Almost caught

I've done this a few times. It meshes with my trucker fantasy. But today, I was spotted, and not sure how much or what he saw.

Between cities. I pulled over to the rest area. Further from the other cars, but not so far as to be suspicious -- I guess? (As if I have this figured out.) I pull out the mobile to pretend some work call is coming in. Of course, that's why I pull over. I am a good citizen after all - don't want to drive and talk. Whip out the laptop. Reach behind into the roller suitcase, pull out the silver underwear bag. Laptop in lap. Pull out my trusty egg vibe (this one from the sex store in Paris). Slide the seat back. Facing the big, heavy, resting trucks. Dirty trucks. Some with headlights on in mid-day. Some just pulling up. Are the men napping? Do they have girls with them? Are they getting sucked off? Are they shooting up? My dirty dream to connect somehow and - of course - am serviced and fucked. In a cab. In one of those awesomely dirty, messy, lived-in cabs, with rosaries hanging from random hooks, velour red (blood red) curtains, a small college dorm-sized fridge, a mattress?, a cushion? what the hell is in the back of these cabs? how big are they?

I put the egg in under the open zipper, under the soft pink fabric of my thong. Put the laptop crooked-wise in my lap and pick the one video where the hairy French guy is pounding the nubile girl from behind and she's into it but her moans are screams. Side by side next to the one of "hungry joe" - some guy I friended years ago who likes exhibitionism and makes videos of himself jacking off. In this one he's using a see-through fleshlight. She's screaming (I turned the volume up as the car engine runs), he's lubing up the fleshlight, the phone is by my side, my hand in my pants, I change one of the batteries out, turn it up high high high, not enough time to work up to it.

I look up and see the rest area janitor guy at the trash bins in front of my car. Fuck! Slide my hand out from my underwear to the keyboard. I feel the instant blush in my cheeks. Cover the open zipper with my sweater. He looks at me. Looks back to the bins. I toss the egg vibe to the floor of my car. Pick up the phone. "Oh, hi, yeah, so I found the document.." He empties the bins. I try to mouth words in fake conversation and attempt to quickly calculate his viewpoint angle. Was the laptop hiding my hand. Was the cord obvious? Did he hear the screams? He moves on to the next bins.

I pretend the fake call. He finishes this stretch of cleaning and walks past me. I try to smile innocently as he walks by.

Out of view, I pretend a trucker has binoculars on me. Staring. Watching. Wondering. Knowing I'm faking my phone call. Watching me put the phone down, jack up the videos again, quickly place the now dirty and dusty egg vibe into my pants (I wipe it a little beforehand but the dirt makes me feel more naughty), and and and and .... quick, pulsing release. The blood rushes to my cheeks. The inside walls clench and contract in spasm. I close my eyes in orgasm like an addict feeling the kick in my veins. But quick. The janitor might have seen it all and called the cops. I'm running late anyway. Battery out. Egg back into the bag. Bag into the suitcase. Laptop closed. Pants zipped. I step out for a smoke. (I have quit, but it's my rebel behavior on these hormonal trips that makes me want something between my lips.) Pretend - again - that I'm on the phone.

Climb back in. Pull the seat forward. Reverse. Pull out.

Ahhhhhh, yes....

Here's to the practice week

From dad on Saturday: Short msg fm phone over lunch. We insist on skype tom but don't need to do so to say COME!!! See you tom. Love dad.


This is the practice week. I'll go to bed by midnight tonight and get up at 10am tomorrow (instead of the lazy 11am-2am I've been keeping). Then, on Tuesday, I'll get up at 9am. Then, maybe I'll practice an 8am. I'm also practicing quitting smoking until I'm done. And, practicing drinking less wine. It will be good to be forced into a "normal" lifestyle in the US.

I'll leave the end of this week and will plan to return end of August, as all the Europeans do. I'm hoping that I can be of some use to my family while I'm back. Mum apparently needs help fixing up their house so they can put it on the market in February. Their new house should be done by November. Dad's in the process of telling his siblings and my grandmother. I warned him not to freak her into shock as I'm desperate to see her at her 93 years old, instead of in a coma from the worry.

I've also drafted my three emails to all the friends in Minneapolis, Madison, and my parents town (where I graduated high school). Haven't sent them as I won't know what my travel schedule is like until after dad's appointment next Monday with the surgeons.

I'm nervous to see him. He looked fine on skype, but the camera only shows head and shoulders. I got no glimpse of pee bag or tubes. I'm nervous about being back in the town I went to high school in - the place crushes my spirit just looking at it. Cookie cutter suburbs all decorated with American flags and deer heads, big trucks and over consumption.

My sister tried to warn me in advance about Rochester (where Mayo Clinic is). It's designed for the sick and their families. Women walking down the sidewalk with tubes in their necks, pee bags all around, and none the striking as it's just how it's done. She said she felt a bit odd when the suits rolled in for a conference, as if they were infiltrating a special community and surely didn't belong.

I figure that it might be kind of cool - in that morbid "my dad has cancer" kind of way. Somewhat like a "my dad has cancer on Mars" kind of surreal reality. Plus, all the culture shock I'll have just being in this strange country. I remember when I moved back after only 9 months of study abroad in Toledo, Spain. I was depressed from the moment I stepped into the Minneapolis airport. So much space between everyone and everything. So many cars. The Midwest is huge and separated. And, I've never been one to often revisit places I've lived, but it seems like this whole triangle keeps coming back to me. It'll be nice to have friendly faces in the mix.

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.

Back from Croatia

I had a great time, but am down for the count with a horrible cold/flu/sinus thing. I'm leaning to it just being a cold, but feel like a train is running over me again and again. I guess it's time though, haven't been sick in a long, long time.

I started writing a post about little girl lolita while in Croatia but haven't finished and am too tired to write much right now.

Went out one night to a dance club with some locals. Walked around quite a bit and agree with the Lonely Planet that one only needs about 2-3 days in Zagreb to see all the sights. Had success in school work with my team there. Ended up totally drunk one night and let the Filmmaker have his way on me. It was okay. Mostly I was too drunk to know what was going on. I was singing all the Devotchka albums, drinking wine, and then all of a sudden he was next to me leaning over to kiss me. The other team mate sharing the apartment reminded me the next day that we actually were loud for a long time, which reminded me that he'd fingered me for quite some time before having sex. It wasn't sad sex, which Mr FD was hoping I'd stop having. It wasn't oh-so-much-fun. It just was. I did feel a bit strange telling Mr FD about it. Not that I had to, but I'm not good at secrets from people I care about and if it came out later it would feel to me as if I was hiding something. He was happy I had fun and not strange about it (as I could tell).

