Random Acts of Awesome

It really is. I'm sure it's true for everyone, every now and then. But I go through these phases where I find it remarkably hard to contain the bitchy, petty little thoughts that go through my head. And it's not just a matter of containing them. I don't want to harbor them. I don't want to give them real estate space in my brain. And I don't, normally. Feeling bitchy is a pretty sure sign that I'm unhappy. Because what is bitchiness? It's bitter, and it's greedy, and it's narrow minded. Being bitchy means I have a hard time seeing other people being happy. So. Why am I feeling bitchy lately? Partly because I'm not doing what I want to/should be doing. Actually, I'm not sure what I want to/should be doing. That's frustrating. And grating. Like nails on a chalkboard for me. Bleargh. I'll figure it out soon enough. And in the meantime, I'll stop being this petty, bitchy person I don't particularly like. I walked into Sushi Ic

It always starts with the little things. I don't know about you, but I have a problem with maintaining a veneer of normalcy. I mean, I know I'm not normal. I never will be. Not for a given definition of normal, anyways. But I try to maintain at least a token sense of being like the rest of the world. Acting like a grownup. Taking care of myself and my environment. Getting up every day and going into work, paying my bills. It's actually ridiculously hard for me to do all those things. I don't know why, but none of them feel right. None of them feel like my kind of normal. But, they make life easier, more livable. It sucks when I let them go, because life gets stressful. It's not like I can just decide "I'm not going to act like an adult today, I've decided that's not being true to myself", and suddenly live in Candyland, climbing the peppermint ladders and sucking on the raspberry lollys. No, it's more like deciding I don't want to be an

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Hmm. This is going to be a hard one to write right now. I started this one when I was in DC on business. Sitting in my hotel room, kind of drunk, having just come back from a night out wherein I got hit on by a large number of short semi-asian men. A LARGE number. Of short, skinny men. It was doing things to my sense of self. Bad things. I looked in the mirror and saw a circus freak. I felt huge. And not attractive. Which is a funny reaction to getting hit on by a bunch of men. But the one thing these guys all had in common was an assumption that I was desperate. They hit on me almost lazily, assured that I'd be flattered. Now, I am generally flattered when someone hits on me. Not every time. I mean, leaning out your car window and asking "how much" isn't going to be flattering to me. Being really drunk and coming up behind me while we're dancing, trying to grind your cock against my ass... also not flattering. But in general, if a guy takes the time and makes the

When last we saw our heros, one of them was driving across the country in a beat up old Nissan pickup, his entire life stored in some tough boxes in the back, heading into the deep unknown Liberal bastion of Portland, Or. And the other one was a nervous, horny, nail biting wreck, terrified of change and looking forward to FINALLY meeting (and by meeting, I mean fucking) this guy she'd been fantasizing about for years. On to the story! So, Trevor took his time driving across the country. It took him about 5 days to get here. He called me from the side of the road a couple of times, in the middle of the night, after his truck over heated and he had to wait in the middle of nowhere with no company but the snakes and coyotes. And I'd try and convince him he was having a Grand Adventure. He, true to form, was deeply skeptical. But we'd chat, and we'd get horny, and I had fun phone sex for the first time EVER. Oh! Side point: the first time I ever talked to Trevor, I'd b

"I bet I could whup your ass, Trevor." "A number of variables factor into calculating who has the best possibility of winning. I'll go out on a limb and suggest I'm bigger and stronger, but I have no doubt you more than edge me out on skill and viciousness. And if you didn't have a boyfriend, I'd love to test the theory. ;) -Trevor" I found that old conversation from way back in 2006. And it cracks me the fuck up. Because it so perfectly encapsulates what we are to each other. People keep asking me to define Trevor and I, what we are to each other. And I keep using words like Friends with Benefits, roommates, companions, lovers, friends, NOT dating, NOT in a relationship, fuck buddies... and they all come up short. And the people I'm explaining this to end up looking at me pityingly, thinking "uh huh. Not in a relationship. Sure." But the thing is, what we are can't be defined like that. We're not in a relationship. We&#

