Quick and dirty

The weekend was a bit difficult because I felt rather self-inflated. Why should I - a beautiful, sexy, ripe, kinky slut - be trapping myself indoors out in the suburbs while I could go hit the local yokel bars downtown? Sure, I could have but I felt a bit lazy, a bit wary of the drunk drive back to the 'burbs (too many 20-year-old memories of that), a bit penny-pinching, a bit too-good-for-your-hick-town, a bit insecure, a bit conflicted. I know what would have happened if I went out drinking, too. I was feeling very wet and wily. If I had gone out I would have put a few drinks back, found a pinball table, and suggested heavily to the first co-ed that we find a place to fuck: my car, his car, the alleyway, wherever. Not that this would have been bad form, because you all know me to shun criticism when it comes to standards. But it would have a) wrecked my anonymity, b) tarnished my nouveau virginity, c) made me feel a tad empty and slimy for stooping to either Billy College Boy or Jack Hick Redneck or Mike Hippie Tiedye, and d) done me in enough to stumble loudly back to my parents house in slight disarray and guilt.

So, I opted to stay in and catch up on geeky things like fixing my ipod nano and building a good workout playlist. I sorted paperwork and made lists of "to do." It's strange out here in suburbia and semi-retirement land. Days bleed with no punching-in the clock and no internet 24-7. Is it Tuesday? Is it Saturday? What time is it? So far, time is sectioned by the phone alarm at 9am, the hour I take to wake to the cheerfulness of my parents, the 1/2 hour walk/run on their treadmill, the 1/2 hour with my mom's 5lb weights and crunches (honestly, exercise does stave off the starving horny inside me and makes me a more agreeable person), maybe a lunch if you want mom to make something because she's already pulling something together for dad, the errands (more boxes into storage, a visit to grandma, groceries with mom, free stuff to goodwill, 2-3 hours at the wifi coffee shop), the dinner (I've been crowned the Salad Queen), the dinner in front of the TV with a bottle of wine (I've been drinking more consistantly here than I did in Madison), the hour of cable (okay, okay, "Weeds" is cool), and then 2 hours messing around in my bed while the Tylenol PM kicks in.

Where the hell does time go? Where has it gone? I've been a week here and only have 2 weeks and 5 days left.

Yesterday dad and I went up north and east by about 2.5 hours to see some land they bought. They're moving finally after 16 years over by the Mississip. My military-retired dad is contracting to have a house built by eco-friendly builders and is considering a huge vegetable garden, growing some out of control prairie restoration patch, and wants 2 solar panels on his property for all their energy use. My military, strict as a ruler father is turning hippie. He even mentioned perhaps growing a beard and a ponytail!!! Apparently my mother is going along with it willingly and enthusiastically and is learning about canning and how to have a fish pond.

Things are a bit weird up here. But it hasn't been nearly as horrendous as I thought it was going to be.

We all got a bit stressed out this morning though and dad decided to storm off to see about fixing the air conditioner in their house and mom stomped off to see about some groceries. This gave me a quick sneak upstairs alone. Finally, after a week. Alone! And long enough that I could justify pulling out my little naughty bag, popping in a couple of batteries, firing up the erotica stories. I thought I'd be able to sit back, spread wide (even though on the edge of the bed with the laptop on the bureau beside me), and enjoy a slow-building, body-shattering cum. Interesting, it took about 2 paragraphs of naughty older men touching juicy girls and I was buzzing in my panties. Literally about 2 minutes. Good lord! A premature ejac! Quite the first. But understandable no doubt. I took a quick shower (this was after working out and hauling 6 boxes by myself to the storage room) and noted that everyone was still gone. Yes, the little hungry piggie, I sat on the edge of the bed again, laptop in front of me, egg down the thong, and again about 4 minutes this time. Trying to hold off but indulging all the same.

I'm running around like cold barbed wire rolling up my back and cherub cheeks flushed from need. It's impossible. Waking up with wet dreams and ideas of fingers walking down my thighs, wet lips on my belly dimples. It's one eye open and a forced mental block. Push it down. Ignore it. Lock it away.

