wakey, wakey

Well. Despite what I said a year ago, I haven't actually given this bloggery a moment's consideration. And y'know, looking at that last post made me a little bit sad. not in a nostalgic sort of way..not exactly. I wrote that I had had a sort of sexual liberation. Which was true - at the time. However, i seem to have regressed - a whole lot. I'm not at all sure what made me go through the long and arduous process of recovering passwords, resetting accounts, and all the other various steps that i had to go through to get to the point of being able to post again on this long-forgotten bloggery, but i think it is this: in returning to my hometown after a lengthy absence (approximately eight years), i have returned to who i was before i left....in fact, long before i left. When i left here i was a young pup in my early 20s, with, in retrospect, so much to learn. funny though, i thought i was a smokin' hot babe and that the world was just waiting ot fall at my feet. Several years before that however, i was a perpetually cute bookworm, nerd-chic before it was a desirable persona. Without going any further into the various developmental stages one goes through before emerging both defeated and enlightened in one's early 30s, i find that in repressing my "violet petticoat"-side for a more librarian-esque "reading is sexy - slutty photos in racy lingerie are not" side, i lost more of violet than i had ever intended. In fact, the only evidence that remains of the past few years is here, in the cyberworld of the Slipshod Petticoats. Now, it reads like a story that i not only wish i had written, but wish i had lived. But wait! I did! I did both write and live all that stuff! ..didn't i? Why am i lamenting this right now? Tonight of all nights, when i have papers to write, lecture notes to prepare, Phd applications to fill out, an impending migraine pulsating on the periphery of my brain and a lovely, kind, trusting boyfriend to make a long-distance phone call to. That, gentle readers, might be the answer to the question.
The boyfriend. It isn't exactly that i'm a committment-phobe. Well, maybe a wee bit. I do relish my freedom, especially when it leaves me open for those unexpected racy nights, that start with not-so-innocent (but seemingly so) flirtation and end with hot, steamy sex, a sleepover, a little breakfast (more not-so-innocent flirtation) and then, more steamy sex. The possibilities were endless and entertaining. Those kind of nights left one smug, breathless and happy not to be one of those people who called their significant other a pet name, and picked them up banal items at the drugstore, like a toothbrush, or some razor blades. However, the older you get, the less frequent such encounters, and the more you begin to wonder if maybe, just maybe, you miss the banalities of long-term relationships. When i accidentally fell into my current situation, i hadn't considered that it might turn into a long-term thing. It was one of those "oh-what-the-hell" kind of things. Friend-of-friends, home for a visit, a bit of silly fun and that would be the end of it. At the point at which it commenced, I was going through a bit of a phase....a non-sex kitten phase. A wholesome-girl-next-door phase. An "I'm-rejecting-excessive-over-the-top-sexuality-becasue-I-think-it's-immature phase. So, it isn't the committment -phobe in me that's sounding the alarms. It's just that i have become committed under maybe slightly false pretenses. And now, here i am, half a year later, wondering what happened to violet petticoat? She's stirring inside my brain, stretching and yawning, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and... wondering what the hell happened to all the lacy lingerie and the hot action. Can't say i blame her - i'm wondering the same thing myself.

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hmmmmmmmmmm.....a quick caveat here: i'm not saying i'm going out looking for the long-lost action, i'm just saying that maybe, just maybe, things need to change. i mean, how would YOU feel if your seemingly sweet, naive girlfriend had actually been writing about her sexual adventures - prior to meeting you- for all the internet to see? betrayed? hurt? or....turned on?

hello again

my oh my. it sure has been awhile! so much has happened and so much has changed that i wonder of i should just scrap the SSPS all together and move to something new. starting fresh certainly has its appeal. in fact, it's almost a appealing as the soy pralines and pecan faux ice cream that i am currently licking off a spoon. yum. i dunno what to do. poppy and i sure had some fun times playing with this bloggery of ours, but evidently, it has gone by the way side. poppy and i don;t even live in the same province anymore, let alone the same house. racy photo ops don;t often present themselves and i have yet to find a partner-in-crime in my new life in a new city. well, not exactly new. a return of sorts...not quite as triumphant as i had hoped. i sort of just ...slinked back into town becaule i didn't know what else to do with my life. one little grad school application set the wheels in motion and the next thing i knew..voila! here i was. back in my hometown, buying a little house and inheriting my parent's furniture. i shit you not, it looks like martha stewart got her little hands on my living room. but then i got my hands back on it and turned it into a happy disaster. hmmm...that's all you get for now, lack of raciness, i realize, although, i did have the BEST SEX of my life a few days ago. for real. i've had a sexual liberation...more later, i'm just testing out the ol' typing fingers for now and deciding if i should bother with this anymore..

...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. ...



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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

Do you think we're less inclined to discuss our sex lives when we are involved with someone? I mean, as opposed to just the one-nighter, or even the "sex only" relationship...? Perhaps it depends with whom one finds oneself with. Some people would be flattered to have their sexual techniques verbally applauded for all to see, while others are not so keen about someone hanging their sexual dirty laundry on the so-called clothesline (or in this case, the internet). But is is unethical of me to discuss such details? It's not as though i'm giving out names and phone numbers or anything....