But I did/do feel a bit odd. On the one hand, Mr FD was entertaining a play date over the weekend and neither of us is interested in monogamy. I still want this freedom to see other people and have fun, but I also felt like it was some minor kind of betrayal. Like, I'm really into Mr FD and the Filmmaker was only so-so. I have my focus kind of on Mr FD but want to keep my options open. I don't know. ... I've always told every lover that I'm not monogamous, but even when I told James this I ended up accidentally monogamous with him for 2 years and it was he who had dates toward the end. So, I guess I've never really been in a polyamorous or non-monogamous actuality. While in Zagreb, I spent a lot of time with the team mate who suffered the sex sounds. We spent a lot of our in-between work time at cafes drinking wine in the sun and talking about sex and relationships. I told her all about bdsm, Mr FD, and his playdate. Over time, I felt much more comfortable explaining bdsm (my 2nd conversation recently about it with people who had no prior knowledge), comparing her return from Seattle with bruises from sex spanking to my return from Switzerland with bruises from spanking and whipping and the like, comparing the marathon she'd run to masochistic activities of endurance that I went through (the "what the fuck am I doing?" to the "I'll never do this again" to "Oh my god, this is so awesome" to the aftercare we both got: poncho to blanket, food and water, hugs from loved ones, pride, tears, and the great high), etc. And talking about Mr FD's playdate made it easier for me to think about and easier to actually believe the things I thought about the whole deal. He has skills that should be shared with other hungry subs. From what I know of her, she seems like a good person for him. Polyamory doesn't have to necessarily mean that people have primaries and secondaries and so on, but that each person has a place in another's heart. That my insecure mind, trying to compare myself to her (what little I know of her) is just silly, because if you lined up my lovers next to each other I could tell you that each one brings something different out of me and gives me something different. So, while I'm sure my team mate learned quite a lot - I probably was the one who gained even more from the conversations.

That said, when Mr FD and I started emailing again in regularity yesterday and Skyped today, I still felt removed. Granted, I've got a fever brain and I am not in the best of form. And, remembering that it's been a week of an email per day if that -- from regular exchange and frequent Skype. Still, there was a moment when I thought that I should cool down a bit of the other fever I've got for him, be careful a bit more of my heart and take a bit more time to fall into him. ... It's much more of the rational adult in me talking, but it's something I'm feeling. I hate the idea of it, but it might be worth contemplating. .... Or, maybe it's just temporary fears, which will all vanish in three days when I'm back at "homestay" again.

Who knows. And since I'm not thinking all too clearly, it's time to put fever girl to bed.

Which way to my soul?

Now I'm confused. I thought I knew the place where I was most happy. I rarely re-visit places I've been for there are too many too see yet. But I booked a train ride back to Cinque Terre because I thought my soul felt free and happy there, climbing and high on endorphins from the beauty. But looking over other photos, I felt this happiness in another place.

For what am I searching?

I am smart enough to know I cannot replace or reinstate a feeling I once had. It is temporal, it comes with the moment that IS at that moment. But if I look back and feel where my heart soared, it is there I want to return. A few places. And one is close. So, I want to revisit. With fear and excitement. But then, I see where I have been and realize I found that same feeling.

Every adventure is new. I might have a preconceived desire to be somewhere for a feeling I once felt, but it will still be its own time. I am okay with this. I am excited to see the changes. But I am also hesitant. To return, to revisit, to play again, to love again in the same place - things might change, things might be the same, it might be boring, without the same inspiration.

Hence, my love life.
Hence, my rambling.
Hence, why I don't return.

D.U., if you read this, please be gentle when we travel together. It is a pilgrimage for me. A serious moment. A necessity. A complexity. And it with you that I would share this. Push me to make new memories, but leave me to find what I am looking for.

School field trip: India

I'm off with my school program on a study trip until 17 Feb.

January 28:

Is starting to heat up in my mind. We're going in 9 days. We had to pick roommates tonight and I - am - loved! It's nice when you ask someone to be your roommate and they say "I would LOVE to. YAY!" Jane S and I are going to have so much fun. As I reported our roommate status to our class rep "Lola & Jane with the candlestick in the billiard room. Or maybe with the bathing suits in the pool. Or MAYBE with the booze in the mini fridge."

But really, I hear that the trip is pretty intensely packed with some fascinatingly amazing meetings with some cutting edge agencies, firms, NGOs, and a wide array of issues to push us and test our concepts of the world. For instance, we'll meet with an NGO that focuses on making child labor "better" which is a huge challenge to my own image of things. The US went through it's own industrial revolution and led its own child labor laws. Is it just for us to impose our Western views or what we have accomplished in our own society on other countries? It would be better if other countries could develop without some of the negative drawbacks that we overcame, but sometimes the right answer isn't the best one. I hear that India instituted a ban on child labor under 17 years old and this left thousands of girls ages 15-17 on the streets to do what? Prostitution mostly. Is working in a factory better or worse? Is it better or worse to eliminate these opportunities and how? Or, is it better to improve the situation while taking steps to eliminate it? I don't have these answers yet. We'll see what we learn.

February 5:

India tomorrow. I still haven't had time to really sit and absorb or prepare. My friend BH says "I am especially curious to find out how the Delhi metro turned out. They were working on it while I was there in 2003-2004. I am obsessed with trains esp. subways/metros. I dream about them all of the time. I have a paris metro map that i love dearly. I think that it seems like an almost impossible feat for delhi to actually have a metro. well maybe not impossible but 'surface life' sure is a different cup of tea... i love the friday mosque 'jama masjid' by the red fort. all kinds of folks are collected in front of it and tons of markets and dripping goats heads and that's where i saw the man without eyeballs and the body without limbs... the smells... moments frozen in time. i checked out the ymca to see if i wanted to stay in it, but with the variety of SUPER CHEAP places i chose not to. nice ymca though. i think my rickshaw broke down on the way there. o the hanuman temple is a sight... o and i ate at subway once just to save my life cuz i was never so sick in my life and b/c it reminds me of my high school days but not the delhi version with their chutneys and fake meats - india is the vegetarians paradise and they call it vege (pronounced vej) and right next store the folks dining at pizza hut were five starred out - they pulled out the chair for them and handed them menus and politely asked if they'd like anything to drink... while the cows walked past the seikh drivers for the super upper class suv cell fone talking ladies on their way to somewhere important
i love india"

I have heard "a living hell in heaven on earth." I have heard there is no pinpointing her or generalizing her. I know there are those news stock photos that try to convey the massive population and the immensity in transportation. I'll just try to absorb her as best I can and capture her in my own way.

