...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"
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Friday, October 20, 2006
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
xoxox violet
Sunday, September 17, 2006
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
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
Monday, September 04, 2006
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....
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....
Sunday, August 27, 2006
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
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
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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?
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?
Saturday, August 19, 2006
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
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
Friday, August 11, 2006
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......
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......
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, July 31, 2006
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?
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?
Friday, July 28, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, July 24, 2006
sex-ish etiquette
Today we are going to talk about etiquette, in sex-ish situations. "Sex-ish", I have decided, refers to scenarios that are somehow related to sex, sexual behaviour or sexual politics. Onward to the first of several queries...
Several nights ago, whislt partying with friends and happily shaking my booty on the dance floor to a fanfuckingtastic funk/pop/punk/electronic group that passed through town this weekend, a male friend-of-a-friend began grinding into me from behind and letting his hands wander freely. This attention was unwanted and uninvited. The dance floor was really far too crowded for me to explain in a friendly sort of way that I found his behaviour highly inappropriate, so I just left. Needless to say, it put a bit of a damper on my evening. Our paths cross frequently in our social circle, so I will inevitably see him again. I've been asking myself if I should just let it go. I hate being the strident, pain-in-the-ass friend who makes a big deal out of everything. This individual wasn't making me feel threatened, just annoyed. I wonder if he noticed my abrupt departure and made the connection? The answer, unfortunately, is proabably not. If someone is boorish enough to take the liberties of running his hands over my body as if he were tasting the ripeness of fruit, he probably isn't astute enough to know he caused me to miss the second set of aforementioned band.
I somewhat sheepishly explained the occurance to a common friend several days later. He thought that I should have come out with it at the time, and is probably right. But I think that what made me feel even stranger about the whole thing is that now, i am questioning my own behaviour. Not in that "did I deserve it?" kind of way - because NOBODY deserves unwanted sexual attention, but, by dressing provocatively, sporting a wig and red lips, did I issue an open invitation? Did he misinterpret my dancing from "I'm happily shaking my hips and feeling liberated in my little black dress without underwear" to "come hither and test the goods"?
***We interrupt this bloggery to attempt posting as i am on shitty (but free!) dial-up that tends to cut out on me......more etiquette issues later on this evening
shit, its dark out there for mid-afternoon. also, i am out of grape kool-aid.
THE NEXT DAY........
Continuing on from yesterday...was that yesterday? One of the many beautiful things about summer time - it all sort of blends together...
So, the other "sex-ish" situation: As I was walking down a busy street on Saturday morning (post illegal feel-up Friday), I practically ran into the 21 year old from several weeks back. I didn't know what to do! I suppose I could have been mature and said "hi!", but I was afraid he might want to chat a bit and I wasn't entirely certain if I would get his name right...Yikes! That sounds terrible! I'm sure we all have those nights occasionally, right? I had a boyfriend in grade 7 who called me a derivitive of my actual name the whole 2 weeks we went out, so really, a brief flirtation and a mediocre fuck does not neccessarily make someone's name stick in your head - right? Gosh, i really am looking for some justification here. I sure hope someone out there comes through for me...
Being that i didn't take the mature route, can you guess what i actually did? I averted my gaze behind my enormous sunglasses, and prayed that he wouldn't recognize me with my recently changed hair colour. I held my breath (as if not breathing would make me invisible) and we both passed, like two ships in the night (was that proper usage of that expression? i SO wanted to use it, but i'm not sure if it feels right). Well, now that we know what I should have done, and what i actually did, how about a third option? What i could have done. Had i mentioned before that he left his gap boxers on my bedroom floor? Yup, he did. And i threw 'em in the dishcloth wash and then proceeded to use them to shine my bathroom mirror and then to clean the outside of the toilet. Not to be mean or anything, just because they were made of a nice cotton that works well for polishing mirrors. So, i could have said "Hey! Do you want your undies back? I used them to clean my toilet yesterday, but i'm sure they'd be perfectly servicable again once you throw 'em in the wash....."
Its probably a good thing that i'm not an advice columnist.....
Several nights ago, whislt partying with friends and happily shaking my booty on the dance floor to a fanfuckingtastic funk/pop/punk/electronic group that passed through town this weekend, a male friend-of-a-friend began grinding into me from behind and letting his hands wander freely. This attention was unwanted and uninvited. The dance floor was really far too crowded for me to explain in a friendly sort of way that I found his behaviour highly inappropriate, so I just left. Needless to say, it put a bit of a damper on my evening. Our paths cross frequently in our social circle, so I will inevitably see him again. I've been asking myself if I should just let it go. I hate being the strident, pain-in-the-ass friend who makes a big deal out of everything. This individual wasn't making me feel threatened, just annoyed. I wonder if he noticed my abrupt departure and made the connection? The answer, unfortunately, is proabably not. If someone is boorish enough to take the liberties of running his hands over my body as if he were tasting the ripeness of fruit, he probably isn't astute enough to know he caused me to miss the second set of aforementioned band.