I've been having some GREAT sex as of late, and although lately i've been pondering the "stay or go" question, along with the "sex/emotional attachment" issue, maybe it is time i got right down to the nitty-gritty: what makes great sex truly great? what's the difference between "good" sex and "great" sex. and to take it one level higher, what makes it "mindblowing"? that's the kind we all want, i'm sure. i mean, i guess, right? are there people out there who will settle for luke-warm, mediocre sex? and if so, why? i'm going to post this now, and think about the answers while i'm at work today. work, for me, is a completely non-sexual environment. people don't talk about it (except for the occasional lunchtime banter), and the working conditions certainly don't inspire sexual comtemplation. Although, one day a few weeks ago, after a particularly steamy night, i found myself walking around in a state of total distraction - physically and mentally. I could barely think, let alone interact with co-workers. I'm working a one-year probationary contract, and probably shouldn't let things like my misadventures of the previous evening distract me quite so much, but c'mon, how often does the night before inspire a whole day of blissful remembrance? More later, i'm going to be late....

of shrink wrap and shredding

It's sunday again, and you all know how i feel about sundays......blah. i feel ...blah-ish. and it really is quite a sunday out there in the world of halifax. Gray, drizzling, chilly....the trees are bare and it is quite easy to get caught up in the dullness of it all and let it affect one's mood. part of me feels like succumbing to "the sundays" (the highly original name i have affixed to this state of mind that so frequently sweeps over me on the 7th - or 1st, depending on your point of view - day of the week) and part of me is considering raging against it. perhaps "raging" is too strong a word. i may be able to sustain a more neutral mind frame, but the strength implied by the term "raging" is not available to me on a sunday.

i think i should have saved my consumerism indulgence for today. i caved yesterday (generally i've been trying to limit purchases to groceries and necessities, such as high quality 100% cotton made in canada socks, with the occasional luxury, such as a new book or some pot) but i went out yesterday and bought a slipcover for one of the love seats in my living room. 2 points need to be raised here:

1) i hate the term "love seat" and am now going to change it to "lilliput sofa"...or maybe just "lilliput"...i hope the rev. jonanthan swift doesn't mind that i'm lifting Gulliver's Travels terminology for application to furniture.
2) it was a much-needed , long overdue purchase. the plaid print on my hand-me-down furniture was not only offensive, but also depressingly dark and covered with dog fur and drool.

Now for the lament; if only i had saved my consumerism for today, not only would i have the increased possibility of lifting myself out of the sundays (new books always thrill me in a way that very few things can), but also, the new book that i purchased yesterday, Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs (a pop culture manifesto is the sub title, i think, but i cannot check it for you and you're about to find out why) would still be in readable condition, as opposed to headed for the recycling bin...MY DOG ATE IT.

Can you fucking believe it??? completely shredded. THAT FUCKER. he is currently barricaded in the kitchen so that i don't have to look at him. instead, i am looking at the sad remains of my brand new book. i couldn't afford to buy it really, and i certainly can't afford to replace it. But since i've been developing my optimistic skills, i can say this; at least now i am no longer feeling apathetic, as i was when i commenced today's bloggery (which is what i was doing upstairs while that beastly creature chowed down on my brand new book in the living room), but am feeling rather PISSED OFF. I am now completing tasks in a rather aggressive manner. I just shrink-wrapped my living room window in an angry kind of way. I cursed myself for renting an old, drafty house that requires shrink-wrap on the windows. I cursed myself for doing such a piss-poor job of putting up the curtain rods with a hammer, as opposed to a screw driver, so they were next to impossible to get down so that i could apply the shrink wrap. I cursed the shrinkwrap for being so damn difficult to deal with. Then, as a result of the hair dryer and space heater running from the same socket, i shorted out that circuit and a variety of other electric things shut off. i cursed. loudly. my dog shrank away, pitifully, afraid that he was going to be, once again, the receipiant of my wrath. maybe i should shrink-wrap him as well. to a wall, or perhaps between the palastic wrap and the window pane, until spring. perhaps i will have forgiven him by then.

i grabbed a flashlight and headed for the creepy basement, where i felt an oddly misplaced sense of pride, as i was able to navigate the circuit board or breakers, or what ever the hell all those switches are down there and successfully restore power to that portion of the house. yay! i am a superhero...sort of.

How do you feel about the new layout? is the pink a bit much? probably. the template was called "rosy" and at that moment, prior to the book destruction, i was feeling the potential for a "rosy" sort of day. that feeling has waned considerably, but i'll attmept to continue my optimistic feelings for sunday....maybe more coffee and some dark chocolate will help...

should i stay or should i go?

Today we are going to talk about the emotional - or lack thereof - connection to sex. I threw in the "lack thereof" caveat as a conversation i had several months back has slipped into my mind. I was walking with a couple of friends downtown to catch a band when the subject came up (as it always seems to...is it that we are a society obsessed? don't we have anything better to talk about? I posed this question once and was met with this reply; "What could be better?").