It's 21h45 here and I'm doing the traditional last-minute packing that has been acquired from either/or/both my parents genes. Trying outfits on and off and thinking of packing enough but not too much - I'd like to leave room for saris and jewelry and jellys and jams - oh, wait, I'm not allowed to import food am I? Or am I? Or will I anyway? Just kidding... I have to be careful what I post here - someday I might want to run for President! Ha!!!! I did buy about 8G of photo cards and a few cheap but summery skirts (thank god some stores are now thinking spring!). Some of my attire is even FROM the places I'll be going to! ... sigh.... and good! Globalization is a complex matrix which I hope to learn more about. Let the market be, control the market - I'm not sure I fall in either camp.

What I do know is that in these summery skirts and 86F weather I will not be wearing tights or 'pantyhose' or stockings and instead, I'll be blindingly white like glue. At least I know I can seek refuge in the group of 30+ other pasty white kids. ... Speaking of refuge. We've all been warned not to give hand-outs to beggars, children or not. I'd like to imaginge I've been prepared a bit better for this shock as back in the day my mum learned a different approach as we cruised the insane streets of Buenos Aires. She'd carry apples in the glove box. I'm not sure if it's condescending to think we know better about giving out money to poor people (the complex gangs with warlords and fake babies-for-a-day schemes, drug or alcohol addiction), but I like to think that some of those kids were happy to have something to put in their bellies and were able to find a way to escape their Fagins to do so. So, of course, I think I'm mentally prepared to see this world (again, but times 100 million), and prepared not to immediately want to give them money, my jewelry, my personal effects and a good scrubbing.

But who knows? I might just crumble under the reality of it all. Or... maybe it's a bit too strong and I'm not entering into the movie "Gandhi." Frankly, my own fault, I've been so damn busy wrapping up school and such that I haven't done the appropriate investigation and research. I've printed a bunch of readings for the long flight so I plan to get in a few good hours of that before medicating myself for sleep. ... but oh the adventure! And it will be good to get out of Paris for a substantial amount of time. I need to re-appreciate her.

Well, this is over and out for now. I've got more packing to do. (The fashion show part is done, now the rolling and stuffing - - thank you, parents, for passing on this extremely useful skill!)

I'm not bringing the laptop but will check emails from the road. I won't be uploading the images as I go unless direly needed and available. But thanks for the well wishes.

See you in a few days!

Two thousand

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latest photos and girl love

I posted the humiliating photos from Lola's flash at the Soiree Blanche. It wasn't like it was some professional party, but it probably wasn't completely appropriate for me to flash my tits. You can see this in my friend's look of horror captured at the same time. Then again, I wasn't caught naked with someone not my husband like some others were. These photos have given me pause to wonder if I should just keep the 32-year-old tits inside my bra. Maybe I'm too old, they're too old.

I also posted copies of a polaroid I found pre-move to Paris. I'm twelve years old and posing in an -ahem- provocative way. It's 1 of a series of me and my girl friend. By the fireplace I can tell we lived in Texas at that time. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to post the polaroids of her. I guess we were just playing dress-up for the day but this one came out rather, well, telling.

I'm also about to post some from the other night in Berlin. A few of us students went up there for a conference and stayed for vacation days. We joined our colleague to go to a goth party. He'd attended the Berlin Masters program and then transferred to our Paris Masters and I guess he'd extended the invite to his other colleagues and they never joined him to a goth party. Perhaps we're a bit more adventuresome. I have to admit I hesitated, wondering mostly if I'd / we'd 'fit in' at the scene. I remember becoming extremely fed up with the punk scene in Minneapolis - they were supposed to be punks who accepted and embraced any people of alternative life choices/styles but instead it felt more like a constant judgement of who was more punk. Bleh. The goth party was quite the opposite though - at least, I didn't feel judged in any way. Although I did feel drunk and wild. At one point I chatted briefly with 2 women in the bathroom since English is the universal language of choice - a German woman, a Polish (I think?), and me the American. (In Paris, all would have been forced to use French - a slight difference between the French and German cultures.) So, somehow this lovely German woman asked my colleague/the host about me and somehow she and I ended up making out the rest of the night, which felt like 70 hours but was probably just 3 or so.

It's funny, I had a variety of reactions to this whole hook-up. I was pretty drunk since I chose to drink whiskey on the rocks (always a bad idea, I know I know). But I was also in vacation-wild mode where anything can go. At points I felt like I had to be the masculine half of our duo, and the top half as we both identify as bottoms (this I learned from my colleague who basically translated the whole night for us). At points, when she'd go off to the bathroom or something, I'd half freak out to my other colleagues there that I really wasn't sure what I was doing, etc. The last time I had a girl make-out was probably about 5 years ago during the waiting tables at the Orpheum / pdh relationship / Jen Bunny wildness. Or, maybe it was at the spin-the-bottle portion of bd's party in '03/'04. I didn't really make on chicks while James and I dated.. did I, honey? Pipe in if I'm wrong here.

A part of me thinks I look less feminine since I cut my hair. It's not that I'm afraid of being bisexual or afraid of making on chicks (though you all know I'm totally not into going down - a bit more whiskey that night and I very well might have just for old time's sake), but I am absolutely terrified of losing guy possibilities if they peg me as solely a lesbian. And I certainly don't want my colleagues boxing me into that category and since they don't know me well, I felt I had to clarify a bit in my drunken state. So part of me freaked out. And part of me loved her lips and her hips and her skin-tight dress and biting her bottom lip and pinching her nipples and god, she smelled exactly like my old ex-girlfriend the stripper. [I can't link to this story right now, sorry, but briefly: 1999, last year of college I dated a stripper and her husband, we went to Vegas on a trip, played around with bdsm, he started to want to see me more than I felt was a good idea, she wanted to do more girlie things than I thought were a good idea so we broke it off.]

The cute German and I made out a bit, I got a bit wild on her, she was a bit shocked, we danced, I bought her a drink, I danced with my colleagues, and it was like 4am and we had to leave. She wanted my contact info and I kept pointing to my Berlin colleague that he had it and saying I'd love to go home with her but I had to go. There was just no way I would have been able to go home together, waking up next to her would have blown my mind more than I could handle at that time. I went to get my coat from the coat check and found she had followed me there for one last dramatic kiss. Oh, right, by the way, she was 23 so maybe that explains quite a bit about this whole story. Me, feeling like the old, experienced, dyke chick and her as the young, eager, experimental bi girl. Yeah. I had to go back to the hostel with my colleagues.

