...one more thing

I just checked the archives and it seems that i didn't actually post anything related to v.day last year, so the anecdote in "the eve of ...posting" (see below..although this was actually written as a "post-script") is all cool, and not repeated. good for me for not even acknowledging last year's feb.14th. this year, it seems that a wee bit of cynicism has creeped into my tone of voice. i refuse to apologize for it. why the cynicism? i think that i'm a bit pissed off that i have become involved in a "fuck and run" situation. pissed off at myself, that is. it seems like such a good idea at the time...y'know, real sex, as opposed to um...manufactured sex... . i think i'll put a stop to it..maybe just one more time...

here's a little liz phair to lighten the mood...

And almost immediately I felt sorry
'Cause I didn't think this would happen again
No matter what I could do or say
Just that I didn't think this would happen again
With or without my best intentions, and

I want a boyfriend
I want a boyfriend
I want all that stupid old shit
Like letters and sodas
Letters and sodas

I can feel it in my bones
I'm gonna spend another year alone
It's fuck and run
Fuck and run
Even when I was seventeen
Fuck and run
Fuck and run
Even when I was twelve

The eve of saint valentine

Here we are on the Eve of Saint Valentine....but what does that mean, exactly? What does it mean to me? Pretty much fuck all, to tell the truth. I used to get all worked up about it...but not in the "omigod it is valentine's day and i don't have anyone to send me roses.." way. Instead, i had a small, elite group of friends with whom i anti-celebrated such a bullshit Hallmark-owned, manufactured-to-sell-more-greeting-cards-and-cheap-chocolates holiday. We called it "Black _____day" (fill in the blank with the appropriate day of the week. in this case, it would be Black Wednesday. I don't think i'll actually bother this year. I've become that apathetic. for real. Here's some important information for y'all:

Under the rule of Emperor Claudius II Rome was involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns. Claudius the Cruel was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military leagues. He believed that the reason was that roman men did not want to leave their loves or families. As a result, Claudius cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome. The good Saint Valentine was a priest at Rome in the days of Claudius II. He and Saint Marius aided the Christian martyrs and secretly married couples, and for this kind deed Saint Valentine was apprehended and dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off. He suffered martyrdom on the 14th day of February, about the year 270. At that time it was the custom in Rome, a very ancient custom, indeed, to celebrate in the month of February the Lupercalia, feasts in honour of a heathen god. On these occasions, amidst a variety of pagan ceremonies, the names of young women were placed in a box, from which they were drawn by the men as chance directed.

Romantic, yes? A day that is marked by the majority of the western world, that in fact celebrates the beheading of a priest, and marks a day of ancient tradition that allowed men to draw the names of woman from a box, to do with as they pleased.

The last Valentine's Day that i actually "celebrated" in a "normal" way (meaning that i was involved with someone and decided to do the whole i'll-buy-you-some-edible-massage-oil-and-we'll-go-out-for-dinner) went something like this:
I made the reservations, he came home late, high on coke, we went out for dinner (that he didn't eat, as a result of being too coked up), and then we came home, and didn't have sex (as a result of him being too coked up). There were no roses (he forgot and spent any extra money we had kicking around on coke), but my dad did send me some carnations, with a card saying "from your secret admirer" and my then (coke-head) boyfriend picked a fight with me over them, because he didn't believe they were from my dad, but instead fabricated an affair between me and my much older, married, unattractive boss. Ah, romance. Forgive my cynicism. I just realized that i may have shared this delightful anecdote with you all last year - perhaps i should check the archives.

On a more uplifting note: Poppy and i reunited this past weeekend for some fun photo-ops. We donned our wigs and drove out to Lawrencetown beach with all kinds of fun props on hand, but ran into several difficulties:
1.) Her camera was left in someone's car and not available, so we broke out my antiquated digital camera (for whihc i have no cord to hook it up to the computer to download the meager amount of pictures we took). We also had my 1974 canon SE (i'm really much more of a manual kind of gal), but that would require film developing and scanning to get up on this bloggery, which may happen sometime in the future, but not tonight.

2.) It was FUCKING FREEZING, and we just did a little flashing, as opposed to any full scale strippin' down to our undies (specially picked out for your viewing pleasure - mine were hot pink with "Free Nfld" printed on them - very sexy indeed..maybe they'll make it onto another post sometime)

3.) We had a near-death experience on the way to the beach. It went like this :

Violet: Hey - there's new lights installed up there. A red light...

Poppy: Weird - i've never noticed those before.

Violet: It is just one lane over that little bridge...HOLY FUCK! THERE'S A TRUCK COMING RIGHT TOWARDS US AND IT ISN'T STOPPING!

Poppy: Oh shit...what the fuck is his problem???

Violet: What an asshole! (as we backed up rapidly, amidst beeping of horns and much middle finger gesturing from the oncoming driver)

...Now, look back to the beginning of all that and notice what we remarked on but failed to comply with...a RED LIGHT, which evidently was in place to control the traffic due to the ONE lane...ooops.