I somewhat sheepishly explained the occurance to a common friend several days later. He thought that I should have come out with it at the time, and is probably right. But I think that what made me feel even stranger about the whole thing is that now, i am questioning my own behaviour. Not in that "did I deserve it?" kind of way - because NOBODY deserves unwanted sexual attention, but, by dressing provocatively, sporting a wig and red lips, did I issue an open invitation? Did he misinterpret my dancing from "I'm happily shaking my hips and feeling liberated in my little black dress without underwear" to "come hither and test the goods"?
***We interrupt this bloggery to attempt posting as i am on shitty (but free!) dial-up that tends to cut out on me......more etiquette issues later on this evening
shit, its dark out there for mid-afternoon. also, i am out of grape kool-aid.
THE NEXT DAY........
Continuing on from yesterday...was that yesterday? One of the many beautiful things about summer time - it all sort of blends together...
So, the other "sex-ish" situation: As I was walking down a busy street on Saturday morning (post illegal feel-up Friday), I practically ran into the 21 year old from several weeks back. I didn't know what to do! I suppose I could have been mature and said "hi!", but I was afraid he might want to chat a bit and I wasn't entirely certain if I would get his name right...Yikes! That sounds terrible! I'm sure we all have those nights occasionally, right? I had a boyfriend in grade 7 who called me a derivitive of my actual name the whole 2 weeks we went out, so really, a brief flirtation and a mediocre fuck does not neccessarily make someone's name stick in your head - right? Gosh, i really am looking for some justification here. I sure hope someone out there comes through for me...
Being that i didn't take the mature route, can you guess what i actually did? I averted my gaze behind my enormous sunglasses, and prayed that he wouldn't recognize me with my recently changed hair colour. I held my breath (as if not breathing would make me invisible) and we both passed, like two ships in the night (was that proper usage of that expression? i SO wanted to use it, but i'm not sure if it feels right). Well, now that we know what I should have done, and what i actually did, how about a third option? What i could have done. Had i mentioned before that he left his gap boxers on my bedroom floor? Yup, he did. And i threw 'em in the dishcloth wash and then proceeded to use them to shine my bathroom mirror and then to clean the outside of the toilet. Not to be mean or anything, just because they were made of a nice cotton that works well for polishing mirrors. So, i could have said "Hey! Do you want your undies back? I used them to clean my toilet yesterday, but i'm sure they'd be perfectly servicable again once you throw 'em in the wash....."
Its probably a good thing that i'm not an advice columnist.....
Sunday, July 16, 2006
aw shucks...
Do you know what i really find to be a curious (for lack of a better word...perhaps instead i could substitute puzzling or even perplexing) idea? The notion that one can proclaim themselves (or be proclaimed by another) as "good in bed". I think really that can only be determined on a case by case basis. In a longer-term sexual relationship (let's define longer term as a situation on which 2 individuals have repeated sexual encounters over any period of time longer than a weekend), there are ups and there are downs. Sometimes that sex will be fabulous and other times, it will be lame (and yes, lame sex does exist - i've already debunked the "sex is like pizza" theory on a previous posting, but for those of you who haven't been following, i'll reiterate: many years ago, a friend of mine, in trying to convince me to sleep with him (my excuse was that if i was bad in bed, our friendship would never be the same again), said; "Sex is like pizza - even when it is bad, its still good." LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE! Bad sex is when the sex is boring, when i'm so disinterested that i can't even focus myself enough to orgasm, because i'm too busy wondering when it will be over so that i can change the laundry in the washer over to the dryer, or what i'm going to eat for breakfast the next day, etc. ..... bit of a tangent there, but i wanted to ensure that we were all on the same page, more or less. Where was i? oh! right....longer term sexual relationships. So, if you get to sleep with someone on a regular basis, you can decide if they are "good in bed" - for you. Someone can be good in bed for one person, but not at all for someone else. At least if it is an ongoing thing, variables that might affect a person's...ahem..performance..can be taken into consideration.
I've certainly had my share of less-then-stellar sexual performances for one reason or another. I was in a relationship that should have ended a year before it did, and by the end of it, i practically hated him, thus the sex was so horrific, that i pretty much lost my taste for, as it were. I compared it drinking too much of a specific type of alcohol and getting violently ill from it, thus never, ever being able to drink it again without feeling nauseous. For me, it was tequila. One silly night in my early 20s, trying to prove that i wasn't a "girly girl", i took on a dare, involving straight-up shots of tequila (no lemon, no salt, no chasers). I threw up for 3 days afterwards, lost my boyfriend of the time (by telling him off repeated in a tequila -induced slur when he suggested that i might want to get in a cab and go home - "You do'n own me, ya basthard...d'ya thinkya own me?") but did actually date the other participant in the tequila shooting contest for a brief period shortly thereafter...