I've started a new blog called On a Bus. I wanted to call it I'm on a Bus, Motherfuckers, but didn't think the reference would be universal enough to overlook the inflammatory nature of using Motherfuckers in a title. Cause I'm obviously SO CONCERNED about not being inflammatory... Anyways... this blog has become much too caught up in sex and internal meanderings. From reading it you'd think I had nothing on my mind but fucking and myself. NOT TRUE, I swear! But I tend to write most of my other stuff in different venues, and save the graphic stuff for this one. I took public transportation in Portland OR for 8 years, and it's contributed to a whole hell of a lot of funny, weird, hilarious, erotic, creepy stories. I'll be compiling some old stories from other places, and creating new ones. I haven't taken the bus since I bought a car, and that's got to stop. I MISS the bus. Weird, I know. But I really, truly miss it. It forces you to connect with othe

Look rich, talkin' cheap... I'm so sick of worrying about money. The more I have of it, the worse it gets. I was lying awake this morning, around 5:30. You know that time period, a couple hours before you're supposed to get up, when the world is a dark, lonely place and once you wake up you can't help but lie there for hours and think about just HOW dark and lonely it is? And how if you could just get back to sleep everything would be FINE? Yeah. I was in that spot. And I was thinking about money and responsibility. I dislike both of those things. A lot. Yet I draw them to me, deliberately or not. I stay with a job that I hate because of both of those things. I make choices that make it impossible for me to be a free agent, that keep me focused on money as a necessity so I don't let down those who rely on me. And I'm drawn to things that require more money and stability. Buying a house is a distinctly attractive option right now. I bought a car that I have to ta

God, I love skin. Contact with, to be specific. I was thinking about it the other night, while running my hands down my lovers back. We weren't having sex, just lying there before falling asleep. And I was tracing my fingertips down his spine, and into that hollow, that perfect dip right before the mounds of the ass. I love that hollow. It's so soft and vulnerable and sensitive. Then bringing my hand back up, using the backs of my nails, to follow the heavy line of his broad shoulders. Feeling the dense muscles and bone overlayed by a layer of fine, soft skin. Wonderful. The human body is a beautiful, pleasurable thing. In all its many, many shapes and sizes. This lover doesn't have a perfect body. He's got a belly on him that speaks of a love of hamburgers. But it suits him perfectly. He has ridiculously wide shoulders, meant to hold the weight of others safety. His back is broad and strong, well defined. His thighs and calves... mmm... sorry. His thighs and calves are

I've been thinking about this aspect of life a lot lately. It took me a long time to start to feel like I was capable of being a good friend to anyone again, after going through such a purge of people in my life. Being around Bianka at Wills party the other night highlighted some things for me, helped me clarify some thoughts. See, I realize I miss my friendships. I do. I miss the comfort and intensity of them. I miss being Biankas friend, someone she relied on, someone she turned to in a group of people. I miss the complicity of Rhianons friendship. I miss texting stupid shit that I knew she'd get, giggling about boys, talking in code. But being around Bianka, after having not been around her for almost a year, forced to the forefront the things I don't miss. I don't miss the constant drama. I don't miss the having to be patient as she talks over everyone around her. I don't miss forcing myself to fade into the background so as not to threaten the fragile

I love dating. There is so much POTENTIAL in it. So many opportunities for amazing things. I had a lovely date Wednesday night. The guy was a bit (a lot) more of a redneck than I'm used to dating, but seemed really sweet and articulate in his emails. And was just as sweet and articulate in person. He showed up in a bright orange shirt with wizards fighting fire demons on the front of it (it's so cheesy, but I'm such a sucker for unabashed, oblivious to fashion nerds), a baseball cap, Carharts, and a flannel. And you could tell it was his uniform, his comfy everyday wear. There was going to be no dressing to impress for this guy. In contrast, my date Thursday night was wearing a very nice sweater, freshly pressed jeans, and nice shoes. Date uniform. And the differences between them were personified in their clothes. Wednesday night was open, sincere, honest, unassuming, and completely surprised at realizing I was at all attracted to him. Thursday night was flirty, fun,