Right. So, those photos will be up in a little bit. I thank my Berlin colleague tremendously for even taking photos because, you know, I had beer goggles on and really wasn't sure the next day if she was hot or not. The photos prove it. Quite the night for sure. Quite the night.

Good-bye party for Lola

Save the Date perverts!!!!

Friday, July 27, 2007
starting:
9pm
Cafe Montmartre
127 East Mifflin Street in Madison, WI
continuing:
???

If anyone can get me Screamin' Cyn Cyn or another band favorite with flair, please please please let me know!


[Additionally, I'll be in Minneapolis the last week of August to break up the 3 weeks I'll have to spend crashing at my parents' place. So, if you can't make the Madison party, consider meeting up in the TC!]


*All plans subject to change. If you want to be on the updated-party-list, let me know. Flyer on its way.*

First person on earth, last to know

It's funny. I feel like I'm the first person on earth to ever move to Paris. So, I'm perusing The Paris Blog which is like a hub for all-blogs-Paris. Down the rabbit hole and I'm discovering that I'm really not the first. Not the first American, probably not the first student, not the first hungry, not the first wide-eyed, not the first trying to figure out why calls to the USA are free, not the first wondering about my living situation, not the first having anxiety attacks.

I kind of want to be the first.

But I know that I will be the first with my own viewpoint which will definitely tell more [or less, depending on my class schedule and load].

....................

I'll have photos soon, but last weekend I went to visit the parents and went up to Minneapolis. I swung by the parents so I could meet with the lawyer and finalize my Last Will and Testament along with all the Powers (of Attorney and Health Care). It's weird realizing the end and recognizing it and detailing what I want if I become a vegetable - or people think I'm a vegetable.

Friday I met up with a high school friend B. It was his pre-birthday party and we had dinner at Psycho Suzy's. I met all his professional friends - all doctors and most some kind of crazy (the obsession with marathons and triathlons!). I was designated driver so he could party it up.

I took my underwear off in the car at his request.

He and I have gotten together once in a while over the years. He reminded me of a weekend when Lola was a Drunkard and a bunch of us met in a hotel in Minneapolis. I ended up half-naked in the hallway over some truth or dare. Then there was the parking ramp when I gave him head. Then back at the hotel room after a friend of ours' 30th birthday party when he crawled on top of me and shoved his cock in my mouth.

["The Dead Flag Blues (Intro)" and lyrics

the car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows

the government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn...

When we got back to his place we did two shots of Maker's - mood enhancer or relaxant, you be the judge. Over dinner I had nonchalantly told him about SirMax and James, rope and spankings. I was sitting on the stool in his kitchen when he got up and laid a heavy handed smack on my ass.

we're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death...

He came back from his den with a thin make-shift, regular hardware, white rope. He tied my wrists behind my back and looped the rest up through my mouth like a gag.

the sun has fallen down
and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead at the top of their poles...

[It went like this]

"Crawl up the stairs."

I had to do it on my knees alone with no hands to help.

We got upstairs and he put me on the bed, took off my clothes and left my fuck-me-boots on.

"You're not putting up much of a fight."

My mouth free, I warned him, "Are you sure you want me to fight you? Because I will, but I can't be held responsible for how I do it."

I wasn't drunk. I'd nursed 2 Fu Manchus over 5 hours, stopped at The Red Dragon for 2 shots of buttery nipples, and then the 2 Maker's - I'm a Dorothy Parker.

So, I giggled.

You know, that giggle when your dad spanked you once and you were expected to take it seriously. Or, when your drunk mum says you're in deep trouble for missing curfew. Or, when your older sister was so angry she twisted your arm and dug her nail claws in. I laughed in his face of aggression. And, then I kicked.

[Kiss me you're beautiful]

And he flipped me over and sat on my legs. Then he flipped me over and spread my legs wide.

The camera went click click.

I kept kicking and squirming and trying to get free from this tight rope around me and his 6'5" rower/swimmer/runner/basketballer frame.

And then I rested, out of breath, exhausted but not worn out. While he went to his closet and brought back a belt.

He looped the rope through my mouth again - like a drooling pig, like a bit in a pony mouth - flipped my fighting body over and whacked my ass.

I wanted to believe he was a natural. I could fall in love with someone who rejects who they are.

Such goofy big brother drunkenness at midnight, such silly butt moon as we walked under the full moon back to the car, such hesitancy to verbalize demands, such aggression and use.

Use is the word.
Because I know I couldn't
wake up and go running,
read the paper on the porch,
balance checkbooks,
water the new plants in the dry backyard,
smile and chat with the neighbors,
befriend and best friend the blonde OB-GYN who can't stop complaining about being on call when she's making 6 figures.

But I could totally go for more of this. Belt on my ass. Legs spread and click click like he's never seen a pussy or like he's going to cum to this one over and over.

I wished for the lesbian encounter that he's been jacking off to over and over again in his den.

He barely let me lick his cock.
He wanted me begging with my actions.
Raising up on my tied arms, stretching my neck, sticking out my tongue.

As the sweat built up and the endorphins raced, I started to feel drunk.

I wanted to fight and get on top but there was no way that would happen.

I wanted his thick cock inside me.

I had been thinking about this since I sent the proposing email that we hook up - on Tuesday.

Instead, he finger fucked me and teased my mouth with his barely bare touches to his cock.

He rolled me over and close to him.
"I want you to fuck me."
"You want me to fuck you? Where?"
"In my cunt."
"You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes. Do you want to fuck me?"
"No. I want you to suck me."
"Why?"
"Why? ... Because that's what I want to do."

His legs spread and my hands tied behind me, my head bobbing, stretching the rope to let my hands free to touch him and to touch me.

"You whore. You filthy cunt. Yes. Yes. Suck me. Suck me, dirty whore."

He snuggled me at 4am.

I let my fingers fall on his back - tracing and soothing and touching at 8am. "You have an amazing body."

I let myself give him tenderness. Just like I let myself ask him earlier in the afternoon, "How was your day?"

Sometimes Mother Teresa of Love knows better how to treat my lovers than I do - or would.

Sometimes it's appropriate to let her in, to let her take over.

Just as Penny Paris Fate moves into my body and makes me type 'Paris apartments' and 'Stafford Loan' and 'Macbook.'





I hate waiting, but I waited for him to get back from his morning swim in the lake - training for the triathlon. We met up with another couple and their baby daughter and some young 20-something snotty pants swimmer for breakfast. Conversations can be so shallow sometimes. And even more for me when I haven't had coffee. I'm more of an apparent airhead, nodding and smiling, not talking. Brain neurons not connecting.

We hugged good-bye.