I was a bartender all through university and everytime i had to pour a shot of tequila, or make a margarita, i nearly 'chucked. And that, my friends, is how i was feeling about heading back out into the sexual world - until fairly recently...several months back...in fact, shortly after we started writing this bloggery. I guess that is more evidence for my realisation of my exhibitionist tendencies.
I used to think i was "good in bed" - i had certainly had some pretty hot sex over the years. But the last little while, i had started to question that claim. Now, however, i feel as though i can say, with cetainty, that i am good in bed...or at least i was this weekend. At least that's what i've been told....aw shucks! i'm blushing!
I've certainly had my share of less-then-stellar sexual performances for one reason or another. I was in a relationship that should have ended a year before it did, and by the end of it, i practically hated him, thus the sex was so horrific, that i pretty much lost my taste for, as it were. I compared it drinking too much of a specific type of alcohol and getting violently ill from it, thus never, ever being able to drink it again without feeling nauseous. For me, it was tequila. One silly night in my early 20s, trying to prove that i wasn't a "girly girl", i took on a dare, involving straight-up shots of tequila (no lemon, no salt, no chasers). I threw up for 3 days afterwards, lost my boyfriend of the time (by telling him off repeated in a tequila -induced slur when he suggested that i might want to get in a cab and go home - "You do'n own me, ya basthard...d'ya thinkya own me?") but did actually date the other participant in the tequila shooting contest for a brief period shortly thereafter...
I was a bartender all through university and everytime i had to pour a shot of tequila, or make a margarita, i nearly 'chucked. And that, my friends, is how i was feeling about heading back out into the sexual world - until fairly recently...several months back...in fact, shortly after we started writing this bloggery. I guess that is more evidence for my realisation of my exhibitionist tendencies.
I used to think i was "good in bed" - i had certainly had some pretty hot sex over the years. But the last little while, i had started to question that claim. Now, however, i feel as though i can say, with cetainty, that i am good in bed...or at least i was this weekend. At least that's what i've been told....aw shucks! i'm blushing!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
is time really on your side?
This is going to be brief, as i am on vacation and writing on a borrowed computer, the owner of which probably wouldn't be really pleased to read the contents of this blog (and seeing how he's my dad, i can't say i'd blame...i'm all for shock value, but there are lines that must be drawn occasionally). Sorry for the lack of visual titallation as of late, but that problem will be looked after when i return to my adopted home town (and thus my own laptop) on the weekend.
I have come to the conclusion, that when it comes to sex, there is in fact an expiration time - unless of course you're really into it, in which case you are ready to go at any time, in any place, for as long as you can possibly sustain it, until the friction burns become too painful. However, if it is just sex for the sake of getting laid - enjoyable and certainly necessary - timing is key.
Last night, i almost blurted out the words "he who hesitates is lost, dammit!", because, well, i just wanted him to get on with it. Foreplay is lovely, but once it goes on beyond a certain point, the casual fuck becomes "making love" - and that is not always the objective..in fact, call me a cold-hearted bitch, but it is seldom my objective. i have a limit to the amount of foreplay i can handle - i don't need much, generally, especially when the aforementioned "casual fuck" is the goal of the evening. Anyone with a clue and a bit of style can slip seamlessly from "heavy petting" (god, i hate that term - but in such a way that i wanted to gross myself out by sliding it in there), to hot sex. Let's face it, if you wait too long, the hot sex becomes tepid sex and if you really wait to long, the steamy, ragged breath, the quivering, willing body, and most importantly, the perfectly tuned-in mind, can start to wane a little...as in "shit, this bed is uncomfortable...i have a cramp in my lower left calf...did i pay my phone bill yet this month?" and so on and so forth. Time is not on your side boys - get in there and do your job. Some of us, it would appear, have sexual attention deficit disorder....is there any medication for that, i wonder?
I have come to the conclusion, that when it comes to sex, there is in fact an expiration time - unless of course you're really into it, in which case you are ready to go at any time, in any place, for as long as you can possibly sustain it, until the friction burns become too painful. However, if it is just sex for the sake of getting laid - enjoyable and certainly necessary - timing is key.