The conversation went something like this (i have to dig deep into the recesses of my mind, as it was several months back...and why, you well may ask, do i not have anything more recent to draw upon? The answer is forthcoming...as i get to my point (and reason for the train of thought of this bloggery entry) you will better understand why i've been slow on the updates as of late:

Friend A (female) - in response to us questioning the current state of her relationship with a common friend of mine and the other walking companion: "I guess I'm just a relationship kind of person...I've never really been into short relationships, or dating people...I just can't sleep with someone without an emotional attachment....can you?"

Friend B (male): Sure.

Me (violet): You betcha.

There was a bit more to the chat, I suppose, but that is really the "bare bones" of it. But as i have been embarking upon a pseudo-casual relationship as of late, and teetering on the brink of emotional attachment, i've been thinking about that question and my response to it. You see, i've always been able to detach one from the other (sex from emotion, that is). While i realize that sex is usually better when one invests some emotion into it, i think i have trained myself not to. I remember reading somewhere (probably in some trashy magazine in which a pop-psychologist answers the questions and woes of the "typical" North American female - back in the day when i went in for that sort of thing...i was young, and in need of guidance, but don't worry, i've long since come to my senses, and no longer induldge in such printed crap on glossy pages) that women instantly become emotionally attached to someone after sex...apparently, it is biological. Men, however, don't. At the time, i remember thinking that i was defying biology, as up until that point, i felt no emotional attachment to the men with whom i had slept. At the time, it was something of a smug, secret thing i prided myself on. But all these years later, it makes me worry just a wee bit.

Currently, I am casually involved with someone. The situation does not lend itself to quick progresion though, because he is recently out of a long relationship that ended badly. Although things have been pretty "full on" (as in weekend road trips, evening dinners, movies and hot sex, and even plenty of day time activities (that one always gets a reaction from friends, as in "Oooo, day dates? Must be going somewhere..." I'm not just referring to my situation here - the "day time activity" analysis seems to be applied far and wide when trying to ascertain the progression of a new relationship). HOWEVER, just the other night, i was treated to the "i really like hanging out with you and want it to continue just like it is, but my friends and family have all said that they don't think i should get into a serious relationship so quickly and that i should really be open to dating other people right now and i guess i agree with them....but i still want to spend time with you." WHAT THE FUCK? i'm all for seeking advice from others, but generally try not to allow the opinions of my family and friends to have that great an influence on me. I have translated it thusly:

"While i really enjoy the fact that you have been around for the past month or so to hold my hand when i get upset about the demise of my past relationship, to prevent me from feeling lonely and that you're great in the sack, my friends have advised me not to get seriously involved with someone, and i am not going to make my own decisions, but instead, listen to others instead of myself."

So now what? I knew what i was getting into right from the beginning, so i can't act as though it is a total shock. I have also been keeping something of an emotional distance, so i'm not falling to pieces or anything, BUT my concern is this: if i continue to keep myself from getting emotionally caught up with the people (actually person - i'm not much for being involved with more than 1 person at a time) i am sleeping with, will i ever be able to? Is this a permenant affliction? And as for this situation, this individual who still wants things to stay the way they are, but with the understanding that should someone else strike his fancy, he's up and gone, should i stay or i should i go? Unlike him, i'm not seeking advice from friends or family, i am seeking advice from complete and utter strangers on the internet.

Seeing how people associate November with poppies...

...now that I can get photos up on this again, i'm going to post a favorite, as of yet-unseen picture of me and Poppy before she defected from Slipshod Manor. All future photos will (sadly) be Poppy-less...

We called this one "Gettin' Cheeky"

Well hello there - it certainly has been awhile since last we spoke. Where the hell have i been, you well might ask. Nowhere in particular, really. Just doing normal, mundane things that people with normal, mundane jobs do. I could say that i'm a weebit disappointed with myself for not getting into any trouble for quite some time, but on the other hand, i'm feeling pretty content nowadays. And Poppy? Where is my darling Poppy? She left her home here at Slipshod Manor to live with her boy. Thus, her "getting up to no good" factor has dropped significantly. In fact, it has vanished entirely. But, i should be able to get into trouble (the good kind) myself, right? Oddly enough, it seems the answer is "no". However, a silly night with friends is planned for this evening, so...........perhaps i'll break out my wig collection and psychadelic mini dress (underwearless, of course) and see where the night takes me. Actually ,the night is taking me to Dartmouth for a night of debauchery (one can get into a totally different type of trouble across the bridge), so i'll cross my fingers if you cross yours...i feel some silly photo opportunities in my future.

xoxox violet

i got skills, baby...just not the kind you might be thinking of

Last night, I was on fire...I was awesome...I was skilled....I cooked the best damn curry ever. Luckily, I had a few friends here to share it...and, I got to revel in the success of my culinary efforts. Today, I am baking challah bread - but thus far, no action from the yeast....I know this is really "edge of your seat" kind of drama, so, I'll keep you posted as the dough rises...or doesn't rise....a real cliffhanger for a sunday morning.

