful and so are you.
Dear Prudence won’t you come out to play?
Dear Prudence open up your eyes.
Dear Prudence see the sunny skies.
The wind is low the birds will sing
That you are part of everything.
Dear Prudence won’t you open up your eyes?
Look around round
Look around round round
Look around.
Dear Prudence let me see you smile.
Dear Prudence like a little child.
The clouds will be a daisy chain.
So let me see you smile again.
Dear Prudence won’t you let me see you smile?

I've been doing my hair a la Mia Farrow a la Peyton Place, but a bit edgier.
Close to the scalp, defined, textured... Only a little less slick than hers,
more mussed. I like.

Need to get the sides trimmed up a bit tho.

To whomever just sent me a big huge dose of peace.

*breathing again*

Xo

I can feel myself getting more and more irritable and angry as the day wears
on. They switched me from Win 2000 to Win xp and I hate it, absolutely hate
it. It took me an hour to get the screen set up to where it was legible
rather than in a font size an 80 year old could read without glasses.

Then... Coupled with s*xual frustration, well, you get the picture.
Additionally, all of my programs are running f*cking SLOWER than they were
before. Why? It makes no sense unless xp simply takes more memory to run.


On a day when I have three times my normal workload, it is enough to make me
so thoroughly pissy that I want to scratch someone's eyes out. Where, oh
where is a good whipping boy when I need one?

It is too long, 3100+ words. There are some that can and will come out tho. I've cut it because it is graphically violent and not everyone will want to read it. I do unabashedly think it is some of the best work I've ever done, even in its unpolished state.

Thoughts, comments, criticism gladly accepted.

( Let Go )

moodiness: exhausted

I am not made up, my face is bare and my hair is a disaster.

But I thought I'd share with you anyway...




Happy Gira in her slip







Haughty Gira in her slip

moodiness: mischievous

going to go sit up on the hill behind our house looking out over the bay and take pictures and write on my typewriter cause I haven't started my short story yet and I'm being a good writer today

Gentleman C helps with that.

[just fyi they said I was a gay bear just because I said I would do someone in the ass. What a load of crap. - not that I'm not gay, but that is a stupid reason to say so. lol]


Gay Bear


Which Dysfunctional Care Bear Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

The obsidian is presiding on the windowsill, soaking up the sunlight and twinkling it back into the room. Cleansing itself in preparation for my energy. It is soooo beautiful.

() go out with me?
() give me your number?
() watch a movie with me...even a really sappy one?
() let me take you out to dinner?
() drive me somewhere/anywhere?
() take a shower with me?
() listen to me if I called you crying even if you were out with all of your friends?
() buy me a drink if i didnt have money?
() take me home for the night?
() would you let me sleep in your bed?
() sing car kareoke w/ me?
() sit in the doctors office with me because I didn't want to go alone?
() re-post this for me to answer your questions?
() let me give you a piggyback ride?
() come pick me up at 3 am because my car ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere?

moodiness: amused

Last night I seduced Gentleman C in the well manicured park in front of City Hall in SF by straddling his lap on one of the quiet (but still public) walkways and kissing him passionately which inspired him to activies that left my panties drenched. I smelled all the way home on the BART and have yet to shower this morning.

weg

Long emails between the two of us, but then you expected that didn't you?

Yes, I am being careful and cautious, not diving in quite head first.

However those three words nearly unwittingly left my lips as I turned to go through the BART gate.

Perhaps I am falling. Hard.

The turmoil, confusion and conflict lessen with each date, with each sentence that drives to the heart of me. With each innocuous smile and...

The look of his hands. He is skinny. I hate to admit it, but I have always loved skinny men more than the rest. Because I don't feel guilty about my impulses to feed them rich good food and put a little meat on their bones.

But his hands, his angular hands, I couldn't keep my eyes off them or my fingers.

At one point I caused him to stop talking ... had turned his hand over so that his wrist was exposed and just stroked it and his hand lightly, for long long minutes, running energy down my arms into him until the ache between my hips became too much and I told him we were going around the corner - but not where. Causing a frission... not of anticipation, as I had hoped, but of wariness and fear.

