traveling swallowing dramamine

sudden craving for a glazed doughnut...

Cosmo, “Give Him the Best Sex of His Life,” March 2004:

“Sometimes I want to be treated solely as a sex object, so grab my ass, kiss me hard, and tell me I have a fantastic package.”

you know, that’s almost a Dashboard Confessional lyric.

trashy women’s magazines are my guilty pleasure, my secret vice. it’s shameful—i’m an english major, for god’s sake—you’d think i’d be reading Dostoevsky in my free time, but you’d be wrong. i try not to feel too bad about it: i say no to drugs, i don’t smoke, i hardly drink. clean living, by most standards. but man, when it comes to magazines, i am so addicted. Cosmo, Allure, Glamour, Marie Claire, Jane—i don’t do Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar because they're mostly ads and pictures—and while the pictures are very pretty, i read these magazines for the hilarious sex articles.

in this month’s Cosmo:
(note: the following advice was written from the first person male perspective, addressing some generic “you.” my responses are likewise addressed to the generic “you.”)

* Play with your breasts in front of me. Show me that you love touching them, too.

ok, you know, breasts are great, and they deserve a lot of attention—a lot of attention--but the fact is—i don’t "love touching them." i love it when you touch them. but not when i touch them. it’s like tickling yourself. it just doesn’t do it for me. i mean, guys like breasts because they’re novel. get a guy in a shower with a naked girl and a bar of soap, and he’ll spend an hour “washing” her boobs. he’s fascinated. girls just don’t find their own breasts that interesting.

* During doggie-style, reach through your legs and cup my testicles. I’ll blow a gasket.

i have no problem with this advice, just the phrase “blowing a gasket.” that’s not hot; that’s gross.

* Straddle me cowgirl-syle, extending one leg up by my head and the other down near my foot. The friction is so hot.

okay, i seriously spent about five minutes rereading this one and trying to figure out the logistics of the position. cowgirl-style as in side-saddle, or cowgirl-style as in the girl’s on top, straddling the dude? and so then what,  is she, like, in a split? and where is this “hot friction” coming from? ::is confused::

* Lower yourself onto my lap while wearing nothing but spiky high heels.

high heels + sex = good combination.
“spiky” anything + sex = nerve-wracking.

* During missionary, raise your arms over your head so you’re lying with your breasts exposed. I love watching them jiggle.

you had me until “jiggle.” the word “jiggle” is inextricably linked with images of “a bowl full of jelly” and the like. i try to pretend that you’re not associating “jiggle” with any part of my body whilst i am disrobéd in front of you. please, don’t burst my bubble.

* Get into doggie-style and let me put my member between your butt cleavage.

i’m sorry, but you can’t say “butt cleavage” and expect me to take you seriously.

* Put on a pair of thin leather gloves, then run your hands over my chest during sex. It looks and feels dangerous and edgy.

yeah....that’s just funny.

i love the euphemisms for “penis.” lord knows, cosmo women wouldn’t dare say anything as indelicate as “dick” or “cock.” no, they use words like member or package. like that Dashboard-esque quote at the beginning. as far as grabbing ass and kissing hard goes, i’m all for it. but can anyone utter the words fantastic package and keep a straight face?

his blood was in revolt.

Cosmo could take a few lessons from James Joyce. oh my. talk about sexy.  (from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man:)

There was a long rivulet in the strand: and, as he waded slowly up its course, he wondered at the endless drift of seaweed. Emerald and black and russet and olive, it moved beneath the current, swaying and turning. The water of the rivulet was dark with endless drift and mirrored the highdrifting clouds. The clouds were drifting above him silently and silently the seatangle was drifting below him; and the grey warm air was still: and a new wild life was singing in his veins.

Where was his boyhood now? Where was the soul that had hung back from her destiny, to brood alone upon the shame of her wounds and in her house of squalor and subterfuge to queen it in faded cerements and in wreaths that withered at the touch? Or where was he?

He was alone. He was unheeded, happy and near to the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and wilful and wildhearted, alone amid a waste of wild air and brackish waters and the seaharvest of shells and tangle and veiled grey sunlight and gayclad lightclad figures, of children and girls and voices childish and girlish in the air.

A girl stood before him in midstream, alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and softhued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips where the white fringes of her drawers were like featherings of soft white down. Her slateblue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's soft and slight, slight and soft as the breast of some darkplumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face. She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to him in quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither: and a faint flame trembled on her cheek.

--Heavenly God! cried Stephen's soul, in an outburst of profane joy.