Post - curry, dessert and plenty of wine (a little secret to those who suffer from the same affliction as myself: love red wine, but avoid it like the plague due to unbearable headaches, sometimes after only one delcious glass - look for a bottle that DOESN'T have "contains sulphites" written on the label. I swear you'll thank me for this helpful tidbit), we decided to head downtown to check out a band that had a pretty sweet write-up in The Coast (the local free weekly, for those not "in the know" of Halifax culture). The band - The dust Poets - did not disappoint. Kind of a folk/klezmer (spelling help please?)/country mix-up. I even bought their album on my way out the door. I 'd like to take this opportunity to thank the lovely CD seller, who kindly let me off the hook for the complete price (I only had $18.83 on me and she let the $20 merch. come home with me).

I walked down Argyle Street, past all the patio drinkers, past the horrible velvet-roped sidewalk that led into a horrible bar, hearing girls insist "we're on the Guest List...we ARE!", past the drunk girls teetering on their too-high heels, shielding my eyes from the sequins and ears from the squeals, ignoring the shouts from the drunken frat boys, ignoring the girls acting all coy, i looked on in distaste and wrinkled my nose, i stared at their horrible, dress-me-up clothes, i walked on bravely, my stoned-thoughts were deep, I arrived at my house and stumbled to sleep.

Sorry about the bad poetry...it sort of accidentally went on that way and i decided to keep it. What i'm getting at, is...well....perhaps i had a few too many puffs on that lovely glass birthday pipe...and the reason why i seldom smkoe pot anymore is that it makes me get all introspective and weird, but as i made my way home last night, i was suddenly hit by the idea that i never want to go out on a Saturday night again. ever. Is that a sign of age? am i become a curmudgeon at 29? can someone out there help me out on this one...please?

my bread awaits me...must run....oh! I'm BAKING BREAD ON A SUNDAY MORNING FOR THE LOVE OF PETE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHIT! FUCK! I MAY AS WELL JUST GO DARN SOME SOCKS AND KNIT SOME DOILIES! it seems i am developing some kind of complex or condition.....i wonder what will become of me if the proper cure is not administered soon??

~shrinking violet

The 30th year

The 30th year of my life has begun. I'm not actually 30 - i just turned 29, but, as a friend kindly reminded me in a card she sent from B.C. (along with a really nice hand-blown glass pipe), i am in fact, in the 30th year of my existance. Weird. I'm okay with it, mostly. I don't feel any older, of course (i used to hate it when i was a kid and had a birthday, and adults would invaribly demand if being 9 felt any differnt than being 10. "Of course not!" i'd think "Why am i surrounded by morons??"...okay, okay, i probably didn't think that exactly, but it drove me 'round the twist.

I'm not sure what to do with 29. I was really thinking that i'd start practicing for 30, as i have decided that once i hit 30, i'm going to suscribe to the "my body is a temple" theory. Y'know, microbiotic foods, yoga, no booze (well, how about organic wine only?), no bad sex just for the sake of getting laid, and other such pure, pristine, practices. Although, i'm not off to a good start, as the night after my actual birthday, i got ridiculously drunk with friends on a silly variety of drinks (a decade of legal drinking and i forgot what i learned as an under-ager: "no mixing!"), including sake, beer and shots of something sweet and creamy. I spent the next day vomiting - and not just at home. Oh no, dear readers, i decided to punish myself by convincing my houseguests, who so kindly came by on their way across the country to spend my birthday with me, that i was just fine, and we all walked to the farmer's market together. If you happened to notice someone puking in a somewhat projectile way into the flower planters across from the Four Points Sheridan hotel - yup, you guessed it! Yours Truly. On the walk to pick up my car from where i left it the night before, i had to dump out the chai tea i was attempting to drink, so i could use the cup to barf into....as i walked up Blowers Hill....in the middle of a busy Saturday afternoon. For REAL!!! Talk about immature....

caution: gate swings both ways

Do you remember when the public gardens gates used to have a little plaque on them that said that? It was the source of constant hilarity amongst my friends. Its a shame really that they changed it and put up that lame "don't feed the ducks" warning.

Last night, while having dinner with a friend, a group of unrelated friends (meaning that my dining companion and the in-coming group were not friends with each other) chanced into the restaurant and sat at the table next to us. I knew the group of people in varying degrees. I am quite good friends with one of the, casual friends with two of them and a casual aquaintance of the other. One of these people (a casual friend - female), came over and hugged me and gave me a little peck on my forehead. I'm not a terribly affectionate person myself, but I am fond of said individual (in as much as our casual friendship and limited knowledge of one another allows) and thus was not bothered by the affectionate greeting, although perhaps a wee bit taken aback.