After we recovered from our shock, (and the near-frostbite we incurred due to our little beach photo shoot) we decided to mark the near-death occasion by taking pics of each other flashing in front of the temporarily set-up light that nearly killed us both. All i have to do to get them online is to find the cord of a Kodak easyshare camera, circa 2001. Do you have one i can borrow?

This little adventure also earned me a splinter in the palm of my right hand (i'm guessing from the railing on the boardwalk) that i can't remove, try as i might (i'm right handed which makes delicate operations using my left hand a bit tricky). This is what i am really lamenting over this eveing, on the eve of saint valentine. Not that i am alone and have no one to buy my flowers and cheap chocolate. That i am alone and have no one to take the goddamn splinter out of my hand, where it will fester to the point of infection, turn gangrene-ish, and my hand will have to be amputated, meaning that i won't be able to play my guitar to finish the song i started writing last night. hopefully, they will catch it before the infection spreads to the rest of my body and i will live to write another bloggery. ...



.

everything you wish...

...that someone had told you about sex. How do we find out about sex? Aside from the grade 6 "talk" given by an awkward, uncomfortable, under-paid teacher, i mean. i'm not sure how "kids these days" are finding out...movies? television? stealing the Sydney Sheldon novels off their mom's bookshelves and earmarking the pages with the dirty stuff on it and then passing it around to their friends? (not that i ever did anything like that....okay, okay, i DID do that. it leads to problems later in life though. I swear, to this very day, i cannot look at a penis without immediately thinking about good ol' sydney's descriptions of "his hot, pulsating, member.." or other such laughable adjectives. it almost makes me giggle EVERYTIME. in fact, i have to supress giggles). A few weeks ago, while out for friday drinks with friends, somehow the topic of being a dominatrix came up (funny how that happens, isn't it?). i immediately blurted out that i could do it. for sure i could be a dominatrix - i think i might like wearing vinyl corsets and spiky thigh-high boots every now and then. However, my hopes were instantly dashed by a friend who said "no, you could not! you'd start to giggle!". and i had to agree with him. i would. although, i'd still like to try it out sometime, just to see. i think it's really the costume i'm after, as opposed to humiliating someone else. i guess i could just dress up like a dominatrix and see what happens. but then, i suppose, that whoever i dressed up for might feel compelled to play the part of one who is being dominated. you really just never know what is going to through people's heads, or where these hidden desires have come from. which leads me back to the original thought... Where and when do we form our ideas about sex? and how does it vary from our sexual reality? Some people are just very sexually liberated, i guess, and have no problem bringing things out from their minds into the bedroom (or back seat of a car, or public washroom, alley way, kitchen table, etc.). And some are more likely to keep things tucked away to save for those private moments, when a vibrator and a vivid imagination are needed to help us get to sleep at night (that is how people get to sleep on those "tossing and turning" kind of nights, isn't it? i mean, really, who counts sheep anymore?). There are lots of tidbits of knowledge that i wish i could impart onto someone who slowly fumbling their way through their sexual life. Not that i know SO much about sex, but there are lots of little things that we all know from which others could benefit. I remember the first time i had sex, i was shocked to discover that sex smelled like tart'n'tiny candies. Remember those? (if you don't remember those, then you are not old enough to read this bloggery and should exit, post-haste). They came in a little foil envelope-type package and were tinsy little cylindrical, pastel coloured sugary, teeth-breaking things. And, they taste how sex smells. yup. Another thing that i never would have considered in my pre-sexual life is how very slippery sex can be. Even on the coldest nights in a poorly insulated house (okay, okay, i'm describing my house, and the slipperiness of my sex life), a good romp in the sack gets really slidey and slippery...in a good way, of course. But prior to having the kind of sex that makes you..ahem..wet (in a variety of ways), one might not consider such things. i fondly recall one of my favorite sexual learning experiences everytime opportunity arises (pun intended..you'll see what i mean in a minute). When i was about 17, my best (and more sexually experienced) friend taught me how to give head using a spoon. Sounds strange, i suppose, that she didn't go in for the standard thing, like some form of produce, but it worked for me (i mean, i guess it did...no one has complained thus far...but then again, do men ever complain about getting a blow job?). This girl knew what she was up to, even at such a tender age. She is now dating a woman - men everywhere are weeping. However, if her skills transfered over, i'll bet her girlfriend is screaming...in ecstasy, that is. It is nice to be back in the bloggery world. I knew i needed to get something new up when a regular reader said she took a peek the other day and thought "How nice - violet is having hot sex these days..." but then looked at the date, and realized that chances were, that situation was no longer current. she was right. BUT, i was happy to tell her that i have been having some good sex..the slippery kind that keeps you warm on a cold, -16 degree winter night. i'm not sure if it will continue, but it sure has been nice not having to count sheep. xoxo violet