Meanwhile, Andy and I are making ticklish prep for this Saturday. He asked me via email if I wanted to know the itineray and I thought he was talking about his work schedule that weekend for our out-of-town rendezvous. I guess he meant our itinerary which includes an official, formal, out-in-the-open dinner date - including reservations!

(Taking liberty and posting what I want:)

Me: A real date sounds like a lot of fun... it's not a pity date for your mistress who you haven't ever taken out in public is it?

Anyway... off to use an electric saw on wood pallets between the rains. Man, I can't wait to get my own time and freedom back.

Don't be surprised if I jump you this Sat btw, I've got constant wet dreams right now and am waking up grumpy and frustrated.

Andy: So after about 2 weeks in Paris I wonder if this phrase will come back to haunt you, "Man, I can't wait to get my own time and freedom back. "? I mean I know you'll enjoy the private space and time to keep your sexual sanity, but I'm betting you'll miss some of those demands on your private time as well (like me, I hope).

< and now for some whiplash subject changes! .>

The date is not pity, no. Atonement, maybe a bit. Last chance, most definitely. I'm very much looking forward to it... as in scary, weird, heart pounding, sweating palms, deliriously looking forward to it way too much. My chance to show you what you've missed. What I've missed.

Me: RE: Coming back to haunt me: I'm sure it will. The grass is always greener, right? I know what homesickness is. But, honestly, I think I've grown to become pals with homesickness b/c I've never really had a 'home.' What is it that my myspace page says again? Home is where I rest my head. I'm a more frustrated and affected by loss of freedom/solitude/personal space/privacy. I will most definitely miss certain 'demands' although I never looked at you, or other playmates, as demanding of my time. You were someone to look forward to, and perfectly timed usually. I realize that I probably masturbate 3-8 times a week and have actual physical contact 1-3 times a week. Without either for a month is frustrating and not having that privacy/space to even get off is insanity-driving. I know I'll at least have the latter in Paris, but my wonderful lover(s) will take a lot more work. It's almost like we've built a very reliable but spontaneous connection and that will be hard to find again.

Atonement is an interesting word to use. I am not about to read into it. ... I've been thinking and daydreaming about it. First, I woke up thinking that your wife would come down to surprise you and there we are, in the lobby, small overnight bags. We'd chat and then you'd walk in and be a bit taken aback. We wouldn't get any time together and you'd have to rush to hide the condoms. Then, there's the other spoiler where the US military plans a surprise and it's been hurry up and wait and then is all cancelled. Then, there's total heart pounding, wondering what we would actually do together while dressed with time to converse (does the whole dynamic get squashed when we realize we aren't good conversation partners or does it all improve by 200%), excitement, already running through my closet in my head (ball gown like I'm a princess, secretary wear like you like, a casual dress and boots, underwear or no underwear), how long will we be able to stay dressed and in public - after all, we do have time but not too much time.... all these things. ... What have we missed? I can't wrap my head around it.

Andy: Ok. Atonement. Our... umm.. relationship/affair/tryst thing has been wonderful (what the hell do we call this thing?). But I can't help feeling that I've somehow marginalized you, or just not given you the attention and affection you have so richly deserved. (And I suspect that you feel that by my giving you no strings attached, good sex, that you've gotten what you wanted. But from a guy's perspective that just seems way-too-good-to-be-true.) I just want to make that up to you in some small way. To atone for every second I may have taken you for granted. Not much else to read into it. You don't know what you've got until it's gone...

[complications addresses]

Conversation: Are you kidding me? A little bit of nervous banter, yes. But we're both talkers. And incurable, incorrigible flirts. This will be fun.

Wine: [reminding me] Your bottle of Spatlese, the note and the wine glasses were at the height of my infatuation with you. V1.0. You were on webcam with me, drinking a white wine from a tumbler and I had to chastise you. Will the pallets and woodchips be protecting those glasses?

Ugh: I sometimes snore. Sometimes not. Please think of it as cute and endearing, and not a stain on your memory of me.