Later in the evening, all that remained of the group was myself and my friend (not the original dining companion, but the friend that came into the restaurant with the other group of friends). As we chatted over a glass of vino, he laughed a bit to himself and said the earlier in the evening, when i left the restaurant for a few minutes, one of the other diners at his table (the casual friend who greeted me so enthusiastically) asked him if I was into girls (the questioner knows bits and pieces about my romantic life, just from the casual conversations you have with people you know on that level, i.e., at the same house parties, occasionally going out with the same group of friends to hear some music, etc.), thus the question, i suppose, was "Do i swing both ways? ". He said that his response was that he didn't think so, and then he looked at me questioningly.

I was a bit taken aback. I mean, if that's your thing, fabulous. If you are the kind of person who says its the individual that you are attracted to and that gender is not the issue, well, good for you. It certainly opens up the dating pool a bit. I, however, am not one of those people. Perhaps that makes me closed minded. I was curious as to what would make her ask that question, and he said that she commented on the fact that i am highly flirtatious, equally so with men and women. I was rather surprised. I don't know that i'd ever have thought myself to be flirtatious. In fact, i would have thought that i was an ineffectual flirt-er, as it seems to me that men don't realize that i'm flirting with them (read that mysteries and musings posting from a few weeks back to get the full implications of that statement). And now, someone has commented that they find me highly flirtatious!!???!!! I always just considered myself to be friendly...chatty, maybe.....excessively chatty. perhaps. Funny that a woman would think i was flirting with them, but men don't seem to pick up on it.....

For some reason, i can't post pictures anymore. I'll see if i can gain access to someone else's computer in the near future and try it again.

Enjoy you sunday - it really does feel like fall. I was up at dawn and went out to Conrad's Beach - my first time there! I highly recommend it.

xoxo Violet

the people in our neighborhood

I'm trying to remind myself that this is a joint-bloggery, thus the title "...in our neighborhood", but Poppy is pretty busy with other things these days, so mostly, you're just hearing from me, Violet. I had a weird experience today while walking my dog...yes, yes, i know every other bloggery is about my dog -walking stories, but i can only writie about what happened, and since i walk my dog several times a day, things always seem to happen while i'm engaging in said activity. I'm sure the bloggeries were more entertaining when i was hanging out at my favorite, smoke-filled cigar bar and drinking beer, talking about sex, but these days, i'm living a slightly more pristine life-style, and thus, walking my dog...a lot. I'll get bakc to the beer drinking and dirty conversations soon enough, i'm sure. its just that i'm trying to tidy myself up a little bit...not physically, exactly (although not spending quite as much time drinking pints in a smoky bar is sure to help), but mentally..i guess mentally..... .

There's this old house almost on the corner of my street - one or two houses in on the street perpendicular to my street. I have to walk past it pretty much every time i cross the road from the Commons. A bunch of guys...older than me, but not old, dirty, but not in that good, sexy dirty way, and idle..in that way where they sit there all day long, making comments about the passers by. I've stated before that my dog is a little bit unusual looking, thus comments are frequently directed at him. However, the comments that come from these individuals make me feel uncomfortable. An example of this is one particular man (there seem to be quite a few of them living there, but never more than two at a time on the porch..perhaps they take shifts?) has offered to take a pair of scissors to my dogs ears - a variety of times. I'm sure..well, i'm not sure, but i'd like to hope that this is all in jest...but something about the way he eyes my poor puppy makes me uneasy. Unfortunately, my dog has a tendency to lie down in the middle of the road. He does this pretty much in the same place all the time - very much within view of the house in question. This, of course, is cause for hilarity and uproarious laughter by said men. As i pass, more comments follow. I nod, look ahead and do that sort of pained smile/grimace.

But today - well, the line is blurring in the sand. For today, said men have started making comments about me. As i walked by today, one noted that the dog didn;t stop in the street, and i nodded politly to acknowledge this truthful statement. He then said "Hi doggy! Aren't you a nice lookin' doggy! I'd love to give you a pat..." (i've vetoed him patting the dog before as this encourages stoppage and i'm trying to teach him how to walk without stopping). The porch-sitter then said said "Screw the doggy. Check out the nice-lookin' owner. I'd love to give her a pat...". I wish i had turned around and given him a steely glare and marched onwards indignantly. But what did i do? I shrugged my shoulders meekly and kept my eyes straight ahead, dragging my dog behind me as they laughed.

I'm not sure what has gotten into me. I guess i don't want to be rude. But honestly, why say something like that? What does he think he'll gain from it? That perhaos the bext time i walk by, i'll invite him over for pasta and a friendly, neighborly fuck?

soundtrack days

Well, hello there! How nice of you to have joined us on this sunny saturday afternoon. I was just out for my 4th dog walk of the day, and noticed the leaves drifting downwards from their branches. Yikes! I'm just not ready for it yet. How come winter just goes on forever, but just as i'm getting used to the balmy weather, Fall is setting in ? Nothing against fall, of course, in fact, i like it. Fall is sweater weather. I like wearing sweaters much better than i like wearing shorts. In fact, i'm generally anti-shorts, the exception being my cut-off at the knee boys levi's cords. They are true bliss and the time we spend together is far too brief. However, sweaters. the right kind of sweaters, are like wearing a blanket out in public....sigh! Random musings, i realize, but this is the kind of day that makes me feel that way....kind of sentimental, or something.