I wandered Lake and Lyndale, Lake and Hennepin. On blazing hot sun boiling days this area of the city can seem so run-down and lonely and poor and tired.

[we woke up one morning and fell a little further down -
for sure it's the valley of death]

So I bought shoes.

My feet are like duck's feet - narrow at the heel and wide at the toes. Girlie shoes never fit me well. So I spent way too much money for a pair of these and man, do I love them. I guess the more money, the better fit.

[i open up my wallet
and it's full of blood]

Ms Lucifer called me and I pulled over as I had pulled out of the Calhoun Square parking garage. Ms Lucifer is the Italian from Montreal who lives in NYC but has owned an apartment in Marais for 15 years. The space is 50m2, kitchen, bathroom, great part of town. She's only there a week every 4 months or so. She sells Freixenet brands in NYC. She says the apartment is decked out in Ikea-type furniture. ... Have I died? I want to do a colocation [aka roommate] situation to bring down the costs and to have some tie to the city to drag me out when I'm feeling trapped, freaked, frozen. But I also want to be able to fuck who I want, come and go as I please, cook for myself, masturbate loudly, be on my own schedule. Of course, as you all know me, I'm responsible and kindly - not about to trash her apartment or disturb the neighbors. So, she and I chatted and I'm hoping for this.

In the meantime, I've also gotten a kick-ass, considerate invite to apply for the apartment my new pal Wilfried has advertised with his lady love. Wilfried got connected to me via Alixxx. Thanks to Hex I knew who Alixxx was and thanks to Alixxx for putting 2+2 together. Wilfried and I have had some amazing conversations via email and I can't wait to meet him and his lady.

["Rehab" by Amy and Jay-Z ... just as I was about to hate this fucking song.]

I shoved off from the parking garage in Minneapolis and met up with my sister. I don't like her new boyfriend and there's all this drama with her, her choice of boy, and my father. I'm not going to go into it but suffice it to say she hasn't made the best choice here.

Dinner and drinks over on the Mississippi River and early to bed, falling asleep on the couch while watching Hannibal Rising. Just before that my pregger friend A called. Woman is due on Saturday and yet she's going out to a friend's 40th b'day party - way to show the world that pregnancy is not a disability!

Sunday gal pal A and I had breakfast. She drove, all basketball belly. We had a great time catching up - we went to study abroad in Spain together in '97 and kept in touch when we got back but lost touch when I moved to Madison. Then I drove back home. A sunny as fuck day with mayflies dying on the sidewalk and on the car. Summer air and a sunroof rental.

Tonight my friends pooped out on me and I'm home adding to the new 'Oui Oui Paris' links on the blog. Pretending I'm the first person on earth to go to Paris.

A couple of new photos on flickr, too, from nights with Phillip.

Photos

I have photos for you finally.

Go visit me at flickr.com/photos/lolacdoa/sets. If all you see is 1 set called "travel, street, and non-sexxx" then you need to email me to invite you to view the private collection.

If you already have access to the private pirate collection, what you'll notice is more sets. I'm trying to clean house in anticipation of using the hell outta my awesome new camera. I've grouped by date [ie, man in my life not calendar day], by fetish [peeing vs. underwear -- I don't have a lot in these categories yet], nice, naughty, travel, etc... The new pics are in the "London-Paris," "Mexico," and "w. andy" sets. Don't expect anything outrageous or naughty in the travel sets.

[the "London-Paris" also features an awesome photo rendition by Clichemonster]

I took the last couple weeks off from planning for Paris just to settle back into work and then got a cold. I'm getting back on the horse. Craigslist has some very interesting apartment postings in gay ol' Paris. And I find myself wondering if I could spend 2 years with Claude and his boyfriend Marcel in a 4-room apartment. Or, if I'd prefer 2 girls who are hoping for 2 roommates for quiet weeks and partying on the weekends in either the 11th, 10th, or 6th arrondissements. Or, if I want a room I could easily acquire from one of the graduating students w/o a kitchen and a very small furnished space.

Meanwhile, trying to figure out loan paperwork, moving expenses, health insurance.

Anyway... brighter, gayer days ahead I hope...

Here's a taste for you:

Some lovely candles in Notre Dame











trick photography in Paris














Lo in Trafalgar Square, London

Lola gets a burn in Mexico














Lola climbs a pyramid 136 feet tall














There is a bullfight... and only 1 winner











Lola's almost eaten by a crocodile











Andy pays a visit upon Lola's return

Late night porn

Patience is a virtue, darlings. As I've spent almost all my life learning and am still.

My vacation synaposis: resort, sun, burned, fun, margaritas, me doing tequila, him not able, swimming, reading, sleeping, fucking [which was good], aloe vera, driving two days to see 3 ruins, me climbing the tallest, him stopping mid-way, he drove, I navigated, little towns, using my Spanish rocked, they all thought we were married and I gave up contradicting, back to the resort, sleeping, reading, sun, margaritas, my first pina colada, swimming, sunning. A week was enough. There will be pictures uploaded soon. They will be London, Paris, and Mexico.

But for now, I'm still scoping the horizon. My hopes are always too high and James laughs with me, not at me. A colleague within the circle and I have exchanged very naughty, dirty emails but his naughty is my been-there-done-that [anal, woman cumming, ripping clothes off, semi-public sex, dirty talk -- um, how is this kinky? Or, have I become so depraved that even exotic is boring to me now?]. A man online who likes Lolita as much - if not more than I do but who writes in too fancy, journalistic prose for me to take seriously -- or wonder if he's more about passion and less about fucking. Sigh. My aim is the hope of Paris. For now, I'll get butterflies saying naughty things, crossing lines, refusing to be a teacher and maybe even being a bit cold-hearted.

But all that aside, my colleague-type-person we'll call him Phillip. He requested a story.

I would warn you but you should all know by now. Read it at work only if you can drop your pants and rub off there and then. Or, run to the bathroom for some privacy. Or, if you can bend your co-worker over her desk and shove it in her unexpecting cunnie.

IE, nsfw

Again, I take liberties where I like and prefer to call it creative non-fiction. Hopefully, I will never be sued.


Him: Along those lines, how about you tell me what you think would happen if a couple professionals are working late in the office and one thing leads to another and ends up with some rough sex, dirty talk, anal, etc.


Me: God, this is really a fiction story for me. Usually the stories I write when given a theme have some kind of personal angle. I write creative non-fiction a lot better than fiction. But this theme.. Well, this job has been my first "real" professional job and frankly, I'm just not into all the women around me that much. I had such high hopes about having more men on staff....

When I think about this kind of situation, I think of 2 people with already established interest, a lot of sexual tension, and the multitudes of fantasies they'd both have running through their minds if left alone late at night.