Morning: I anticipate needing to leave the hotel by about 7:30 to 8:00. You'd be free to stay until checkout which I think is at 11:00. We can have breakfast sent up if you like.... although I think I recall your not being much of a breakfast person? Too bad we're 12 blocks from the lake... it'd be nice to take a walk on the shore at sunrise....



%%%%%%%%%%

It's sure to be a delightful evening and morning. Although, we will be skipping the early AM walk, I'm checking to see if he'd enjoy an early quickie instead with some room service on the way.

And for some of those reasons I'm glad I skipped going out this past weekend. Sometimes the wait is worth it -- granted, not like a virginity pledge wait, of course. But a little bit of romantic, sexual, sensual tension inside me and outside in the air between the Mississippi and Lake Michigan might end up just raining a bit of desire across this wet state.

The bluffs of the driftless zone

Well, here we are, kids. 45 minutes ticking down on the free wi-fi access code countdown at the Caribou Coffee shop on County Road PH. It sounds all hick like, but I'm actually staring at a Famous Dave's sign just stretching up toward the furry, green bluffs beyond the parking lot.

So, really there's no reason to cry for me.

I wrote the slumber party entry on Monday night. Tuesday morning I stripped and sold the mattress and boxspring. I had pretty much cleaned as much as I could and as much as I had to. The new tenant had revealed to me that she was coming from a 6-person house where the toilets had to be flushed by reaching a hand into the tank to jiggle the lever/flusher. So, my apartment - with a few smudges or stains or burns - would be a paradise in her perspective. It's all relative, isn't it?

With the cleaning slowing down I had time to email back and forth with Andy. In the middle of vacuuming the closets I realized, if he had this much time to chat back and forth for an hour he must be in town. What the hell? So, instead of grabbing lunch, he grabbed me a bit over his lunch hour. It was rather high school with a bedspread on the carpet and 2 couch pillows. But my how I needed to get fucked and how I needed his cock fucking me. He spent a good 20 minutes making me cum over and over again by sucking on my clit and licking me between my legs. I got the royal fucking, wondering if the next door neighbors could see us through the curtainless window. A last one for the road.

I was out of the apartment by 3pm. Who gets to hug their landlord? I loved that guy. We found Ze dead next door. He let me be 5 months late on rent, and let me catch up on my pace (with James's help). He fixed things when I needed them fixed and didn't say a word about the 3 eyelet holes in the baseboard (where James and I drilled eyelets for rope for the head of the bed).

Stopped by the old office, grabbed the girls for a beer, and hit the road to the west. I haven't really let myself stop going going going since.

Wednesday I went through boxes to re-pack for storage permanence, parental use over 2 years, donation to Goodwill, and onward to Paris. Yes, it took a day. Thursday dad and I went to a big box store and got 4 bags of cedar chips and dried them out on a tarp in the driveway. If you know my military father, you will understand this. If you don't know him, but know a retired military man or someone with a bit too much aim for perfection, then you can understand the drying of the cedar chips. Meanwhile, we got the electric table saw out and tweaked the 4 pallets he got from the local co-op. You know, items in storage for 2 years - pallets to lift the boxes to avoid flooding, cedar chips between the pallets to ward off the bugs. I looked pretty hardcore with ski goggles, ear plugs, and the saw going off. Then, the work colleagues came to town and picked me up to go leaflet around a bad legislator's neighborhood - guerrilla warfare by freaking them out that we've flyered his whole district when really we just got the 4 surrounding blocks. Then, an evening work meeting for supporters in the area.

Today is a lot more mellow. Lay the pallets and cedar out, stack the boxes. Dad has earned the nickname Tetris - I need to show him the game so he gets more appreciation. He told a neighbor, as we were packing up the Uhaul to bring my stuff out here, that as the oldest son of 4 kids in a military family (his dad, my grandpa, could be a dick back then) it was his job to arrange all the suitcases in the station wagon for family trips. Now, he's an expert at fitting squares together. How that applies in retirement, I have no idea other than to help his daughter move.

We drove out to a small town to have lunch. Then, I got the skinny on bike trails and costs. There are a few nice ones along the Mississippi that I'll go for - good 10-25miles one way if I choose.

