Yucatan Climes

Before I even embarked on my last vaca, my aloneness dangled obscene and pendulous from my neck like some critical mass anchor, stooping and bending me with its perverse catching on the merest peduncle of my angst, depression, and self-malignment. Barring that, what an extravaganza of mediocrity....

Une, jamais deux

Alone. Mostly alone. However, only sporadically lonely. The raucous clamor in my head rarely abating to allow loneliness its due. It is my state of being and when the ranters are quiet I often wonder aloud at my state but rarely does it grace me with a disclosure.

Last Resort Withdrawal

Regardless of whether your most recent vaca was an absolute ravishing orgasmic interplay of luxurious deliciousness with doves emanating from your hiney and strains of Prince languishing in the background; a festering pustule of insolence lapping at the criminality of your partner's insouciance while puking up volumes of hitherto ungravitated and unqualified alcoholic concoctions; or a mediocre holiday fraught with the perils of indifference, unmitigated lack of interest, and disrespectful of the romanticism plucking at your sleeve; you will undoubtedly suffer the DT's of vacation withdrawal (citing Cardone et. al.) Returning to work only provokes lingering and vastly inflated reminisces of the occupations of your little trip which plague you like botulism throughout the ensuing 10 to 14 days after your return. Making you long for just one last Mimosa (poco hielos, poco jugos), one last frolic in the bobbing ice blue waters, one last humid evening 'neath the twinkling skies of Whereitwas.

I cried when I got off the plane. I cried during the shuttle home (driven by the most impossibly awful Polish civil engineer). I have cried almost everyday for the last 9. Hopefully with diminishing vigor.

But.. I will NEVER forget the dolphins ( at least until the next ones...)

Behold, Facebook.....

And the lord said, "Let there be Facebook", and it was good. And all the fair people who regularly and even inadvertently blogged on their own bloggy-thang, did convert to the Facebook, as the Catholics did to Protestantism when it was decreed that one could touch oneself without fear of retribution....

Yep. I've been Hyp-MO-Tized by the comeliness of the Facebook. Not to say that I am any more regular here, but I'm using it as an excuse and no one can stop me - HA! Take that, you Cyber Infidels!...

Auditory Aliens

Whenever I work in the yard, as I did this morning... I end up with weird stuff in my ears. And I usually don't discover it until a bit later. How could I not feel something from the yard inserting itself into my ear?????? Granted, it's typically something fairly innocuous, but still (translate to "I'm just sayin'") shouldn't I know that something is in my ear???

In Vino, Veritas...

Well, depending on the varietal, but mostly, yes... wine (or really ANY alcoholic bev) will collapse one's defense so that the truth comes marching out with infinite calamity. 

BUT, what I was really going to write about is my affinity for fancy underpants. I have been a VS patron for many... some... not very many really... years, months, days.... anyway...

I know VS is a poor excuse for truly fine underthangies, but it's what I got here in these United States of 'Merica, so it's where I be. Regardless, someday I hope to have a fine trousseau of silky, handmade, robust thangy accoutrements replete with l'il bows and animal print and whale-bone. 

No doubt my miniscule (not in the puerile way, but few in number way) male readership still puzzles over why we XX types get so drooly over push-ups, and pull-downs, and teeny strappy stuff, and diaphanous flowy  attire. Well, it's all your testosterony (dude, that sounded like a hip-hop word... "you're my testosterony lovah...") fault that we go all limpy when we see that sumptuous costuming design in say a film like "Dangerous Liaisons" or "Pride and Prejudice". Aren't you boyz just a tad salacious when you see those perch-ed and peachy bossoms atop those excessive thread count fabrics?? All gathered and gleaming, heaving and rapturous, delectatious and forbidden parts-is-parts???? Um, yes, even as a devoted hetero, I find myself feeling a tad squishy and weird and tempted and drawn and .... well, you know.

So, no wonder that the rest of us heathern bunch throng at the local boudoirerie to snap up the latest eye-catching wonders.

Too bad, most of mine still sport the tags and lie in the bottom drawer snuggled up to the lavender buds...

Ooooo, I has found one...

