Random Acts of Awesome

mmm I just realized that I kept making that noise on the drive home. Self satisfied mmmmm-ing is a good sign. Happy, contented sigh of relief. I got at least some of my mojo back. It has nothing to do with the fact that I had awesome sex in a bad ass hotel room. Well, ok, almost nothing. But I had fun. Do you know how long it's been since I had actual, real, honest to god fun on a date? No second guessing, no questioning, no feeling bad about myself. Just fun. And it reflected itself in the sex. GOD DAMN. Hanging off the edge of a bed, sucking this beautiful mans balls while he fucks my tits with his gorgeous cock and uses my pussy as leverage with his carpenters hands... FUN. No guilt, no fear, no discomfort about my body. Just fun. Awwwwwww yissssss.

Ok, date tonight. First, a reminder. You look in the mirror, and you love what you see. Some of it's going away, but it doesn't matter. The matter that is there is comprised of everything you love about being you. Second, your sexuality belongs to you. Contrary to what you've written on here in the past, it's all yours. It's not defined by, dictated by, or affected by the needs and whims of others. It's yours. Own that motherfucking shit. Third, you remember how to flirt. You flirt because you love other people. You are fascinated by their potential, you are drawn to their strengths and weaknesses, and you love your own ability to bring everything out into the light. Enjoy it, woman.

Listening to Adele, watching White Men Can't Jump. Surrounded by white men in their late 50s to 80s. It's kind of awesome. We are talking about weird commercials on TV. One of these guys is SO offended by the tampons commercial that just came on... Apparently, this would have never happened when Lucy and Desi were on the TV. Back in the good ol' days, couples who were married weren't allowed to be in bed together. That's why they had 2 twin beds in the bedroom. The bartender is proud of her vocabulary. She keeps using the word foment to describe what happens to grapefruit when it goes bad. I want to make a joke about them fomenting revolution with the grapes, but don't think I can do it without sounding like a twit. The 87 yr old flirt next to me is named Swammi. He's pretty badass.

Of why I like it rough. It really does. I love the strange juxtaposition of sweet early spring sunshine with blunt winter wind. I love the heavy rain that tears the delicate blossoms from the branches they cling to and flings them to the still hard earth. I love the unabashed sensuality of green thrusting up from the must of last year. Harsh, beautiful, unapologetic sensuality.

You need a little bit of a pep talk. You're simultaneously getting a bit big for your britches and way too sad and hard on yourself. So. Pep talk from your motherly side. Here it comes. First of all, I love you. I know that makes you uncomfortable, makes you a little squirmy and awkward, and maybe even a little angry. But too bad. I love you. I look at your reflection and I see kind eyes, remarkable spirit, and the familiar curves of a beautiful home. You need to be secure in my love of you before you can be secure in anything else. Now. You don't really believe that what you just did, what you just pulled off, had anything to do with you. You would rather put all (well, most) of the glory in the hands of the people who did the "real" work. Managing, herding cats, organizing... you're not really good at those things, so there must have been another reason for the success. Hooey. You done good. You forced yourself out of your preconceived ideas of who ...

Ok. I need to get this down while I still want it. Because this shit keeps coming back to me, keeps popping up as dreams and hopes and wished for reality. But then I get distracted, and my reality changes, and I don't want it anymore. So, what I want out of life, what I want my life to be. Soon. First, I still want country. I want beauty, and trees, and greenery. Specifically, I want land. With a small river, big stream, running through it. I want a willow tree. I want hummocks of heavy rooted grass to trip over in spring time. I want marshy land that attracts ridiculous amounts of birds. I want a sunny kitchen, that looks out over a green lawn. I want a wild garden, with little spots of sanctuary in amongst beautiful chaos. I want the smell of earth, and green things, and wind that's traveled over water, to come wafting into my window in the morning. I want a red barn that I can look at and tsk at myself for allowing to start to crumble. I want a simple house, wit...