Did you ever wish you could have a soundtrack to your days? You know, with the exact right music playing in the background at the exact proper moment? I'm getting it right now. There is someone playing the saxophone over in the Commons, which makes for an odd soundtrack for the ultimate frisbee tournie that is currently underway, but fits in beautifully with my state-of mind. Not hard core, soul-groovin' saxophone...more like saxophone lite. I actually wrote "lite" like that to emphasize a point - normally, i eschew such ridiculous bastardization of the English language, but the "lite" was to imply that it what i am hearing has that "easy listening/adult contemporary" feel to it. Bordering on Kenny G., but just far enough away to make it the right thing to be drifting in through my open windows on a saturday afternoon, y'know?

Last night, Poppy and I were walking down to check out the Buskers Festival, and spotted these two guys sitting on the wall across the street from the Black Market. They were both holding ridiculous signs, one of which read "sparajuana"? and the other read "Ladies - will trade sperm for pot." Isn't that a scream?? Of course someone looking for a sperm donar is going to want to be inseminated by a stoner-pot head kid off the street! We thought it was so great that we made a little trade with them - i happened to have some dutch syrup-wafers in my bag (do you know the ones i mean? they're all chewy and full of syruppy goodness - kind of like a portable waffle), so i distributed them to the pot-head beggar boys in exchange for letting poppy snap their picture with their signs held up and me in the middle. It is just so awesome - i'll try to get it up here soon, i realize we've been somewhat lacking in the photo department.

I'm sorry to say that i'm going to leave you for now. There are a variety of things that i'm trying to pack into my saturday, including reading pointless magazines, cometing my kitchen sink, reading the new book i bought yesterday (The Tender Bar - ever heard of it? its a memoir...i'm trying to ease myself out of fiction in preparation for joining the real, working world starting next week), go watch Shakespeare by the Sea's final presentation of The Wizard Of Oz (i made some of the props - i want to admire my handiwork) and see Al Tuck play tonight at Ginger's. Its an ambitious schedule, i realize, but i'm an ambitious gal. See you soon!

xoxoxox Violet Petticoat

i'm just sayin', is all....

I'm going to warn my readers before they get very far into this entry: today is the day i air my various grievances...and believe me, i have plenty. I almost typed "believe you me", but as i am aware that that is not proper usage of that expression, i didn't. My friend's mom used to use it that way, and being the little grammar brat that i was, i was always tempted to correct her, however, my extremely polite upbringing did not allow for me to speak to "grown-ups" that way. I still sort of have some of that lingering within me, even though i am a "grown-up". Perhaps that is why i often turn into a verbal doormat for others. I don't want to be rude, so i let them get pissy with me, even when i'm not at fault.... hmmm....okay, enough of that stream of thought - on to the bitchfest of aujourd'hui.

Several minor problems that have to be dealt with right away, all involving vehicles...well, my vehicle, the very same one that was broken into last week. I realized today that my Bright Eyes album is missing, as is a recent Jolie Holland cd that i have had the opportunity to listen to twice. fuck. After that little incident, more trouble has ensued. The day before yesterday, as i was driving home (and why was i even driving? i usually walk here, but had an appointment at the bank and had to dress up in somewhat "responsible memeber of society" clothing, and chose to take my car as my "responsible person" shoes just aren't as comfortable as my "i'm a slacker and don't care if i look like an irish washer-woman" shoes) from the very cafe at which i wrote the last bloggery, i got into a car accident. It was minor really, the typical "fender bender"..i think i hate that expression and i want to do away with it forever. I need a replacement though...i wonder if it has to rhyme? No matter what you want to call it, it doesn't change the cold, hard fact that i rear-ended someone (ooooo! "rear-ended"! if that doesn't belong on the list of "words that sound dirty but actually aren't" then i don't know my pseudo-dirty words).

AND THEN....today, whn i got up to walk my dog, my neighbor smiled at me, pointed at my car and said "You got a ticket there on your windshield.". Why did he smile about that?? A street-cleaning ticket is nothing to smile about! I even moved my car before i went out last night, but i thought it was wednesday and i moved it to the wrong side of the fucking street! Shit.

Okay, those are the small petty complaints of the day, but i had to get rid of them so i could move on to what i really want to say. i think i'll change colour too, just to keep things interesting. (i'm nothing if not considerate of others)

How's this? Mauve? Thistle? Whatever you want to call it, i think it makes a lovely contrast to the sage green from above and thus i'll continue with it.

Lately, I've been having a problem with long drawn-out flirtations (on various levels - remember the "have your cake and eat it too" bloggery from a few months back?) that seem to come to an abrupt halt with the admission of "my girlfriend...". The usage of "my girlfriend" doesn't come out early in conversation. No, no, no. It usually weasles its way into things in the form of the subtle slip-in. Allow me to demonstrate:
~(after several 20 minute conversations in 3 chance encounters in 1 week) "Oh really? My girlfriend's sister really likes that book too." ???????