It reminds me of the first realization that I liked it rough and I liked it bad. I had dropped out of college after my freshman year and was living in a shared house with 5 other roommates. One of them, was a tattood drummer in a local band. He was dating this big blonde punk girl and when I'd been in his bedroom I'd noticed cuffs and eyelets on his 4-poster wooden bed. He did a lot of speed and smoked a lot of pot. I'd always always had a huge crush on him but he was either dating some girl or we unconsciously had this underlying "don't date roommates" feeling.

After a while he moved out and started living with the big blonde punk girl. He'd come over once in a while to practice drums in our basement. One day I just happened to be home. No one else was home but with 4 other roommates there was always a possibility someone would come back from work. I was upstairs in my room, totally horny, hearing him bang bang bang on the drums. It was driving me crazy horny. I made the excuse to go downstairs to the basement to start my laundry. He didn't stop drumming. I went back upstairs to my room and laid there thinking god, what can I do to get him to touch me? Of course, I wasn't interested in making the first move and being blamed for his cheating on his girlfriend. Of course, I didn't want him to cheat. Of course, I didn't want to want him but I couldn't do anything about that either.

Sometimes when I'm at that very excited stage in my lunar cycle, I'm completely inconsolable and slightly obsessed with sex and getting off. And there was nothing I could do at this point to stop obsessing about wanting to have him fuck me, about wanting him to stop playing those drums and put his sweaty cock up inside me. I didn't really know about masturbation at this point in my life but knew I loved fucking and wanted him to fuck me. Now. Now. Now. What was I going to do though? How would I ensure the least amount of rejection if he didn't - or couldn't - want me back? I needed a cover-up. A way to make it unavoidable for him to want me and give us both a way out if he absolutely couldn't do it.

I just couldn't take it anymore though. Every idea I had seemed childish and stupid and I was running out of time. He'd have to leave soon or our roommates would get home soon. Fuck. I have to do something. On the count of one-two-... three...

I headed down the stairs to the basement. I knew he could hear my stomps because the floors were old wood. His drumming kind of slowed. I got to the second to the last set of stairs and hollared, "Joe!... Joe!...." I could hear him get up and start for the stairs.. "What? What's wrong?" I came down the last set of stairs and we met in the narrow stairway. "You've. Got. to stop drumming." He looked puzzled. "I...I just can't take it any longer." I came down the last steps and leaned toward him. "You're turning me on too much."

He grabbed my waist and pulled me in and we started kissing. He spun me around and started pushing me backwards. His hand went up my shirt, pulled my bra down under my tit, and started pinching my nipple.. hard pinches, too. I was startled by the pain but his mouth muffled my surprise. He pushed me into the wall - hard, grabbed my wrists together in one hand and moved them above my head. His other hand pushed my skirt up and shoved into my panties.

At some point he moved us over to the workbench table - freakishly perfect height and he put me up there, spread my legs and shoved his cock into me. I gripped the table edges and tried not to cry out in case someone came home.

..............

I like it when Andy visits cuz he knows how I am. He knows the deep nasty and the pretty flower. We're on the meter so there isn't a lot of talk until after and even then it's only about 20 minutes tops. He'll come in and sometimes I've had the time to shower and get dolled up - maybe a schoolgirl uniform, maybe a shiny black slip and fishnets, maybe the easily slip-on slip-off tank top so he can find that joy of springing my tits over the neckline - I think from his viewpoint they make nice somewhat pushed together and erect.

Usually I'm giddy. And, always nervous. We'll say our hellos and somehow a magnetic force makes us kiss, deep and slow, light and licking. Someone's hands go somewhere but he'll press me up against the wall and usually I'll ask with my motions if I can suck his cock.

I like unbuckling his belt and I like how his hands hold up his shirt a little bit to help me. As soon as the pants open I like to reach my hand in and pull out his cock, careful not to catch it on anything. One time he was rushed coming over and had no underwear on which was an even nicer surprise.

I'll slide his pants down while his hands will find a spot of my skin to touch, to try to fondle from that angle. Get on my knees on the floor and gently lick his cock, wetting it for the longer sucks I'll employ next.

He knows I'm practicing and he's a good homework - pressing his cock deeper down my mouth and throat while pulling the back of my head towards him, holding me down on his cock. He'll release when my hands gently push him away and I start gagging. But the sound, he says, is amazing. I wonder if he can feel my mouth tighten around him. He is the one who showed me how to lay on the bed on my back with my head hanging off the edge so he could get a better, longer angle into my throat. I have told him I'd like to be Deep Throat.

But it is Sir Max who helped train me in this. Blindfolded, naked, sitting back on my heels in the middle of his piano room atop the rug. "Lean forward onto your elbows." "Yes, Sir." "Here is the dildo. And, here is the dish of olive oil. It's gentle oil, not too strong. Dip the dildo into it. Place the base of the dildo onto the floor. Now, slowly, place it into your mouth." The oil cuts down on the rubber taste and gives a natural lube, especially as my mouth is dry in nervousness. "Slowly slide the tip of the dildo along the roof of your mouth. Slide it all the way to the back. Keep doing that until your mouth and throat are comfortable enough to let it pass your uvula. This practice will stop that god-awful gagging noise I so don't appreciate." After a long time of trying - I couldn't see time for the blindfold - I was able to feel a slight pop as the dildo passed it without gagging. I am still trying to replicate that on a real cock. Andy has kindly offered to help.

Alas, the clock keeps ticking and while Andy would like me to spend all my time sucking his cock, there are other games we'd like to play, like, let's make her blush with embarrassment. Andy likes to guide me to a standing position, bent over with my hands on my low bed and his hands opening my ass cheeks. He likes to look, which makes me squirm and blush and want to pull away. Then, he likes to stick his tongue in and flick around to make me bite my lip in shame.

Sir Max blindfolded me once and made my belly full. I thought he'd put an inflatible dildo into my ass but instead he led me shuffling up the stairs to the bathroom, sat me down and said, "Expel." Huh? "When you're done, call me and I'll help clean you." My first enema and I couldn't even feel the total humiliation I had hoped for. Although, the slow stream and seeping out my bummie was humiliating enough. Not wanting him to help me clean was worse. And getting round two was even more horrible. He told me to kneel and put my hands on the floor in front me. I had no idea my hands would go into the shower stall adjacent to the toilet. "Bow down on your elbows, raise your ass." The tip eased into my pucker and another stream of liquid flowed up inside me. This time I could feel my belly swell. [Just like the girl in "The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women" by Tristan Taromino] Then, accidentally, it came slightly spraying out the sides when I was full. I was thoroughly humiliated. "Stay there for a minute. Call me when it starts to feel uncomfortable." I wasn't sure what "uncomfortable" meant so I just waited and he had to pull me up off the floor and set me on the toilet. "Make sure to pass it all out. Be a good girl. You're our lamb this evening. And our sacrifical lamb must be clean." Of course, he wasn't going to do me harm, this was all to get my mind into the game. And it worked. I waited until every last drop was out. I was a good girl.

