My dad

He was a cusser when I was growing up. Military highly ranked officer. Republican. Strict.

He was forced to retire from the military when he came up against a moral dilemma. His superior was requesting that he do something that would have compromised my dad’s values. We don’t talk about it and he can’t share details.

Many years after his retirement, well when I was out of college and into working for justice through a non-profit, he started to change. He didn’t vote for Bush the second time. He worked hard against the ban on gay marriage. He worked hard for the Dem party. He and I started getting along better than ever, sharing stories, talking as adults, respecting each other. He often told me how grateful he is for his two daughters, who have taught him so much in his life.

Well, he’s going into surgery tomorrow. A routine procedure, I guess. Having his prostate removed as it has been pressuring his urethra and blocking his kidneys so that they’re now reduced in function. The doctors took his blood pressure today, and while he’s on meds to lower it, today he struck a wonderful low. A surprising low, considering the circumstances.

He’s in the best of medical care, and lucky to be so. I love the guy with all my heart, and being all the way across half the USA, the great pond, and some distance into France, I’m worried.

If you could, Tumblr world, please think some good thoughts for this guy on Tuesday. I would wholly appreciate it.

Caved and Joined

Twitter: @lolacdoa

On another note, going to Queer X Show tonight - sex performers, cabaret, spoken word, and a bunch of queer girls and boys and check-the-box-for-other/s.

Weeeee!!!

Because life is short

Drinking 1999 Tenuta San Guido Bolgheri-Sassicaia, average price for a 750ml bottle 180$.

Last summer, I had two dates with an older gentleman who flew private jets. I never fucked him, but slept in his bed. In the morning, he gave me two bottles of wine from his temperature-controlled cellar.

I have no reason for popping the cork at this instance.

Except.

I just watched Rushmore.

(posted on Tumblr)

it was just for work

Really.

I met with the TV Producer because I had questions about the film I'd made with my team for the graduation project - legal questions, how-to questions, and wanted him to have a taste of it and see if he liked it.

A few months back, I'd been in his neighborhood and sent him an SMS. He said he'd met someone but would still like to see me sometime. He sent an email a month or so later that he still felt the same. But I was - ahem - tied up with Mr FD, my heart and mind wrapped around our possibilities and, in comparison and context, the TV Producer's spanks didn't seem like they could measure up. Nor did I want to try it.

But here we were. He offered me champagne to celebrate my graduation. We talked film shop and then about our lovers. I felt flushed and drunk, and like he was staring through me as I told superficial details about my homestays with Mr FD.

And then I asked him about Beatrice Ardisson's "Take Me for a Ride" album. I'd pressed upon him that I'd looked all over for the album to buy it, but couldn't find it.

He searched and searched his stacks of discs. We had listened to it every time I was over before, but now, it seemed telling that it was buried or lost or misplaced. He found it and let me burn it. He found the accompanying film - made for Audi - and played it on the TV, giving him an excuse to move from the opposite couch to my side.

When it finished, there wasn't much left to say. He was interested in viewing my film, but we didn't have much to talk about it, except to confirm that my fight for copyright was right (against the director of our program, who all of a sudden seems compelled to share it / own it / have copyright with us).

"Well, I should go," I said.

He reached over. "Let me see the scars from his cigarette burns."

I pulled my left tit out of my shirt and showed him as if he were a doctor, removed from any sentiment. He touched it and reached for the other one. He felt for the scars and rubbed my nipples until they were hard. I leaned back and sighed. Closed my eyes. It had been a month since I'd been touched. Since Mr FD. I hadn't come to the TV Producer's place with intentions of screwing, as I thought he was deep in with this other woman. I wasn't offering a move. I had resigned myself to leaving fully clothed and non-altered.

He put my hand on his pants and asked me if I could feel how hard he was.

It doesn't take much for a slut to get on her knees.

it's so hot in Paris

that all the shutters are open tonight
turning the city from grey to warm yellow
the swallows are screaming
as they intertwine and play
and hunt in the sky
it's so hot in Paris tonight
the cat calls on the street
are barely murmurs

it's gotta be the heat

Street Hassle
I wanna go Gonzo
walk the wire
call up randomly
smoke and drink
scream from the pier
until the words
just type themselves
out

Overdue and underdone

My lord it's been a while for posting here.

Homestay in Switzerland ended. I graduated in Paris. (No, no, please don't call me Master.) Then, took a jaunt through Cinque Terre (where I could spend the rest of my life if it weren't 3 hours to the nearest airport -- and that's if the trains are running), Prague, and Amsterdam. Most of my comments during this time were on Tumblr so go have a look - photos there, too.

Not so much sexy sexy fun during those days, nor during these days. I'm mostly consumed with figuring shit out. Yeah, free from the grips of grad school and now I have no idea what to do. A slight pre-mid-life crisis as it were. Ideally, I'd love to take the next three months and do something with my graduate project (a documentary film), write the CDOA book I've been longing to write for years and years and years and years, and make a photo portfolio. What about public policy and the years of study? Well... well.. well. It'd be lovely to combine it all and go off into the world as a premier political photojournalist. Can a dream deferred come true? Or, was it a dream in the making? Ten years ago in December, I graduated from college with a double-major in photography and Spanish. At lunch with my parents and sister, my father asked me what I'd like to do now. "Work for National Geographic."

I'm revisiting that idea.

Or, perhaps, it's resurfacing in me.

A life less ordinary

Southern France and Barcelona were incredible. Great times with great friends.

I'm now in homestay with Mr FD in a cloudy, rainy Switzerland. Day 3 and it's been a mix of sorts: highs and slightly less highs. We're figuring out our relationship, ourselves, and our places in things. I'm PMS'd and as you all know, I typically ride out the PMS alone, away from interaction with the humanz, but this has been a relief of a different kind to be here with him riding this state. I'll write more on details later, but today is a deeper day into domination/submission lifestyle. My friends in France joked that I'm living the housewife tale in Cocorosie's ironic "By Your Side" (video live).

I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
I just wanted to be your housewife
All I wanted was to be your housewife
I'll iron your clothes
I'll shine your shoes
I'll make your bed
And cook your food
I'll never cheat
I'll be the best girl you'll ever meet
And for a diamond ring
I'll do these kinds of things
I'll scrub your floor
Never be a bore
I'll tuck you in
I do not snore
I'd wear your black eyes
Bake you apple pies
I don't ask why
And i trys not to crys
I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
I'll always be by your side
Even when you're down and out
And its nearly midnight
And all i want with my life
Is to be a housewife
Is to be a housewife
'Cause it's nearly midnight
And all i want with my life
Is to die a housewife
Is to die a housewife

...more later....