~(after being bought a beer, asked what our plans for the evening were, asked if i'd seen such and such a movie,etc.) "Yesah, my girlfriend really loves Woody Allen's movies as well."

All of this leads me to question my ability to read people. Is it because i was involved in a long-term relationship and now that i'm free and out in the world again, i have somehow lost touch with the social cues and norms of casual society chit-chat? Poppy and i were talking about it last night, and she says that the older she gets, the more she finds men and women to be the same. She has remarked that she knows women have always hit on her (men as well, but that goes with out saying - Poppy is pretty hot in that pouty-lipped Bridget Bardot kind of way), but she could never tell exactly when someone was being friendly or if they were flirting with intent.

The "flirting with or without intent" dilemma really needs to be addressed, especially for the socially clueless, like myself. People generally wear wedding rings as the age -old symbol of
a) fildelity b) continuity (may the circle be unbroken, etc.) and also c) to show that they are the property of someone else (but i think anthropologially speaking, that is just in the case of women). Thus, a ring on someone's finger generally suggests (at least for us somewhat morally responsible folks) that these are not the people to whom one should direct their flirting with intent. So, here is my proposal: there should be some kind of sign, marking, piercing, tattoo, sign on the godamn forehead, badge, button, pin, keychain....etc., that must be worn by those who are flirting without intent because they have nice little honey waiting home for them, warming up their bed. At least then people won't be caught off guard when the object of your flirtation slips in the subtle "my girlfriend/my boyfriend."

WHEW! i sure am glad to get that out there. We have a little photo-shoot planned for this weekend. prepare thyself for some fun, fun, fun......

mysteries and musings

I've solved one mystery but have dug up a few more questions in the meantime. The public "out-ing" of my SSP self and real-life self from last week has been resolved, more or less. Through a chance encounter late at night in the middle of a field full of people who had been consuming various substances for 24 hours, someone 'fessed up that they tipped off the random individual who asked about my involvement with the SSPs on the patio of one of our favorite haunts that fateful night....ooooo "fateful night" - doen't that sounds dramatic. The night wasn't really all that fateful, actually. I suffered the embarassment of stuttering with shock when confronted with my alter-ego, left the premises shortly therafter, puzzled about it aloud to the only person in that group of friends who is aware of the SSPs, and then we all played pool in a smokey basement bar. i suck at pool. i got my ass whopped(whupped? whooped?). Does that make it a fateful night? I doubt it. Although, i have been rethinking the writing of this bloggery ever since.
The culprit (he who told one of his beer drinking companions to ask me about the SSPs and have me freaking out about it for a week), was a part of the original "Poppy and Violet" night, so i guess perhaps he had a small involvement with the creation of the SSP's alter-egos (involvement in the sense that the evolution of Poppy and Violet came about as we played up a pack of lies to said individual and friends). But when the mystery was solved several nights ago, although i was relieved that i hadn't actually been recognized by a random person (strictly for professional reasons, of course), i have started to question several things.

By putting so much "out there" (out there being on public display via the internet, i suppose), am i actually liberating as aspect of my personality, or am i presenting an inaccurate portrait of myself for those who know me in real-life (or meet me after reading all of my musings)?
I realize that this is all becoming very "dear diary"-ish introspective bullshit, blah, blah, blah, but seriously, will what started off as a bit of fun between roomates looking to spice up a dreary February become something of my demise? Its not that the stories you've been reading are false - au contraire my friends, they are all the real deal. BUT, they are nothing out of the ordinary, i don't think. Shit like this ("this" refers to entires 1 through 25 or however many times i've put my fingers to the keyboard since the hatching of this little project) happens to people all the time - much of it is just snippets of conversation that tend to have sexual content..but, doesn't everyone have conversations like that with their friends? Have i crossed the proverbial line?

I'm pretty sure that i'm no more of a sexual deviant than the majority of the population (excluding the religious fanatics and people under the age of 14 and over the age of...um...75? i'm not sure when you stop thinking about sex or sexually related issues, but i like to think that my grandmother's biggest concern in life is the shade of her lipstick and when the next Danielle Steele novel is coming out). Its just that i say whatever comes to mind... or in this case, i type it.

is it bad karma to ill-wish someone who done you wrong?

This post has nothing to do with the usual stuff, however, i feel like issuing a warning to anyone living in my general vicinity of the north(ish) end of halifax: SOME FUCKING ASSHOLE BROKE INTO MY CAR LAST NIGHT AND STOLE MY CDS! fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck them!!!!!!! Also a casualty: my wicked cool headphones, the disappearance of which pissed me off even more than the CDs. My only consolation: half the CD cases swiped from my glove compartment were empty, their contents safely stowed in a CD wallet currently in my living room. If i had magical powers, i would send that bastard a nasty case of boils, hives and a really, really bad cold, along with an infestation of fruit flies and ants..and maybe some other vermin as well..mice..yeah, mice. Take that, CD thief.

