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empty bed blues

May. 18th, 2009 | 07:16 pm
location: homestead
mood: supersad
music: bobby bland - reflections in blue

hello little diary,

sad news today - I had a visit with Smelliot in which things completely unravelled, and long story short, your girl is going to stay single.  After phone calls to Mina, Mom, and a friend at work, two dozen oysters at happy hour, and three new records, I'm feeling a little better but still pretty blue.  Love is silly.

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(no subject)

May. 17th, 2009 | 01:02 am
location: uncomfy chair (but it's so cool!)
mood: back ache
music: the oldies station


I tell you what: I sure as fuck am glad I have a diary right now.  I just teared up over two separate commercials -- first the one w/ the "I think that possibly maybe I'm falling for you" song and then IMMEDIATELY afterward I got pheklempt over the Subaru Heaven commercial.

My first week all the way off anti-depressants, and I feel like a walking nerve ending.  I decided to stop taking Effexor recently for a number of different reasons, the most compelling of which was that I just really wanted to know what would happen.  I've been on anti-depressants since I was 18 years old, and I was suddenly faced with the possibility that they would soon no longer be available to me (Let's just say I don't have health insurance, a prescription, a regular physician, or, um, health insurance.)  I weaned myself off according to the advice of a physician who's a close friend of the family, and after two weeks of strange "brain worms," I was finally drug-free.  Or, rather, effexor-free. 

  here's my effexor-swag FUCKING LETTER OPENER.  Seriously, who thought that was a good idea?  Who signed off on that?  The different dosages of effexor are suspended in resin-plasticy stuff, and then there's a really sharp point at the end, as if to say, 'If we can't help you, uhhh, kill yourself.'

So, yeah, I'm pretty prickly.  One of my coworkers broke my tart shells by stuffing his bookbag on top of them, and I sought swift and immature retribution by hurling said bookbag into the parking lot.  (to my defense, that guy is a jerk)  And it works for good stuff too:  If I hear a song that makes me think about the fact that I'm in love, I'm pretty much giddy for the next three minutes.  Unfortunately, it's particularly difficult right now because there are some complications with Smelliot that are making me way damn sad on, like, a daily basis.  Is it because, as I suspected a year ago, I'm just not meant to couple?  Or is it because I just stopped taking 75 mg of a pretty potent mind-altering substance after 7 years of doing so?  Can't tell.  Kind of a problem.

So, all this makes it sort of sound like I would like to stop stopping and go running back to Effexortown.  I could probably just jump through some hoops and get a prescription like people are supposed to do if I really needed to.  The thing is, I prefer it this way.  It makes me want to write poetry and (get ready for it) listen to the Smiths.  It makes me want to be in love and not in love.  I write down ideas more.  I feel less apathetic (although the smoking weed at work policy has drastically changed recently, so that could be a factor.)

AAAAAH!  The Paul Simon song "Homeward Bound" just came on the radio.  This is what I'm talking about people.  Oooh. 

Haha.  Seriously, my level of enjoyment over random radio selections is noticibly higher. 

So, anyway, my brain is fine.  I don't have that anxiety about taking my pill every day, which is a big relief for a self-described 'scatterbrain,' and I like the renewed depth of perception.  Now that I feel everything more acutely, I feel like I robbed myself of potential feelings for the last few years.  weird.  Not that I haven't done some sobbing, cackling, proclaiming, etc over the past few years, I'm just wondering...what exactly was I missing?  

what indeed.

 

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well, if you insist..

May. 15th, 2009 | 01:46 am
mood: back ache


Excellent catch, anonymous reader (see "smitten kitten" comments).  I think my omission was revelatory of a larger issue about myself.  I tend to get so excited by the prospect that someone likes me and proving to him that he's made the right decision that I fail to note the qualities about him that may be important later on, once the buzz wears off, so to speak.

But pressed to articulate my needs, I have come up with the following:

Beyond the requisite beard and stature, I need artifacts.  My whole life can be broken down like an elaborate game of show-and-tell.  My apartment has a name and it's almost fully nested despite having lived here for less than a year.  I love my things, looking at them, dusting them.  I'm a collector of physical signifiers.  (somebody spent too much time reading umberto eco.)  Whereas some women seem to be primarily motivated by platitudes, I'll take some swag any day, physical manifestations of the shit talkin.  Yeah, so I'm saying I want a dude who gives me stuff.  Funny stuff, sweet stuff...anything from a bouquet of rainbow chard to an ironic lighter, a love letter, stickers off of produce, pages ripped from magazines...Little gifts, as though I were some sort of oppossum. 

And not only do I like collecting little things, I like to accumulate a body of inside jokes/vocabulary.  I like a very self-referential relationship, a real nation of two.  I like someone who relishes the silly banter of pillow talk because that is most often my favorite part...of life.