But it's a bit frustrating now. It's been years since my hormones have had to be inconvenienced. Wet dreams are starting and I'm waking up a bit frustrated. With both parents retired there's not a lot of private time at their house for me. I've noticed that they kind of bounce between the upstairs office/computer, the living room/reading, the kitchen/eating, the downstairs/tv, and mom into her "Ebay room." They are hoarders and it's getting a bit out of control so I'm not letting them keep much for the next 2 years. Nothing I have they really need or have missed. I was up late on Wednesday night watching their millions of cable channels (it's hard to skip the softcore porn - I want to watch b/c it's funny; or the Real Sex on HBO - I want to watch b/c it's interesting -- but my parents are right upstairs and despite the low volume anyone can make out moaning). All of a sudden a brown mouse ran out in front of the floor and ditched back into hiding.

Too much junk in their house. Too many boxes. Too much stuff.

And then there's me. I'm just trying to make it all work. I'm not junk yo. I'm temporary. This is all temporary. I can handle this. Repress the surge and swell of hormones in my brain working their way down to my young body. I'm too young and pretty to let a month of ripe sexuality and eager sensuousness go to waste, but alas, I just don't know how to go about scoring the quickie in a small town. I suppose it is Friday today.... Yeah, but how cheap am I?! After all, if I can wait just a little bit, Andy and I will rendezvous in a week and a day. All I have to do is repress and suppress. And, then, after that, all I have to do is wait 4 days for Minneapolis. And then after that, just a wait for Paris. And, let me tell you, I will be quick for finding there. But if I've not landed a bedmate, at least I'll have private time to wank myself off as I wish.

Things are good in semi-retirement land. There really are no complaints. The town is small but I'm not entirely bored. My parents aren't totally driving me crazy and I don't think I am them either.

I'm running low on time here in the wi-fi. I think I'll make it a habit to stop here though. Get some free space, some juice smoothie, some breathing space.

Slumber Party!

Remember how the bed in St Elmo's Fire seemed like it was the only thing in the whole room - smack in the middle of the room? Well, that's how I feel right now.

Got the boxes to my parents and realized that, after the 2.5 hour drive, that maybe just maybe this next month won't suck ass because they've calmed down and I've calmed down so maybe it will work. Got the boxes into storage. Got back to Madison to clean and found my remaining objects, whether the TV to be sold via Craigslist or the mattress to be sold via the same, or whether other furniture to be sold to the next tenant, it was all smack in the middle of the room under tarps so they could paint the walls around.

Ten hours of sweat and cleaning. Bending, squatting, scrubbing. It sounds sexy. It should be sexy. It is not sexy.

But it's very fun to sleep in the middle of the room and I'm looking forward to it.

For some reason I thought everything would remain unchanged when I got back and they'd just paint around in such a way. I thought maybe I'd find a lazy clean and then a maybe lazy jack off - despite the period. After all, when will I have the next chance -- my bedroom is next to my parents, there is no wireless so I can't even sit on my bed and type away. Nope, the next month is not about indulgence in feelings. It will be health, cutting down the spare tires (boxes), and letting in on secrets. My dad already leaked one to me that they finally (after 11 years) bought land to build their dream house (all solar panels and earth friendly --- the military dad turned hippie dude, I guess). I'm so fucking thankful that they're going to move from the house of high school memory horror! I guess, in turn, I shared a secret when a photo fell out of a box that my mother found and then promptly moved the box out of my father's view. I have yet to find out which one it is.. for some reason I keep thinking it's this one of pdh and hellboy, naked, at the end of my bed. A polaroid when I tried to get them to do me. Or something.. we were drunk.

Nothing is ever unchanged is it? The boys next door are moving. The paint inside my apt is drying. My sinuses are now stuffy. The clouds are moving overhead. Yeah, nothing stays the same or unchanged.

Rove. That's enough.

I hope some things change.

Well.. I am.. so maybe other things will.

I almost cried tonight. In the shower. I have loved this apartment. I have loved living here, it's true. I'm not running from something, I'm running to a new idea.