Seems the "2" was behind the wine frig. And, given that information, my clever deduction is that Jessie was the "2" kidnapping culprit. The l'il frig is just below the playstand where Jess and Sterl sit in the evenings. No doubt she plucked my "2" away and sequestered it behind said frig knowing that I rarely clean there. My objective with said frig is usually more towards the front and inspecting/removing contents therein. Nevertheless, having noticed that the frig was doing little to keep my red at a comfy 54deg, I peeked behind to ascertain the ickiness of the filter screen and by gumski, there was my "2". Sitting pleasantly on the counter waiting to be discovered.

Ah, "2"... so nice to have you back.

I once had a Fantasy..

that I would meet a man, a tall man with an accent, and we would date and fall in love and have explosive kisses, and proceed to an engagement that we could announce with fervor, and then off  to an exotic wedding in a faraway place and thence to  marriage. 

Alas, I got it wrong this time 'round. And what I fear (although the admittance of such might be a self-fulfilling prophecy...) is that my destiny lies suchly. Despite the fact that I embrace the fears from my past, it would seem that merely acknowledging them does not necessarily dispel them. On the other hand and from a practical standpoint, I witness my family and peers in relationships that are fraught with struggle, deceit, exaggeration, and disappointment. Is it any wonder that I shy from commitment on a subconscious level???

Indeed, I must admit that my ideas regarding man/woman affairs revolve around unrealistic expectations built into me by the media.. but do they really?? 

No 9

I am missing the "2" on my keypad because Clyde has picked it off in a fit of pique and has thrown it elsewhere. How far can a "2" be thrown by an 12oz bird???? Although he did throw a handblown Mexican glass highball off the bar. And he bit the absolute be-jebus out of my chin once. ( But he has never bitten my sister...)

Today I had the quickest mammogram ever. It took Jan a total of about 7 minutes to do both sides, frontal and profile. Whoa! But I have to wait 7-10 days for the read. Hmmmmm... in the meantime, my boobs are livin' it up. Well, wouldn't you???

Stolen Things

Right, yes, here I am... right here. Uh huh, am so...



ganked from Famulus

Flying Clocks and Such

Again I stop by my own blog only to be ashamed at the dearth of posts - banal, mundane, earth-shattering or otherwise. And then I troupe over to regular blogs and see that not only are there consistent, almost daily entries, but looooooong ones. Most of which have good redeeming content. And then I think to my self.... where do these people get the time to blog?? I barely have time to get to work, do the chores, feed the zoo, drink the wine, and fall headlong into the watery environs of my boudoir. Much less flog the old neurons into creating something snappy and outlandish (the ultimate goal of any good post, I say.)*

So here I sit in front of this marvelously huge flatscreen with the blank text-box staring me down and winning.

*As I write this, Clyde has just anointed my ear with the merest bead of pinot noir. One wonders what exactly THOSE neurons are contemplating at any given time.

"I am," I said...

Often you have heard someone say the he "just doesn't feel like himself." Which, to me, intimates that that particular person has a pretty clear idea of who/what his self is. Which, in turn, gets my synapses to sparkin' that I don't really have a solid "me." I am like a many sided mirror and am great at reflecting what is positioned opposite me, but, alas, I am poor at focusing the mirror on myself, hence not much self-image, in the truest essence of those words. I don't mean self-esteem in this case. What I do mean is that I am a compilation of mimicry - that what should be an integral personality or persona, is merely a melange of all those around me, and with whom I interact.

And, is that a bad thing, or undesirable thing??  

Note to self:

Bagels, when left on their own, unattended and in an open plastic baggie in the fridge, will intentionally and willfully harden into dangerous weapons which may be employed as hammers, doorstops, and head-bonkers; lose any and all resemblance to an edible food item of any kind other than perhaps a pumpernickel jaw-breaker.

Just thought you should know.

Something new, something scary!

This is Pepper, my new iToy, my right ear (which is so much like a satellite dish that I can hear aliens farting in the outer crab nebula), and my morning face.

But what this is really about is how absolutely in love I am (note the misplaced passion with MsPeps) with my new 3G. This phone rocks and so far coverage from AT&T has been just dizzingly swell (not swollen for all of you pervs who stop by). And by the way, something they don't tell you about in the propaganda is that the iPhone gives excellent face.

So, please, rush out and get one now - you won't be disappointed. And if you are, I will pretend I don't know you, in fact have never even heard of you and think you are a great shining example of a stinking dingleberry.