Last night, i almost blurted out the words "he who hesitates is lost, dammit!", because, well, i just wanted him to get on with it. Foreplay is lovely, but once it goes on beyond a certain point, the casual fuck becomes "making love" - and that is not always the objective..in fact, call me a cold-hearted bitch, but it is seldom my objective. i have a limit to the amount of foreplay i can handle - i don't need much, generally, especially when the aforementioned "casual fuck" is the goal of the evening. Anyone with a clue and a bit of style can slip seamlessly from "heavy petting" (god, i hate that term - but in such a way that i wanted to gross myself out by sliding it in there), to hot sex. Let's face it, if you wait too long, the hot sex becomes tepid sex and if you really wait to long, the steamy, ragged breath, the quivering, willing body, and most importantly, the perfectly tuned-in mind, can start to wane a little...as in "shit, this bed is uncomfortable...i have a cramp in my lower left calf...did i pay my phone bill yet this month?" and so on and so forth. Time is not on your side boys - get in there and do your job. Some of us, it would appear, have sexual attention deficit disorder....is there any medication for that, i wonder?
Saturday, June 24, 2006
opportunity knocked, and i answered the door..wearing a skimpy negligee and holding a martini in my hot little hand...
I've recently been enlightened as to why i've always enjoyed older men.
If you've have followed the writings of the SSPs for the past few weeks, you might have noticed that our topics of interest have had something of a common thread - specifically, younger men. I guess with a birthday looming just around the corner, and having exited a fairly long stint of monogamy a few months back, i've just developed this insatiable curiosity to "sample the goods", as it were. So, when i found myself at a bar that i would never usually find myself at (a friend's birthday- her choice) and found myself acting in ways i do not normally act (speaker dancing), i also found that opportunity knocked...and how could i not answer the door?
And what, dear readers, can i tell you about this encounter? Well, it's been a long time since i made out with someone in a bar, pressed up against a wall, oblivious to the disgusted stares of strangers. So intense we were in our pawing and groping, that i failed to notice he had inched my dress up my thighs, thereby exposing my...lacy black boy-cuts (underwear specifically reserved for semi-see-through frocks such as the one that now lies in a heap on my bedroom floor, torn off in a fit of...i won't say passion, because i believe passion generally comes when you have had more than a passing conversation with someone prior to fucking them, but if we call it good old-fashioned randiness, that'd be right on the money).
Regarding my new-found interest in those born in the 8os, a friend of mine recently said "Those young'uns will show a lot of stamina, but i imagine you might have to instruct them a little bit in what you need them to do...". At the time, i thought "Who cares? I'm up for it - stamina sounds great. Sex all night long sounds great. Hot, young, eager men...sounds great." But, you know what? He was right. While last night sure was good for kicks, i don't think that boy would know a clitoris if it jumped up and bit him. And speaking of bites, you should see the teeth-marks all over my body! I guess maybe their teeth wear down a bit as they get older...not so sharp. And, i guess the slightly older man has probably had a slightly older woman at some point show him some of the finer points of hot sex. Last night,I too, did my duty as the slightly older woman: "Slide your hand this way...no, this way..good...yup...right there...now go like this with your tongue..yeah...ummmhmmmm....ooohhhh....sigh.....yes. Yes. YES.
If you've have followed the writings of the SSPs for the past few weeks, you might have noticed that our topics of interest have had something of a common thread - specifically, younger men. I guess with a birthday looming just around the corner, and having exited a fairly long stint of monogamy a few months back, i've just developed this insatiable curiosity to "sample the goods", as it were. So, when i found myself at a bar that i would never usually find myself at (a friend's birthday- her choice) and found myself acting in ways i do not normally act (speaker dancing), i also found that opportunity knocked...and how could i not answer the door?
And what, dear readers, can i tell you about this encounter? Well, it's been a long time since i made out with someone in a bar, pressed up against a wall, oblivious to the disgusted stares of strangers. So intense we were in our pawing and groping, that i failed to notice he had inched my dress up my thighs, thereby exposing my...lacy black boy-cuts (underwear specifically reserved for semi-see-through frocks such as the one that now lies in a heap on my bedroom floor, torn off in a fit of...i won't say passion, because i believe passion generally comes when you have had more than a passing conversation with someone prior to fucking them, but if we call it good old-fashioned randiness, that'd be right on the money).
Regarding my new-found interest in those born in the 8os, a friend of mine recently said "Those young'uns will show a lot of stamina, but i imagine you might have to instruct them a little bit in what you need them to do...". At the time, i thought "Who cares? I'm up for it - stamina sounds great. Sex all night long sounds great. Hot, young, eager men...sounds great." But, you know what? He was right. While last night sure was good for kicks, i don't think that boy would know a clitoris if it jumped up and bit him. And speaking of bites, you should see the teeth-marks all over my body! I guess maybe their teeth wear down a bit as they get older...not so sharp. And, i guess the slightly older man has probably had a slightly older woman at some point show him some of the finer points of hot sex. Last night,I too, did my duty as the slightly older woman: "Slide your hand this way...no, this way..good...yup...right there...now go like this with your tongue..yeah...ummmhmmmm....ooohhhh....sigh.....yes. Yes. YES.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
the rug doesn't match the drapes
The SSPs are having a productive, yet bizarre week, in the romance department. I know what you're thinking: "Who gives a fuck about the romantic shit - we come here to read about HOT SEX!" - and hot sex you will get, dear readers. But first you need to hear about the weirdos that we seem to draw in, like wasps to honey on a hot summer's day...