He turned away from her suddenly and set off across the strand. His cheeks were aflame; his body was aglow; his limbs were trembling. On and on and on and on he strode, far out over the sands, singing wildly to the sea, crying to greet the advent of the life that had cried to him.

and if that doesn't do it for you:
James Joyce's [extremely] dirty letters to his wife, Nora.

(michael g., don't you dare click on that link. those letters were not meant for children.)

this one goes out to The Fortress.

from The Tennessean, dated Wednesday, 10/13/04:

SPRING HILL — A bright ''yellow ducky'' vibrating bath sponge and its angry owner took on Spring Hill City Hall yesterday — and won.

If only by default.

After hearing about a business promoting personal pleasure and adult toys at Saturday's Friends of Spring Hill Library flea market, held on the grounds of a Presbyterian church, city officials said they would cite the owner into Municipal Court for violating the city's sexually oriented business ordinance.

But yesterday, after consulting with their attorney, city officials decided not to issue the citation.

''When police officers arrived at the flea market, she had already taken down her booth, and so we've declined to prosecute because of a lack of evidence,'' City Administrator Ken York said. ''We also talked to nearby vendors, and they didn't want to testify in a case like this.''

The booth in question displayed the ''yellow ducky'' vibrating bath sponge, along with other products Katherine Williams described as ''PG-13,'' including lubricants and body lotions from her Spring Hill-based business, Passions & Pleasures.

''Nothing we do is nasty, unless you have a nasty mind,'' she said, turning a knob on the yellow ducky's tail to make the sponge vibrate. ''My 3-year-old son loves to play with this duck in the bath. He puts it on his neck and on his head; there's nothing inappropriate about it.''

Williams said she was pleased the city had changed its mind about issuing the citation, but she didn't like the way she was treated when she went to City Hall yesterday.

''I asked for a copy of the ordinance from Ken York, and he refused to talk to me,'' she said. ''Then he called a detective, who got right in my face and told me I needed to leave the building.

''Well, I pay Spring Hill taxes, and they can't throw me out of a building my taxes pay for,'' she said.

York said Williams was ''loud and vocal'' when she entered the building. ''It was necessary to escort her out of the building,'' he said.

When she returned an hour later to pick up a copy of the ordinance, again she was loud and was escorted out, York said.

Outside City Hall, Williams came face to face with Effie Heiss, the president of the Friends of the Spring Hill Library, which sponsored the flea market where Williams had set up her controversial booth.

''You sure shocked a lot of little old gray-haired ladies like me,'' Heiss told Williams.

''Well, I have a lot of little old ladies who buy my products,'' Williams shot back.

''And I only had two negative comments, but I got a stack of people who signed up to win my gift basket,'' she said, indicating a 2-inch-high stack with her index finger and thumb.

Williams said she intends to set up again at next year's flea market.

''If she does, she'll be cited into court,'' York said. ''That duck is a sexual toy, and it was on display. That was a vibrator on display in public view.''

check out a picture of the offending ducky here.

and we're like, 'we're what.'

on the phone with becca:
and he was like are those pineapples on your necklace and i was like no - - but you can touch them if you want to - -
- - because yeah i've got mad game

and she's laughing at me.

my favorite thing out of becca's mouth today - you know as well as i do that to break up someone else's relationship so that you can be in a relationship is the long way to do things.

damn i want some tongue / you have your own / yeah that don't count

barrett: so what are you doing now
ann: lying in bed
still
did you read the henry miller?
barrett: yes i did.
ann: some of that shit sounded like your mom jokes
barrett: it seemed a little gimmicky but i'm sure was quite hardcore
for the 30s
yeah
i still like joyce's women: "all full up"
ann: "he feels something, does he....HE FEELS THE REMNANTS OF MY BIG PRICK....BIOOOOTCH"
barrett: it's sexier than putting toads in there.
ann: joyce is way dirtier
and way hotter
barrett: yeah
but "stay[ing] fucked" is cool
ann: yeah i like that line a lot
also "i shoot hot bolts into you...i make your ovaries incandescent"
which is not hot but very funny

right above from where you are

but now we must pick up every piece
of this life we used to love
just to keep ourselves
at least enough to carry on

i drove in to nola with josh last night and we sang all the way there. and we saw a show and i drank too much.

it was a proper new orleans evening:

two jack and cokes / tv on the radio at the republic, where i saw jeff, jessica, becca, eric, patrick, sully, natalie, peyton, and p.j.;

a pint of blue moon / ryan's on decatur with breton, jason, peyton, natalie, anson, matt, and that guy from my milton class whose name i never can remember;

a shot of soco (which was disgusting) / one-eyed jack's for 80s night with breton et al.