My stepmom has always sworn by the little bit of wisdom that you should wake up every day wondering "what can I do for my loverbutt" (ok, she doesn't say loverbutt...that's just me coming through.)  And I've adopted that belief as my own.  When I'm in love, a trip to the grocery store is like 12 aisles full of treats that I could get for my lover, you know?  I just want to do whatever I can think of to make my person happy, and I'd like the same in return.

Also, I want a man that I could readily describe as capable.  I want to be reassured.  Sometimes I want to think my dong is smarter than I am, but I never want him to be a dick about it.  I would like my main squeeze to be able to fix my computer, put up some shelves, parallel park, help me with the crossword puzzle, diagnose an illness (webmd is allowed for reference, you just have to care about my pleurisy,) open jars, lift the keg, and generally be manly in his dudeliness.  Bonus points if you happen to be some sort of MMA fanboy.  hah.  cause that's hottadorable.

Oh, and you know what else:  You can't fucking cheat on me.  I will not be cuckolded...yes, I know it's a masculine specific word, but these are modern times.  Because I'm cery open sexually and always up for rousing sexual conversation and/or exploration, I really feel like this ultimate betrayal takes on an even more fucked up nature when I'm the victim of it, as though it were specifically designed to hurt me and not just a happenstance of sexual desire.  Ok, yes, in several of my relationships, I did just stop having sex.  If my boyfriend at the time had pursued other avenues, I would've been hurt but not necessarily surprised.  Now though, if my man of choice were to say to me, "dollfacebutterton, I really want to have sex with, say, a woman with a dick while you watch,"  I'd be like, "that's kind of hot, ok."  See - no reason to go browsing the casual encounters of craigslist with this girl for your girl.   

And, though I didn't mention it in my initial review of my assets, I am also fiercely loyal.  It's just so important to me that I feel like my man is the same way.  The only times I've had quality sex in a relationship were when I felt completely confident. (so, just the once..heh.)  I believe that I can be faithful to one man when presented with that option, and the idea that someone would want to do the whole monogamy thing with ME gets m'labia all aflutter.

I want someone with realistic expectations for a relationship.  The kind of dong that goes all the way home with me is the one that knows that once he gets there, I might be all sorts of crazy or complacent or whatever but that we're worth the trouble, that we owe it to each other to keep inspiring each other and growing together because that's the only way a relationship can hope to be successful over a long period of time. 

and it cannot be stressed enough that I'm a total slut for back rubs, art made for me, and fooood.

****************************************

In other news, I had an outrageous panic hit today at work when my boss said to me, "I saw some sexy pictures of you on the internet last night."

!!!

Had I accidentally posted my firediary to my other blog?  Did I accidentally send an email of smut to a coworker?  Did the man happen onto Firegirls.com?!  Had my firesecret spread like...um...fire?  Everyone seemed to be avoiding eye contact with me.  No one was talking.  WHAT THE FUCK!? 

did the man get an eyeful of this by mistake?! 
did the man get an eyeful of this by mistake!?

I ran outside and called Smelliott and asked him to check the internet for the me that work doesn't see, and he quickly reported that no breech had been made.

Turns out, the man just meant the pictures of me from the Cinco de Mayo party.

Ole!  Solid gold, cosmos; way to make me almost crap myself.

And finally, on the way to work today, I was thinking about porn twitters and how they would, naturally, be called twatters.  I haven't looked to see if such a thing already exists.  I'd love to be the first to do it if Twitter weren't a haiku of media-steeped narcisism, but as I find it difficult enough to blog regularly, I should just accept my communications limitations.

zing.

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a smitten kitten

May. 14th, 2009 | 12:04 am
mood: smitten
music: Paul Simon: Negotiations and Love Songs

I just wrote an extremely thoughtful (yeah, I said it,) humorous, sexy diary entry, and then when I decided to add a poll, all my hard work vanished like a freaking unicorn.  What a fucking kick in the balls.  I had already finished and reread my entry, and I was so pleased with it.  Argh.

So, sorry for the abbreviated version, but here goes:

I'm enjoying a pretty nice thing with Smelliott, long-term-lover-cum-boyfriend, and I decided to tell him my Firegirl secret.  I've always wanted to make porn w/ Elliott, so it was cool to show him that I actually do it.  It was extra cool, as a matter of fact, because Elliott very sweetly agreed to take these pictures of me:

How would you react to the news that your newest love interest makes porn?