Last night, we were hit on by the same guy - at the same time. It was very much a fishing expedition - he didn't seem to care which one of us took the bait (and i'm quite sure he would happily have taken both, if the opportunity presented itself...which it didn't). Here are some tips for the pick-up line challenged amongst you:
1.) Never start off a conversation by saying "i like older women", in reference to a woman who is still in her 20s. I know i gave that whole "Mrs. Robinson" idea a whirl a few postings back, but it has to be ON MY TERMS - not coming from some pain-in-the-ass 22 year old so-called stand-up comedian.
2.) Don't assume that your reputation preceeds you - you are not in high school anymore, for fuck's sake. (i.e. "Well, all the girls say i'm great in the sack...". ..gross.)
3.) Don't make creepy fetish-oriented comments until you know that you are "in like flynn", as they say (who is this famous "Flynn" character anyway? where do these silly expressions come from?)
I am describing one particular situation here, and doing a brief analysis of why this guy did not have a chance in HELL of earning an invite back to Slipshod Manor. As a matter of fact, he didn't even merit the SSP's bloggery site address. (note to those who were passed a scrap of paper with a baffling question and our URL on it - its because we deemed you worthy of reading our inner most thoughts...and perhaps because we wrote about you in a semi-veiled way that we decided direct you here).
Getting back to the fetish-ist comments: last night, i was wearing a strand of pearls. i like the "naughty '50s housewife" look every now and then. This same lame-ass 22 year old actually had the gall to reach out and TOUCH MY PEARLS and say "i'd be making a pearl noose out of these later if you let me." ????????? Lookit (isn't that such a great expression? my mother used to get pissy with me for using it - "bad grammar"), i am not letting you anywhere near me or my pearls at any point, so get those lame-o ideas that you wouldn't have the balls to carry off in the first place out of your pea-brained head.
I'd like to point out that anyone who really has a good idea for me and my pearls, but enough sense keep it to yourself until the time is right (i.e. at least some indication of interest from me..and some indication that you're not full of shit when you make statements such as that), i'll not only wear the pearls, but i'll throw on my garter belt, heels and an apron as well - and some bright red lipstick for good measure.
And how could i forget the highlight of last evening's conversation? He looked at me said "You know what they say about red heads?" (what a stupid thing to say to a redhead!! anyone with any distinctive feature knows what they say about whatever distinctive feature that person has! We've heard it all before. But, i gave him a blank look anyway... and he (ever so creatively) said "They have more fun than blondes.." - ??? I told him that i wasn't so sure - i had plenty of fun as a blonde - hinting at the fact that my red hair is slightly "assisted". And at this point, we reached the crowning moment of the conversation, as he said (while staring lavaciously at my skirt) "You mean the rug doesn't match the drapes?". In other circumstances, i would have lifted my skirt so he could check for himself, but he was hardly worthy of the exposing my bare ass to the air-conditioning in the bar. That's when Poppy and i walked away....holding hands and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, just so he could see what could have been...if he hadn't been so useless.
Live and learn. Today's lesson: don't be such a skill-less pick-up artist. or quite simply: don't be such a moron.
*a quick plea for help from anyone with technological inclinations: we've got some great pictures that we've been trying to put up but the normal method is not working. anyone out there who is familiar with this bloggery format and has some helpful hints, please contact us...xoxoxoxo *
Last night, we were hit on by the same guy - at the same time. It was very much a fishing expedition - he didn't seem to care which one of us took the bait (and i'm quite sure he would happily have taken both, if the opportunity presented itself...which it didn't). Here are some tips for the pick-up line challenged amongst you:
1.) Never start off a conversation by saying "i like older women", in reference to a woman who is still in her 20s. I know i gave that whole "Mrs. Robinson" idea a whirl a few postings back, but it has to be ON MY TERMS - not coming from some pain-in-the-ass 22 year old so-called stand-up comedian.
2.) Don't assume that your reputation preceeds you - you are not in high school anymore, for fuck's sake. (i.e. "Well, all the girls say i'm great in the sack...". ..gross.)
3.) Don't make creepy fetish-oriented comments until you know that you are "in like flynn", as they say (who is this famous "Flynn" character anyway? where do these silly expressions come from?)
