Random Acts of Awesome

Man. I had sex last night for the first time in... well, since T shoved me up against a wall while helping me put my corset on for Halloween and finger fucked me into screaming, biting and clawing at the wall orgasm. That was over a week ago. And there was no dick involved. I'm sorry, but sex without the other person being involved leaves an empty space inside me. Orgasm is amazing, don't get me wrong. And my partner watching me get off... also amazing. But it's got to be a rare thing, me being solo in the mind blowing enterprise part. T loves being a puppet master, loves my responsiveness, loves forcing me to come over and over and over with nothing but fingers and sheer force of will. And I'm NOT COMPLAINING. He's fucking good at fucking, and he brings a brilliant strategic and tactical brain to his endeavors, and I have learned more about my body and my sexuality in our year together than I have in the 10 years or so I've been sexually active. But. He too r...

Get hep and follow through... Lord, I love Cab Calloway. I'm sitting in my seat at work, listening to Jumpin Jive, Minnie the Moocher, Hi De Ho Man... all my favorites. Before that on my playlist was Sir Mix a Lot. Square Dance rap and Jump on It are two of the best songs in the world to dance to. They grab your hips, pull them in tight, and rotate them like a record player, will you won't you. They really do, I promise. Just try keeping your pelvis stationary while listening to this music! Stress injuries will occur. I'm sitting here hoping nobody is still in the office, because my hips are riding my rolling chair like a pony. My belly muscles hurt from chair dancing. Good times. Some of my favorite mental images? Fire dancing to this music. In my day dreams, I'm fluid in a way I'm just not in real life. My body turns into the flames it's manipulating, flowing from one form to the next in time to this primal rhythm. I can do it when I dance. I willingly los...

Every now and then I have these moments of what I'm hoping ISN'T perfect clarity. I call them my Jesus Christ moments. They're the moments when you're getting water from the tap, thinking about easter eggs and ranch dressing, and all of a sudden you're hit with what feels like an absolute truth about yourself. Little epiphanies that blindside you when you're really not looking to be all that introspective. When you're kind of content in your delusional world. I'd call them my Jesus Fucking Christ moments, but there's still that tiny bit of Catholic my mom instilled in me, even though she was a Jehovahs Witness. She grew up Catholic, and you don't get rid of that shit. Ever. I mean, if being a Jehovahs Fucking Witness didn't scrub the Catholic from her soul, I'm pretty sure nothing could. Being told by God that Buddha is the better man... wouldn't make a dent in that basic Catholic iron core. Anyways. A nugget of respect still lies...

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...