Andy and I don't have time for elaborate cleansing rituals. Plus, we're too hot for each other to be that patient. His tongue, lord have mercy.. I do try to clean as best as I can. And I hate to think of the strong scent down there but I love that he licks and forces his tongue into my ass until I forget that it's dirty and nasty and wrong and start pushing back, reaching around to pull my cheeks open further, pushing back and moaning.

When I was the lamb I was tied up and flogged. Once, I had horribly mean clothespins attached to my tender, pert tits. Once, I was hung from my wrists with my only toesies touching reality and beaten on the inside of my legs while they were pulled apart by a spreader bar at my ankles. And, many lovely times I was on a cross with a flogger across my back and ass - working out all the kinks in my muscles and sending me flying out to sparkle palace where the waves roll gently and every sting is a kiss.

Andy flips me over and pushes my pulsing body back up the bed. His mouth covers my cunnie and finds my opening and my clit and somehow this sends my hips rising and falling, making a game for him of follow the leader. His finger, soaked in saliva and cum running down from my cunnie, finds its way to my bummie and slowly, gently, quarter-inch by quarter-inch slides in and out. It's really the in-out that gets me. Not so much the in-twist, but the thrusting. I can understand why they make ribbed condoms and ribbed dildos and fucking machines.

When we're not tense full of passion, he'll take his time and take the whole time slowly sinking his cock into my ass - while I'm on my back or when I'm like a doggie. Although when we're too fired up, he pushes my legs so far apart like I'm 6 years old and that flexible, and he'll slide his cock into my cunnie. Sometimes he'll perch above pounding me so my head bounces off the bed and my orgasm comes wild. Sometimes he'll get close to my ear and whisper, "You wanna be just like mommy, don't you? You want to be daddy's special girl. You won't tell anyone how we love each other." Or maybe "God, you're like a fucking 16 year old. You're a dirty, nasty teenager fucking an older man." And when I'm on top, "Your fucking tits.... god, your body... it's like you're a fucking high schooler."

When Sir Max is in me it's the same thing. Our little secret. Daddy loves his little baby. Baby wants to be a big girl, doesn't she? Do it for Daddy. Daddy has to have you. Daddy needs to fuck his little girl.

I've asked for this. It seems to be the ultimate taboo and the dirtiest place I can sink. Well... there are dirtier, but for now this is what I'll share.

And when they're inside, I like to clench my cunnie around them. I don't intend to suck the condom off, I don't intend to keep them inside for forever. I push out and suck in. I don't need them to tell me to touch myself. It's better for both of us when I do. But sometimes they tell me, or they make my finger go on my button because they know how it's the next level.

And, when Andy is in my ass, picking up speed sliding in and out, out all the way to the tippy tip of the head and back slowly in all the way to his belly, my finger on my clitty makes it slide that much better, that much smoother, that much wetter and I can lose myself and fuck fuck fuck fuck god yes yes yes fuck yes oh my god the nerves exploding and I can't help but strain against his cock, pushing it out and sucking it back deeply into my bowels. Fuck fuck yes yes and as my muscles clench around him and his hands are on my hips pulling my ass back to him and pushing me away and my one hand clenched around the sheet and the other sliding furiously back and forth back and forth fuck fuck yes yes oh fuck I'm gonna cum Daddy fuck are you gonna cum too? yes? fuck Daddy I'm gonna cum fuck I'm gonna cum all over your cock fuck all over your fucking hard cock Daddy!!!!....

One day older and deeper in...

You all are so sweet... so many well wishes in my inbox over the past few days. And, oooo, I'm excited for my surprises from noman over at My Secret Life.

Please don't take offense if I compile my thanks and updates here. I'm short on time right now... but long on appreciation and love for yous all.

The Paris-London trip was quite the quick jaunt overseas. I'm still pulling my pics together but we did a sort of slideshow at my parents this weekend with my sister's pics and mine on their new HDTV thing. Very diverse viewpoints and great snaps. We spent the first 24 hours just travelling. Plane, train, tube, train [under water!], metro, walking to the Paris hotel. You'll get to see a snap my sister took of me just as I popped out of the metro underground into the plaza in front of the Louvre and I've told a few that that was the definitive moment I realized I wanted to go to school there.

We ate at a nice, out of the way corner restaurant where no one really spoke English and I got to try my hand at French. Freshman year of HS in Argentina I took a French course from Madame Bousquet who taught us with a proper Parisian accent and those words and lessons have stayed lodged in my brain. I did quite well, and the old label that the French hate Americans didn't seem to ring true at all. My entire time there I was well-received - from the bus conductor to the small sandwich shop owner to the hotel employees to friendly passersby.

London wasn't quite as impressive for me and the school program/Open Day less so. I'm grateful that I went over and checked them both out because it cemented my decision to go to Sciences Po for sure. Yes, I am going to Paris. Yes, it still feels foreign to say out loud. Yes, it's totally unreal and doesn't feel like me who is planning this or doing this, but some alien occupying my body and saying these things.

I told my family today that I wish I could just be more simple, more simplistic. It would make things a lot easier. But I'm not one to be content to just work a 40 hour work week in Shopko. Listening to "This American Life" in the car on the way home today - about the historic change in the Amer Psych Assoc no longer qualifying homosexuality as pathological - I almost felt I could compare my situation. I can't help but make difficult decisions in my life. Wouldn't we all just wish to be normal, easy, happy, simple? Unfortunately we are who we are and must live up to that or struggle eternally with unhappiness and yearning to fulfill our destinies.

I'm not sure any of this writing is making sense.

There was no sexy fun in Europe. In fact, we both got sick by the end of the trip. When I got back I was still sick and then got my period. No sex for about 2 weeks now. I'm kind of starting to lose my mind but sex has taken a back-burner to all these plans and finishing up my Stats and Econ. I finished out my Econ final last week [and had a very strange conversation at the end of the class with crazy cat lady professor as I was the last one out of the room - the conversation involved her recommending some weird book by some woman who could channel some dead guy named Seth]. My Stats final is tomorrow afternoon. [Although, the Monday after my trip I had my last Stats exam and got an unprecedented 90% on it so there's hope for the final yet!]