I am describing one particular situation here, and doing a brief analysis of why this guy did not have a chance in HELL of earning an invite back to Slipshod Manor. As a matter of fact, he didn't even merit the SSP's bloggery site address. (note to those who were passed a scrap of paper with a baffling question and our URL on it - its because we deemed you worthy of reading our inner most thoughts...and perhaps because we wrote about you in a semi-veiled way that we decided direct you here).
Getting back to the fetish-ist comments: last night, i was wearing a strand of pearls. i like the "naughty '50s housewife" look every now and then. This same lame-ass 22 year old actually had the gall to reach out and TOUCH MY PEARLS and say "i'd be making a pearl noose out of these later if you let me." ????????? Lookit (isn't that such a great expression? my mother used to get pissy with me for using it - "bad grammar"), i am not letting you anywhere near me or my pearls at any point, so get those lame-o ideas that you wouldn't have the balls to carry off in the first place out of your pea-brained head.
I'd like to point out that anyone who really has a good idea for me and my pearls, but enough sense keep it to yourself until the time is right (i.e. at least some indication of interest from me..and some indication that you're not full of shit when you make statements such as that), i'll not only wear the pearls, but i'll throw on my garter belt, heels and an apron as well - and some bright red lipstick for good measure.
And how could i forget the highlight of last evening's conversation? He looked at me said "You know what they say about red heads?" (what a stupid thing to say to a redhead!! anyone with any distinctive feature knows what they say about whatever distinctive feature that person has! We've heard it all before. But, i gave him a blank look anyway... and he (ever so creatively) said "They have more fun than blondes.." - ??? I told him that i wasn't so sure - i had plenty of fun as a blonde - hinting at the fact that my red hair is slightly "assisted". And at this point, we reached the crowning moment of the conversation, as he said (while staring lavaciously at my skirt) "You mean the rug doesn't match the drapes?". In other circumstances, i would have lifted my skirt so he could check for himself, but he was hardly worthy of the exposing my bare ass to the air-conditioning in the bar. That's when Poppy and i walked away....holding hands and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, just so he could see what could have been...if he hadn't been so useless.
Live and learn. Today's lesson: don't be such a skill-less pick-up artist. or quite simply: don't be such a moron.
*a quick plea for help from anyone with technological inclinations: we've got some great pictures that we've been trying to put up but the normal method is not working. anyone out there who is familiar with this bloggery format and has some helpful hints, please contact us...xoxoxoxo *
Sunday, June 11, 2006
super 8 1/2
Last night, i met up with a friend at our local independently-owned video store. We had decided to watch a film at Slipshod Manor...but the problem with movie-viewing here is that we are not fully updated to the 21st century. We still have (GASP!) a VCR. Well, we do own a dvd player and have inherited several televisions sets from various family members, but as we generally don't watch television, the television sets have been regulated to the back of closets, and since they're not easily accessible, our dvd player is also shelved somewhere. Now, i suppose we could make a small effort and go buy the necessary cords to hook one thing up with another, maybe even purchase a set of rabbit ears so that we could have 3 stations, but my limited income has other uses for now...
...back to the video store. Apparently, most of the city has bought into the technological conspiracy of dvds and the vhs section is quite limited. Another interesting (and relevant) piece of information is that in a three story video store, the vhs tapes have been stuck in the basement, taking up one wall and one middle of the room-stand-thing (does it have an actual name? y'know, those free-standing display racks in the middle of the movie store?)..and along that same wall, is the door that leads into the XXX-Room.
**Disclaimer** I am not in any way, shape or form taking any kind of tone in my voice while i am writing about porn movies. If it is your thing, please don't get your hackles up about the following anecdote. I prefer my titillation in the written form, with a few artful erotic photos thrown in on the side. Watching someone else get it on makes me feel weird, but again, to each their own.**
Now that i've dealt with that, onto the story:
So, we rented a movie called "super 8 1/2" which (judging by the synopsis on back) to be something of a "mock-umentary" about a has-been porn director whose rise and fall has been documented by some art-film avant garde director. The comments on the back call it "the feel good movie of the year" (we'll get back to THAT later), and a variety of other positive things, including a note about a cameo appearance by Buddy Cole (any Kids in the Hall fans would recognize this name as a character created by Scott Thompson). We figured that it sounded weird (which is fabulous) and perhaps mildly erotic (again, lovely) and even a little bit funny. The perfect choice for a rainy saturday evening, to be accompanied with red wine and a joint (and a kit kat bar for later).