Late at night

I'm so sick of packing. Pack this, pack that, re-pack for a better fit. Pack for my parents, pack for the storage, pack forhttp://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gif re-packing for Paris.

But, ahhhh, Paris. I'm finally starting to get excited. I might have landed an awesome 30m2 (=323 feet2) efficiency on the top floor (5th) of a building just off of the Moulin Rouge in Pigalle. How apropos would it be for me to live in the heart of the red district?



Anyway. I have to get to packing some more. I'm down to 1 spoon, 1 fork, 1 knife, 1 coffee cup (the coffee maker is staying until I walk out the door), 1 glass, a few bathroom items, my bed, my laptop, the gin, the fridge is full. I'm almost all done. Almost. Dad comes tomorrow at noon, we haul into the trailer and head off into the sunset - literally, driving west. Then, we unpack some of it, collapse, sleep, and run the storage stuff over at 7am Monday. I head back to my 1 spoon, fork, knife, etc and start the god-awful clean. I'm outta here on Tuesday at 1pm-ish. Might stay in town for a last hurrah with the colleaguey friends or might just leave.

I've said a few additional goodbyes, but it sure feels weird. Thanks for stopping by yesterday, a. It was nice to see you. Not sure we can have that drink at this point, but I'll keep you in mind next Monday night when I'm scrubbing away.

So, I've started a Paris blog which will be viewable by my family, friends, and maybe some of you - if you behave. (Although I have a feeling I'll have to invite you individually and not post a direct link here.) Late last night I wrote about going to graduate school and how that process started and happened. And then, I got a bit personal. Here's that, and I'm off to ... yes, pack:

So, yeah, on a totally personal note, I haven't really cried too much yet. I've lived here for 6 years and have made some amazing friends and have loved my job - I'm quitting to further my career not because I want to escape it.

It hasn't felt too hard to leave, but leaving feels hard. I've been tempering my excitement and have rather blushed when telling folks around here that I was going to Paris for grad school. I say that it's a departure for me - knowing full well that I've traveled all my life except for spending the longest amount of consecutive time here. I say that, knowing full well that my supervisor always reminds me of the time when we were interviewing her - about 3 years into my job - and I informed her that I wouldn't be here much longer and that I was going to go to grad school. I guess there's something to be said for incubation.

It's kind of odd though. Once you tell people you're leaving there's a window of time for your welcome and spotlight. After about a month people tire of hearing about you leaving and after 2 good-bye parties they're ready to see you to the door. For the movers-on it's a bit harder. Although it's always been said that it's more difficult for the left-behind. While it seems that everyone around me has moved on and keeps trucking, I feel a little stagnant - packing, seeing the same walls day after day, wondering what they're doing, spying on my colleagues through the secret leftover passcode-entry email. And I know what it's like to be left. You gotta pick up and move on, continue on, feel the sting of the pain of sadness and then keep going. If the sting keeps reappearing over and over it makes the separation harder.

I got new glasses and showed my ex-boyfriend (now good friend). I went from thick rimmed glasses to no rims. "What's different about them? I can't remember what you wore before." The after-work drinks I was going to get a week after I quit suddenly dissipated into one person going on early vacation, another having her parents in town, and suddenly I slip off the calendar because life continues.

I don't expect to be noticed or remembered. I just wasn't ready to be forgotten so soon.

I've been looking forward for a long time though. I think that's why I haven't cried much yet. I will feel that homesickness when I get there. I will want to look back and thank god for online photo albums so I can cry over this and that back then.

But there are these odd little things that make me tear up:
I didn't wash the towel my last lover used and when I packed it I felt sad. In cleaning and packing I found a few things my ex might want. It's almost like break-up all over: these should be your things. The last Friday in town when the sun is setting so perfectly rosy over the buildings and lakes. The sound of the buzzing cicadas on fire. The slow yellow glow added to the green leaves as a sign of autumn. The last dive weekend where each block hosts a pile of used couches, clothes, desks, cookery, tvs, more clothes, books. The last time I visit my local liquor store.

I did my tarot cards last night. No, I'm not a hippie but I got it as a gift and tried it once and it was dead on. So, every now and then, I tap in. It confirmed only good things in the future, only good lessons in the past.