Last week and this week at work I'm focusing on department interviews for my replacement. I haven't approached it as such as it still hasn't sunk in. Instead, I'm just going about it as interviewing someone new for our team.

No-name Joe took me out for an early b'day dinner last week. It was a weird day because I'd just seen James at the gym and was literally wiping tears when I saw him b/c I've really missed him so much and just feel rather alone in this whirlwind of decisions. But Joe bought dinner and gave me 2 really cool books, a small box of Godiva, and a handy Paris map. I told him I might cry when we're in Mexico because I've just been holding it in for so long. This is all very overwhelming.

Don't get me wrong. I'm thrilled, excited. But terrified. I've never taken out a loan before and to have to take out 2 or 3 for a total of perhaps 120,000$ is daunting. It's an investment. Yes, yes, yes it is. Instead of a house I'm getting a brain.

I spent this weekend and Mother's Day / my b'day with my family. It seemed apropos and my mum was happy. I still woke up forgetting it was my b'day. It's just kind of taken a backseat.

This week it's more interviews and me racing between Madison and Milwaukee to do so, a run up to another city to focus some work, a free Thursday for packing, Friday back in Milwaukee and back in time to meet up with Joe for the totally sold out and hot tickets for The Hold Steady, then we'll nap, jump on the plane that leaves at 6am for Mexico. I'm totally not sure what I've gotten myself into here but I'm sure it will all work out. Hurricane or sunshine, it'll be a needed vacation with no agenda but to see, feel, breathe.

And then I'll be completely out of money. Lord only knows how I'll re-coop in time to get my things out of my apartment by mid-August lease up, buy storage space, buy a plane ticket [one-way or round indefinite?], crash with my parents for a bit, get on a plane, get an apartment in Paris, feed myself, and start school.

Will there be any time for breathing ever again? Any time for my luxurious down-time of days spent with my hand down my pants? Any more binge drinking? Will I carouse on the town again? Or, has my age of innocence passed into a sultry, focused adulthood?

In ten years, I'm sure I'll look back and .....

I see London, I see France

whirlwind

I'm not even able to stay home to pack decently. I have to be on the road for work today, off-site all day Wed, off across the state Thurs to return at 9:30pm and pack for my 3pm flight. Sigh. Not a moment to actually stop and think and enjoy this so unusual jet-setting.

Sat - fly into London, hop the Eurostar train to Paris
Sun - Paris
Mon - Paris, visit Sciences Po
Mon night - Eurostar to London
Tues - London, visit Univ College
Wed - London
Thurs - fly back home

Sex? What's that? R-n-R? What's that? This is official business.

I guess you'll hear all about it upon my return. Hopefully my new digicam will arrive [dumb Amazon mix-up] and you'll get pix when I get back. When I get home, I make a decision about schools that Friday and I get that first May weekend alone. Then a week of work, a weekend to visit the parents and celebrate Mother's Day with my birthday [it's Sunday, May 13th and I'd like a laptop, PDA, and anything else found on the Amazon wishlist - I'll be 32 - you should buy me something]. Week of work and then May 19th off to Mexico with "no-name Joe" for a week. At least he planned the trip so we'd get Memorial weekend back home. Settle down, settle in. June work and train a new staff person. July work, train, quit, pack up my life. August store my life, move somewhere. September start school.

The train has left the station. And it's like a super fast jet train. I'm not driving. I've turned my wheel over to jesus, the cosmos, Mother Nature, buddha, allah, the aliens, the secret plotting between my soul and the universe.

I guess it's what I wished for and I guess it's coming true. Impermanence is permanent.

If I could have anything without worrying about the consequences, I'd go for two years in Paris. Learn my third language, spend my days roaming Henry Miller, Picasso, Toulouse Lautrec, and learn to debate social policy in French.

My horoscope says I should take a minute on Monday and have a tea or be by myself to contemplate and take it easy. If you send your post mail addy in time, I will send you a postcard.

To the parents

Years ago, I swore that I'd get married and change my last name. I hated them that much. Years ago, I almost slapped my mother. Years ago, I cut initials into my left ankle to remind me of the hatred and pain my father caused.

Years go by...


Dear mum and dad email:

I was thinking about you guys today.

It's great to work downtown with the floor-to-ceiling windows because we get to see a lot. During the good weather there's some daycare group that trucks up the street to the capitol with all these cute lil kids tied to a string and 2 adults leading them up the hill. Today, I was walking past the cap as I noticed all these toddlers jumping around the cap lawn in lil hats and coats.

Kind of made me think of that story you told me, mum, about how, as a kid, I was late for school bus and you made me walk to school but called some lady ahead at a church or something to "accidentally" come out and see me and help me across the street.

Made me very heartfelt and appreciative of all you guys have done for me. Without even knowing it myself, you've made me who I am. I know that you're not perfect and that you did the best you could and that there were so many years of utter hatred. But seems that things worked out, huh? And the more work I've done on this project, learning about unplanned consequences and poverty and lack of education and love, the more I've really started to understand the parents' role.

I'll never concede to it out loud [and you'll burn this email upon receipt], but I'm also kinda turning into you in parts. My sister and I talked tonight about our trip to London/Paris together. She told me she packs the night before but it's not a big deal [maybe she's a liar?]. I told her I pack the night before and it's an ordeal and I over-pack. .. Kind of like mom, I guess. ; ) So, we reconciled that she'll pack what she wants but will have the leftover space for our new purchases, where I'll come equipped with everything in case we need a first aid kit or some such.

So many other weird things too. She bought her ticket for my flight but randomly chose the seat. Ends up she's 35G and I'm 35J. We'll be kicking Mr. 35H out of the way for sure. Turns out she asked her beau to help her do the research for a new digicam, dad. HA! So, I forwarded her the info you sent me and told her about the digicam I bought.

Bizarre daughters you created.

At one point, while debating whether to stay with the friends-of-friends I wrote to or to investigate hostels on our own, she and I agreed that we'd be better off on our own -- b/c it's easier for us to separate w/o hurt feelings or take our own time alone etc w/o involving other parties. Two peas in a pod. [We're divvying up your list of hostels to investigate more thoroughly, dad]

Yeah, I think the trip will be good for us. Maybe a bit weird at times b/c she'll always want to take care of me and I'll always want to be rebellious. But I bet we're more similar now than we were ever before. And maybe that will be difficult, maybe not. Either way...

If you ever thought about leaving a legacy... well, you have.

Guess I just wanted to tell you guys that you done good. I know you already know, but ... you know, I'm the sensitive one, the writerly one. I had to do it.


Okay..
Back to the research.

xoxo
L.