The film was shot in super 8 format - grainy, wobbley, distant sound, black and white with occasional colour scenes (i think..?). Interesting in that "oh aren't you so clever" kind of way. Then, a bit of girl-on-girl action in a graveyard (no problems there), a mysterious film maker who takes polaroids and keeps her sexual orientation a secret (as told to us in narration by one of the many characters), a few shots of the down-and-out XXX director in his bedroom with his two-bit hustler boyfriend laying about in their plastic bedsheets (clear plastic - like a shower curtain..my first thought was "I'll bet that really sticks to their butt cheeks"), and THEN......porn, porn, porn everywhere. I never cared to see that many blow jobs given in my life, by women or men. I saw more penis in an hour and a half then i have seen in....oh, i'll just let that one go, but suffice to say, it was overwhelming (not in the way one wants to be overwhelmed) and weird. Some of it was funny - clips of the supposed movies made by the supposed actors (film within film - i know it has a specific name - like a book within a book....framing, perhaps? i'm sure someone out there knows). My favorite was a clip called "Submit to my Finger" which was "made" by Googie (the aforementioned polaroid taker) about "two sexual outlaws" (played by the graveyard girls - who, incidentally, give a great lesson in stripping technique during their "screen test" for the mysterious, sexually ambiguous film maker) who just can't get enough action from a day at home and go out looking for trouble. They pick up a male hitchhiker and have their way with him....except their way is not the what you'd expect it to be. I was a little bit miffed to say the least, but intrigued...until one of them stuck their gun into his butt. How does one react to that? I know how i reacted - a cheek-tightening, jaw-clenching "omigod that has got to hurt!!!". Whoever called this "the feel good movie of the year" evidently has no problem with various objects being lodged in their bum. Feel good? A gun UP YOUR ASS????? i doubt it.
What else can i say about Super 8 1/2? Well, i think it might have migrated from the XXX room into the VHS section. Another ploy in the DVD conspiracy - "if only i had my dvd player hooked up, this never would have happened". But then again, i never would have learned such useful stripping technique, which i'm sure will come in handy one day.
...back to the video store. Apparently, most of the city has bought into the technological conspiracy of dvds and the vhs section is quite limited. Another interesting (and relevant) piece of information is that in a three story video store, the vhs tapes have been stuck in the basement, taking up one wall and one middle of the room-stand-thing (does it have an actual name? y'know, those free-standing display racks in the middle of the movie store?)..and along that same wall, is the door that leads into the XXX-Room.
**Disclaimer** I am not in any way, shape or form taking any kind of tone in my voice while i am writing about porn movies. If it is your thing, please don't get your hackles up about the following anecdote. I prefer my titillation in the written form, with a few artful erotic photos thrown in on the side. Watching someone else get it on makes me feel weird, but again, to each their own.**
Now that i've dealt with that, onto the story:
So, we rented a movie called "super 8 1/2" which (judging by the synopsis on back) to be something of a "mock-umentary" about a has-been porn director whose rise and fall has been documented by some art-film avant garde director. The comments on the back call it "the feel good movie of the year" (we'll get back to THAT later), and a variety of other positive things, including a note about a cameo appearance by Buddy Cole (any Kids in the Hall fans would recognize this name as a character created by Scott Thompson). We figured that it sounded weird (which is fabulous) and perhaps mildly erotic (again, lovely) and even a little bit funny. The perfect choice for a rainy saturday evening, to be accompanied with red wine and a joint (and a kit kat bar for later).
The film was shot in super 8 format - grainy, wobbley, distant sound, black and white with occasional colour scenes (i think..?). Interesting in that "oh aren't you so clever" kind of way. Then, a bit of girl-on-girl action in a graveyard (no problems there), a mysterious film maker who takes polaroids and keeps her sexual orientation a secret (as told to us in narration by one of the many characters), a few shots of the down-and-out XXX director in his bedroom with his two-bit hustler boyfriend laying about in their plastic bedsheets (clear plastic - like a shower curtain..my first thought was "I'll bet that really sticks to their butt cheeks"), and THEN......porn, porn, porn everywhere. I never cared to see that many blow jobs given in my life, by women or men. I saw more penis in an hour and a half then i have seen in....oh, i'll just let that one go, but suffice to say, it was overwhelming (not in the way one wants to be overwhelmed) and weird. Some of it was funny - clips of the supposed movies made by the supposed actors (film within film - i know it has a specific name - like a book within a book....framing, perhaps? i'm sure someone out there knows). My favorite was a clip called "Submit to my Finger" which was "made" by Googie (the aforementioned polaroid taker) about "two sexual outlaws" (played by the graveyard girls - who, incidentally, give a great lesson in stripping technique during their "screen test" for the mysterious, sexually ambiguous film maker) who just can't get enough action from a day at home and go out looking for trouble. They pick up a male hitchhiker and have their way with him....except their way is not the what you'd expect it to be. I was a little bit miffed to say the least, but intrigued...until one of them stuck their gun into his butt. How does one react to that? I know how i reacted - a cheek-tightening, jaw-clenching "omigod that has got to hurt!!!". Whoever called this "the feel good movie of the year" evidently has no problem with various objects being lodged in their bum. Feel good? A gun UP YOUR ASS????? i doubt it.