I had leaned over his hand, when I was finished stroking it, pressed my lips lightly, then tightly, into his palm, holding them there for a very long moment, his fingers curled around my cheeks.

But he learned then, that I have good surprises and nefarious plans and that with me, being turned on is not only for the bedroom, it should be a way of life. And I learned, then, that our bodies fit. Not just in bed, but in walking down the street. Our cadences are in sync, my hips fit against his thighs, his waist is the perfect height for my arm. Walking while holding hands is too much distance, too much space between us.

He loved it that he had left marks on me.

We have a standing Monday evening date now, for an hour and forty five minutes. That is delicious. Both that it is a standing date and the shortness of it, the wiseness with which the time must be spent, the scheduled nature of it. I'm not quite sure why this is so appealing to me unless it is the sheer self control of it.

I was admiring one of the ballet girls' bodies as we sat waiting for S2 to get out of class. Finally I couldn't bear it any longer and whispered to him:

"I wish I could look like her."

He looked at me and held me closer, kissed my hair and said:

"You're fine."

I nearly laughed at the simplicity of it. The conciseness and the way it was so understated. No elaborate reassurances, no pandering to my ego, just a simple reassuring answer with no frills. The sincerity of it and the way it came from the heart, immediately, with compassion.

I thought I should be affronted but I wasn't, and just remembering I am smiling.

He thinks he may drive his motorcycle over Saturday night. But he promises that if he does so (as opposed to meeting me in the city and then bringing the BART over), he will be here before I am.

He needs the autonomy of it. I can thoroughly and fully appreciate that.

I wrote him an email last night and told him that perhaps I was being presumptuous, but given what he had said during our date and what he said in the subsequent email, my perception was that he was fighting to let me in, to write me into his life.

I told him politely and gently to stop it.

The process of letting someone in is a choice, not work. Love is something you open to, like opening the front door in the morning and finding that the milk or the paper has been delivered while you slept.

I'm not sure that will make sense to anyone else but me, I'm not sure it even made sense to him, but it was important to me to say.

The fear, the very real fear, that he could become important to me... and the even more overwhelming fear that if that were to be the case not only is there room in his life for me - and room for me to help keep him on task with his writing - but also room in my life and heart, thanks to decisions on the parts of both D and I, for him.

It frightens me, it makes me happy, it makes me afraid, it fills me with joy.

I still have no preconceived idea of what this should look like.

I only can tell you how it feels and what the words and actions are.

Because right now that is all that matters to me.

It feels good and I deserve to feel good, I really do.

moodiness: full

"Well, you would love the bookstore. I fell in love with it when I saw a
section called " Books that will never be on Oprah"."

I was just reminded in looking down at the Dum Dum, that when Raven and I
went to see Lolita in the theater when it first came out (had to have been
about 7 years ago now) we took cherry lollipops with us, dressed up like
little girls and
giggled together through the whole movie...

With our feet on top of the seats in front of us and our short skirts around
our hips.

Shameless hussies. *grins*

I snagged a blue raspberry dum dum for my own nefarious purposes later this
evening. Girlish women sucking on round sweet things on sticks are nearly
always irresistible. lol

*squeal squeal bounce bounce*

Tonight is the one night when I am in the city for a couple hours after work
because I pick Sarah up from ballet at 6.45.

So... I was a brave girl and emailed Gentleman C asking if he had time for
coffee tonight.

*bounce bounce bounce*

I just got his email.

It's a date.

*wriggle bounce giggle*

lol

Happy Gira.


My weekend is shaping up to be VERY busy. Thursday night I am taking the
train down after work and spending the night with cortneyofeden
'cause ef2p is out of town this week and we're going to have a
girls' night. Friday night I'm retrieving Miss V and then heading to the
theatre with her where we're going to meet up with my friend L and see Ray.
Which V has apparently already seen, but said she would sit through again.
Saturday from noon to 4 is at Mishelle's house for her daughter's birthday
party. Then we both BART back into the city and meet up with Gentleman C
who then comes back home with us to spend the night (bounce, bounce lol) and
then my friend Dennis whom I haven't seen in a long time is coming over
Sunday afternoon.

So basically I will not be home from Thursday morning through Saturday
evening. I will miss my fambly. :(