We shall see. Nous verrons.

Sure, Francois.. sure

from: "RMS21@....com"
subject: To girl looking for apt in Paris

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** Avoid: wiring money, cross-border deals, work-at-home
** Beware: cashier checks, money orders, escrow, shipping
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I have a flat in the city! i am there only twice a month and just overnight...three bedroom with own parking....i dont need the rent money! but would you be interested in offering your erotic side couple of times a month in exchange? i know but its honest and just gives you options........thank you

Oh my god you were right, James

While I would bend over backwards to do anything to thank Andy for coming over to my apartment to bleach the hell outta my Dell (hours and hours - even giving me a program to run overnight to scrub it clean), I agree with James.

I should have just beat the fucking thing with baseball bat instead of agreeing to give it to my mom while I'm out of the country.



Who knew there were fucking 100s of little tiny doll-sized drawers and secret hidden doors to teensy tiny corners wherein my secrets could be kept? And the last thing anyone ever wants is for her mother to stumble upon something like incestisbest.com or find ThePrivacyProtector or some randomly forgotten clip of a chick and a dog doing whatever you can imagine.

You're soooo right. Beat the brat with a baseball bat.

ugh.

The Sets

Again, I recommend you don't start just by launching into the photos, but that you cruise the sets. I spend quite a bit of time artfully uploading.

updated sets:
w.Phillip / Naughty: He kidnapped me out to his farm and tied me up. Left me to wait around while he let his dog out. The barn sounded of squeaking mice and squealing bats. Flies buzzed me and I had to pee. He made me pee in an old dog dish inside a dog cage. Then, he tied me belly-down to a wooden table (fear of splinters!), tied my ankles and wrists to the legs, beat me with a short plastic cord, and fucked me.

w.Andy / Naughty / underwear: Andy came over on Friday. He didn't ask for anything in particular so I went with the short skirt and blue top. You get fabulous pics I shot of tits and cock sucking. He came back on Thursday and asked for corset and stockings. We realized we were running out of time. He kept click click clicking away. You get a lot of cock sucking, fingering, licking, and blue gets a night on the town. Blue Butt Plug comes out for a visit and primes my bum for some good ol' fashioned ass sex. You also get the aforementioned pee pee shots where I decided, slightly buzzed, that the sink needed a good washing down with urine. Thank god my bum can still fit in a sink!

Next week you'll get Andy Asks for Naughty Librarian with Lola's New Haircut. It's our last episode for now. Hopefully we'll get together in the future for some more play.

How Much Jail Time for Women Who Have Abortions?

(I know a bridge collapsed in Minneapolis. It's a sad and tragic day for Minneapolis, the anomalies of life, and construction. I already made sure all my pals are safe.)


Quindlen: How Much Jail Time for Women Who Have Abortions?
By Anna Quindlen
Newsweek Aug. 6, 2007 issue

Buried among prairie dogs and amateur animation shorts on YouTube is a curious little mini-documentary shot in front of an abortion clinic in Libertyville, Ill. The man behind the camera is asking demonstrators who want abortion criminalized what the penalty should be for a woman who has one nonetheless. You have rarely seen people look more gobsmacked. It's as though the guy has asked them to solve quadratic equations. Here are a range of responses: "I've never really thought about it." "I don't have an answer for that." "I don't know." "Just pray for them."

here's the YouTube video

You have to hand it to the questioner; he struggles manfully. "Usually when things are illegal there's a penalty attached," he explains patiently. But he can't get a single person to be decisive about the crux of a matter they have been approaching with absolute certainty.

A new public-policy group called the National Institute for Reproductive Health wants to take this contradiction and make it the centerpiece of a national conversation, along with a slogan that stops people in their tracks: how much time should she do? If the Supreme Court decides abortion is not protected by a constitutional guarantee of privacy, the issue will revert to the states. If it goes to the states, some, perhaps many, will ban abortion. If abortion is made a crime, then surely the woman who has one is a criminal. But, boy, do the doctrinaire suddenly turn squirrelly at the prospect of throwing women in jail.