What else can i say about Super 8 1/2? Well, i think it might have migrated from the XXX room into the VHS section. Another ploy in the DVD conspiracy - "if only i had my dvd player hooked up, this never would have happened". But then again, i never would have learned such useful stripping technique, which i'm sure will come in handy one day.
Monday, June 05, 2006
take a bite
Well, we're finally taking advantage of our new diggs and have started to build our photo library (how can we expect to maintain our loyal fan base if we're only providing them with pics we found on the internet?). Violet's boudoir is shaping up nicely and is proving to be a lovely photo studio, despite concerns over the previously mentioned Jane Austen-esque esthetics. And what are two little Petticoats to do after a hot photo shoot on a rainy sunday evening? Head on over to our favorite little cigar bar, of course. And what better place to ask perfect strangers for their opinion on which photo most clearly shows the passionate pressure of the teeth marks that Poppy put on Violet's shoulder ("Harder Poppy! Bite me harder!" - FYI: Violet won't be wearing any sleeveless shirts for quite sometime, despite the approaching warm weather)?
The strangers who shared our table picked exhibit A.
Meanwhile, the two extrordinarily attractive strangers that we had been so obviously ogglingdrooingover and subliminallymessaging all evening and then finally summoned up enough boldness to ask their opinion ( "I dare you Poppy." "No - I dare YOU Violet! I took the last dare with strangers in a bar! Remember that time I tried to hook you up with that guy in that band?" "It didn't work out Poppy." "That doesn't matter- its your turn...") liked exhibit B (which was also Violet's favorite : "My fingers look so fucking hot in that picture - it is actually turning me on. Is it possible to get turned on by a picture of one's own fingers?? ). So, we posted them for you to have a look. There has been an attempt made at artistic digital things, but the very fact that Violet doesn't even know what the proper terminology is for such an operation is an indication that such things should really be left up to Poppy.
And why did we take such a ridiculous photo? We are planning on taking up the challenge of a photo scavenger hunt, as proposed over at hotaction.ca (if you're going to take a peek, make sure you get the .ca in at the end - as opposed to .com, which will take you into a slightly more pornographic site (unless of course that is what you are looking for). But before you leave us to visit hotaction.ca (or .com, si tu veux), make sure you check out our new profile picture...
On an entirely different note, the song of the day here at Slipshod Manor is Bright Eyes' Landlocked Blues. If I were more technologically inclined, i'd link it for you, but i don't know how to....sorry.
Much Love, the SSPs
Monday, May 29, 2006
$600 and all i got was this crappy tiara
I just came back from my obligatory stagette-hosting weekend in another province. Yes, that's right - i am a bridesmaid, complete with celery-green dress and all the glorious details that go with it- and, as the "official" maid of honor just had a kid two weeks ago, as sister-of-the-groom, i have to take on the unoffical maid of honor duties, including flying to another province to host the last big fling. Please remind me NEVER to have organized fun with a bunch of married girls EVER again. shit. Trying to make them loosen up was like trying to convince a nun to visit a sex store to help pick out a new vibrator.... IMPOSSIBLE. After plying them all with copious amounts of booze and then shaming them into it ("It's really unfortunate that you have become so fucking boring since you got married" - i don't piss around with what i want to say), i finally got them into the spirit of things...for a few hours. I even got them to dress up in tiaras and sashes and referred to them all as "Miss Teen [insert small town name here] 1989 and made them sing bad karaoke. I should have known what i was up against right from the beginning - the fact that i missed my flight out of halifax airport on friday morning and had to shell out $212 to buy a brand new ticket should have been an indication of impending disaster. oh well.
The whole thing was something of a learning experience though. I wonder what the percentage is of former wild women who became lame within one year of being married? I know it is a stereotype, blah, blah, blah, but i felt like i was in the middle of a bad sociology experiment nightmare. Kind of like The Stepford Wives - but these girls were going into it willingly. As far as i know, there is nobody killing them off and replacing them with android "new and improved" versions of their former selves.
I'm back now and what a fanfuckingtastic day to be back. It was so balmy here when i got off the plane, i was almost feeling comfortable with the fact that i spent enough money on that damned hen party to take myself on a little tropical vacation. On the plane back, i was actually dreaming about it - someplace hot and sunny, where i could drink mojitos and lay around on a topless beach...sigh. However, today held some promise. The other Petticoat and i took a stroll downtown to look at the mummy exhibit (only there 'til sunday - better do it while you can!) and there was something really sultry about the breeze on my bare skin. We were both feeling rather languid, in fact. i think a steamy summer might be in my future after all...
Today's picture has nothing to do with the text, but i was tired of presenting our readers with found-on-the-internet photos. And, my new bra is just too cute - it deserves to be shown off. happy monday. xoxox the SSPs
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