I wonder how many times the average person has their car broken into over the course of their lifetime? This is my third. Does that mean I have bad "car karma"? I know, I know, I could be taking the "pollyanna" forgiveness route here and say something like "Well, not everyone can afford a car, and maybe whoever took my stuff is so hard up that they needed to steal my things so they could sell them and buy a meal...", but i just can't do that. I can barely afford a car myself and i certainly can't afford to go out and replace all the stolen stuff. Forgiveness does not come easy in such situations. I hope the culprit trips up on their way into the second hand CD store to hawk my stuff and falls flat on their face into a pile of dog shit.

the notorious SSP

I've been "outed". While having drinks on a patio and playing random trivia games with friends on Saturday night, someone from another table looked up at me as i passed by on my way inside and asked "Are you a member fo the Slipshod Petticoats?". I was shocked. I didn't know what to say. I believe i replied "Why would you ask me that?" or something equally inane and stupid. He said that he thought he recognized me. "Even without the wig?" i joked, still incredulous and dumbfounded. He told me i had "distinctive features" - whatever that means. I couldn't get anyting else out of him, although one of his companions did offer up this useless piece of info "This is a small city..." - YOU DON'T FUCKING SAY!!!!

I've been racking my brains and the best i can come up with is that one of the trivia questions that come up was "In the movie 'The Graduate' , what was Mrs. Robinson's first name?" and although i'm not sure what her name was, i'm quite sure it is not the same as mine, despite the fact that mine was put out there for an answer. The conversation then turned to 21 year-olds (previously dealt with on this site) and several other potentially incriminating conversations - if one is an avid reader of our bloggeries. But maybe this is pretty weak speculation. Maybe i got drunk one night and handed the guy one of our "business cards" - ( a cocktail napkin or coaster with our address scribbled on it and reference to one of our posts), but i don't remember doing that and only several times in my entire life have i been intoxicated to the point of not remembering things...and the majority of those scattered few occurred when i was underage.

I'm not sure if i'm ready for notoriety of any kind. I enjoy my bloggery contributions, and it has been a lovely opportunity to bring out the closet exhibitionist in me, but being recognized as one of the writers of said bloggery is not going to assist me in my new job, which starts in several weeks. There are certain career paths that can be helped, or at the very least, not hindered by publishing one's sexual musings and adventures for all the world to see, but sadly, mine is not one of them. I'm pretty darn sure it would be frowned upon...to put it mildly. I'm not sure what to do.... could this be the end of the SSPs? Perhaps i'll have to start over under a new name and be a little bit more discreet about it all. But, if i do that, how long will it take for a new audience to build up? I mean, we're not the New Yorker or anything, but its nice to know that someone is following our misadventures..... what do you think about all of this? Am i being unnecccessarily paranoid just because one person called me on my alter-ego?

dog walking adventures

So, there's this guy who lives in my neighborhood whom i often see when i walk my dog. I have a slightly out-of-the-ordinary breed of dog, thus many people stop to pat him and ask me questions about him. This guy is among those people. After stopping several times to pat my dog over a week or so, he asked my name, told me his and invited me to sit on his front step with his friends. I like friendly people, but am not terribly comfortable hanging out on the front stoop of a house full of strangers. I thanked him for his offer, indicated my dog was out for a walk and did not wanted to sit on someone's step (this was a rather blatant lie - i am the proud owner of the laziest dog in the world, a dog who would have been quite happy to sit on the steps of a stranger's house). This is all rather unremarkable, i realize, but i am gradually getting to the point.

Yesterday, I saw the guy twice - in the morning, on his way to work, he passed by while i was ...yup, you guessed it, walking my dog (i have only recently acquired said dog - that is why he hasn't come up in previous bloggeries). We exchanged the usual pleasantries and he went on his way. Later on, when i was..walking my dog - again, i passed by his steps, he actually crossed the street to pat my dog and chat. He then said that we should "hang out sometime - get a coffee of something like that...". I was a bit taken off guard, thus i noddded and smiled and said that i was sure i'd see him around and we could decide then. I was hoping to put him off a little. While he seems like a nice, non-threatening individual, i am a bit leery of agreeing to "have coffee" with male strangers, not knowing exactly what they are getting at. Its true that i am seldom at a loss for words, and am known to be fairly entertaining,but i have to wonder if he is interested in something beyond conversation...y'know - a somewhat romantic interest. I am not really feeling much like romantic encounters with strangers that i am not particularily atttracted to.

But today, when i saw him on his way to work while i was...yes, yes, yes, i was walking my dog again, he whipped out a pen and asked for my number. And i gave it to him. Why? I am not sure. He's nice, i suppose...i'm not all that good at refusing in such situations. He isn't creepy or slimey...that i can tell at this point. He does, however, live in a frat house sort-of environment, with other recently graduated boys, all of whom like to sit on their steps and smoke pot, and watch the girls go by...walking their dogs.

While i am entirely prepared to tell perfect strangers all about my dog, i should better prepare myself not to tell them my name, or give out my number. Does that make me an unfriendly person? I hope not. I pride myself on being friendly and courteous. I would probably give my number out to someone to whom i was attracted...but those boys never seem to come up to pat my dog. Perhaps they are (i shudder to think...) ...cat people.