i'd told josh earlier that breton was leaving for paris on saturday--we were sitting at ryan's and he was like, "so when do you get to see breton again before she leaves?" and i said, "i don't." and he was like "what? this is it?" and i said yeah. so he and francis went to visit their friend derrick and he left me with breton to hang out for an hour or so. it was awesome. i thought i was only going to see her last night for a few minutes and hug her goodbye. and instead we got drunk and a little lost and then we danced for a while.

then josh picked me up and we were starving. so i directed him to bud's on clearview, where we ate food which was both cheap and delicious. and i was really happy. and i fell asleep on the way home.

after the show ended at the republic, i was talking to becca and eric and their friend patrick came up to say hi. i met him last friday--he ate dinner with me and becca and eric at reginelli's before we left for the beach. he got his master's in english lit, or something, and we talked about english-dork stuff over dinner. it was nice to talk to another english nerd. i'm never around them anymore and i forget how nice it is, such an easy connection--i feel like i'm so starved for book talk.

anyway, he was friendly at dinner and i got the feeling that he was also glad to be talking to an english nerd. so at the republic he comes up and says hi and how was the beach. and i say, "well, i got pretty sick," and he says oh no, and i say, "but we had a lot of fun. we bought a lot of underwear." and he says oh really. and i say yeah. and he says what kind of underwear. and i say tiny underwear! and he says, with raised eyebrows and concern in his voice, "but are they uncomfortable?" and i say oh no, they're very comfortable, just tiny. they're hot. and he might have asked if i was wearing them at the moment (i was)--but maybe he didn't--but i had to leave so i gave him a hug, and he said as i was walking off, "we can talk more about your underwear later"--which was funny--

mostly it was funny because i haven't flirted with anyone, like actual unabashed flirting--it's been a long time. like six months. there aren't any boys in my social circle who i can flirt with safely and/or appropriately. the guys i would flirt with are off-limits for various reasons, and the rest are my friends who i snuggle up to, but i don't mean anything by it--i'm just a snuggly person.

so it was refreshing--kind of a stupid conversation but still. it reminded me that it feels good to meet new people.

sea change; cycles; circles; gravity pull; 
draw me out
closer
(further away)

you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer

ann: also, any clue why my system icons have changed randomly?
barrett: have you installed something recently?
ann: yeah
barrett: what program (please say porn finder)
ann: PornLocaterPro v2.6
ann: beta
barrett: ha! you're using the beta version - that's the problem
barrett: just go back to 2.3 & it's stable

réquiem

this afternoon, i met with maría for our last intercambio. we got the good dark chocolate ice cream in puerta real and chatted at an outdoor café for about three hours.

it's hot today, tank top weather, and i was wearing my sunglasses. when i met up with her, i took them off to be polite. (i hate talking to people who are wearing sunglasses. i don't know where to look.) then my hands were full - cardigan, scarf, wallet, ipod, sunglasses. i stuck my change from the ice cream in one pocket and my sunglasses in the other.

we walked about half a block, sat in the shade at the café, talked. much later we walked back to puerta real, another half-block, and i stopped and checked for my sunglasses.

gone. gone gone gone. i've retraced my steps, emptied my purse, felt the top of my head and all my pockets.

i bought those glasses seven years ago. i went to canal place to see amelie with meghan h____ and bought the sunglasses at some kiosk on the first floor. they were forty dollars. i suppose i got my money's worth out of them.

i'd been thinking it was time to get new ones - they were scratched, and all the hip kids these days have enormous hipster sunglasses. which mine were not. they were, however, pink.

so farewell, trusty gafas, and thank you. you served me well. i am pissed that i lost you.

.

maría and i talked about 'flaky.' as an example, i told her how i'm late for everything, and that's a characteristic of a flaky person.

i told her that i absolutely won't be late for ballet class, though. (that and any kind of live theater.) if i don't have time to calmly put on my shoes and take my spot at the barre - and especially if i miss pliés - the class is shot. i'll never really feel on my legs and focused.

i said, "if i miss pliés, i won't be able to turn for the entire class."

she starts laughing and tells me this story:

she was dating this guy miguel, with whom she had crazy chemistry, and they would stay up all night "loving each other." he was also a spanish classical dancer, and he lived about five minutes from their dance studio. she would stay up with him but absolutely would not miss dance class. one night, after many hours of "loving" and one hour of sleep, she got up to go to class. he was like, "hell no, i'm staying in bed."

afterwards he asked her how it went.

"i couldn't turn for shit," she said, "but my turnout was the best it's been in my entire life."