"They never connect the dots," says Jill June, president of Planned Parenthood of Greater Iowa. But her organization urged voters to do just that in the last gubernatorial election, in which the Republican contender believed abortion should be illegal even in cases of rape and incest. "We wanted him to tell the women of Iowa exactly how much time he expected them to serve in jail if they had an abortion," June recalled. Chet Culver, the Democrat who unabashedly favors legal abortion, won that race, proving that choice can be a winning issue if you force people to stop evading the hard facts. "How have we come this far in the debate and been oblivious to the logical ramifications of making abortion illegal?" June says.

Perhaps by ignoring or infantilizing women, turning them into "victims" of their own free will. State statutes that propose punishing only a physician suggest the woman was merely some addled bystander who happened to find herself in the wrong stirrups at the wrong time. Such a view seemed to be a vestige of the past until the Supreme Court handed down its most recent abortion decision upholding a federal prohibition on a specific procedure. Justice Anthony Kennedy, obviously feeling excessively paternal, argued that the ban protected women from themselves. "While we find no reliable data to measure the phenomenon," he wrote, "it seems unexceptionable to conclude some women come to regret their choice to abort the infant life they once created and sustained."

Even with "no reliable data," he went on to conclude that "severe depression and loss of esteem can follow." (Apparently, no one has told Justice Kennedy about the severe depression and loss of esteem that can follow bearing and raising a baby you can't afford and didn't want.) Luckily, there still remains one justice on the court who has actually been pregnant, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg roared back with a dissent that called Kennedy's caveat about regret an "anti-abortion shibboleth" and his opinion a reflection of "ancient notions about women's place in the family and under the Constitution—ideas that have long since been discredited."

Those ancient notions undergird the refusal to confront the logical endpoint of criminalization. Lawmakers in a number of states have already passed or are considering statutes designed to outlaw abortion if Roe is overturned. But almost none hold the woman, the person who set the so-called crime in motion, accountable. Is the message that women are not to be held responsible for their actions? Or is it merely that those writing the laws understand that if women were going to jail, the vast majority of Americans would violently object? Watch the demonstrators in Libertyville try to worm their way out of the hypocrisy: It's murder, but she'll get her punishment from God. It's murder, but it depends on her state of mind. It's murder, but the penalty should be ... counseling?

The great thing about video is that you can see the mental wheels turning as these people realize that they somehow have overlooked something central while they were slinging certainties. Nearly 20 years ago, in a presidential debate, George Bush the elder was asked this very question, whether in making abortion illegal he would punish the woman who had one. "I haven't sorted out the penalties," he said lamely. Neither, it turns out, has anyone else. But there are only two logical choices: hold women accountable for a criminal act by sending them to prison, or refuse to criminalize the act in the first place. If you can't countenance the first, you have to accept the second. You can't have it both ways.

Did I just pee in my bathroom sink?

That, and more photos and stories to come.

The good-bye party was quality over quantity as they say. I had a great time with those friends and lovers who came. Ended up drunk with the incoming-replacement-girl over at some boy's house. At some point, I was spread-eagled against a wall, slowly pulling up my dress. But then we had to leave. After all it was 3:30am and we were drunk. I peed on his lawn in Lola fashion. The cabbie had a nice view.

The Saturday hang-over with the parents went swell. Bloody Marys for all of us. I might be re-formulating how I view them. Maybe the month over at their place will be good for all of us.

But yes, it was last week that was rockin'. Phillip swung by and fake kidnapped me out to his country place. We played tie-her-and-fuck-her in his barn. The barn with the squeaking mice and screeching bats. It was terrifying, thrilling, funny, and hot. Pics and vids to come.

Then, there was the hot date with Andy at my place. A few g&t before he came over and my body seemed utterly lubricated and open. Finally! some more ass fucking. Pics to come - thank god Andy kept the camera nearby this time. Of the 98 pics, I think 1/3 are all of me sucking cock. If flickr does the slide-show option, I bet you could speed it up real fast and make like I'm actually sucking cock in front of you. ... yeah, I peed in the sink.

Just hang tight, darlins, help is on the way...