I would probably want him/her to quit if I were pursuing a monogamous relationship
0(0.0%)
I would be turned on but worried about how it would affect the relationship
1(50.0%)
I would be like, "sweet." And then I'd want to fuck.
0(0.0%)
I would be like, "sweet." And then I'd want to fuck. And then 6 months later when we were arguing about me oggling a member of the opposite sex at sbarro, I'd be like "at least I'm not a freaking porn star!"
0(0.0%)
Other.
1(50.0%)


I mentioned in the first, nobler draft of this post that I had tricked myself into believing that Elliott was going to surprise me at work tonight.  (He lives several hours away.)  I thought this because 1.  it was a good idea, and it would've been really fucking smooth and 2. I just wanted it to happen so much that I thought perhaps I could will it.  I used three separate 11:11 wishes for just such an occurance, but to no avail.  Anyway, this is what the preliminary love stages do:  They make you a moron.

I mean, it's good and bad.  I suddenly want to work out and stop smoking and get a tan.  That can't be a bad thing.  Oh and the other men folk can see it too.  It's like once you find happiness, you emit some sort of fuck-me pheremone, and the hot bearded dudes come at you from every direction, just begging to sniff your panties..  I even require less sleep.  Shit's WEIRD. 

Anyway, being on the threshold of a possibly serious relationship after my first ever year of singlehood makes me think about what I have to offer and what I want in return.

What I have to offer

ok, I shouldn't have to say this, but I'm, like, hilarious.  it's my best asset.
I do the cooking.  and cleaning.  and if you want, I'll do them...sexy.
I will do crazy awesome things for the person I love.  I'm creative and considerate when it comes to doting! 
and also, this:
    Also, at this point, I'm very satisfied being by myself for long periods of time.  I have no pressing need to start a relationship right now.  I've had several love applicants since my last move in October.  So, when I find someone who makes me think "I need to give up my selfish singledom and start giving big chunks of myself to that guy," I am quite excited.  Nothing like a love affair to clear up your complexion.

xxxx

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hot hot fire

Apr. 19th, 2009 | 11:14 pm
location: uncomfy chair
mood: in heat


magis7er, if you're making a saute pan investment, go all-clad.  It's the way to go.  Behold:

  Personally, I tend to be frugal to a fault, and I've yet to invest in such a treasure.  Luckily, an old chef of mine gave me two Calphalon saute pans that are too legit.  They've served me well.  As a personal preference, when I have a 2- or 3- quart saute pan, like the above, I like to have a handle on the opposite side for easy pouring, manuevering, etc. 


So, my longterm lover whom I mentioned in the last update came to visit this week, and Mina got to meet him!  He plays in an awesome band that is currently on tour, and he stopped in my city for a very fun evening of music and PBR.  Mina came by the house first and did my make-up, to excellent effect.  My eyes were poppin hot.  I'll post a picture or two as soon as I upload my new batch of photos to the old 'puter.  Stand by.  In the mean time, trust that Mina's make-up skills transformed my ho-hum, every-girl face to glamorama mama.  Heh...I could write for Cosmo.  Huzzah.

Elliott and one of his band mates came back to my house to stay before their drive the next morning.  It was great to hang out and chat, but when it came time for Elliott and I to bed down, we had to be extra quiet and ended up finishing our super hot sex in the kitchen.  Oh the joys of youth.  The two of us in a day bed is another funny matter entirely.  Turns out I'm going to have to grow up and get a big kid bed.  I mostly regret this because the sheets for twin-sized beds are better:  Think Star Wars, Bat Man, Dinosaurs, Captain Planet, NKOTB!  They certainly don't make Dinosaur sheets for queen-sized beds.  I mean, I'm sure they DO, and somewhere on the internet I could find them, but they sure don't sell them at Target.  Though, they should.  Hey, Target, get on it.  Also, call me, I've got some other great ideas...

I've got Vincent D'onofrio on the screen, I'm going to have to get back to you.

Toodles,
Elizabeth


 

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comment card

Apr. 15th, 2009 | 12:26 pm

Sooo, I've enabled comments from non-livejournal members.  Honestly, I didn't know they were ever disabled.  So, comment away!

Also, I perused the new firegirls layout, and may I just say: wow.  wowie wow wow.  WOW.

My pornographer is the shit.

And speaking of dear Alex, he mentioned in his most recent N&M that I would probably update my blog more regularly if I had a computer that was not a teenager.  Indeed, the firedude speaks the truth.  Well, I just got my taxes done (because I like that last-minute rush!) and it looks like in 8 to 15 days, the federal government will be buying me a computer.  The floor is open for suggestions, but most likely, I'll just tell Mina to pick something out for me, and then I'll buy it.  She knows computers like I know saute pans!

until the future!

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rainy night off

Apr. 14th, 2009 | 01:25 am
location: home
mood: forthcoming
music: hall and oates greatest hits


I've sucked the marrow out of the bones of this day off, and I'm just about to go to bed (although, the longer I put it off, the longer I can put off going to work tomorrow, right?)  The old man sent me a link to a video clip of a woman putting on pantyhose in a papasan chair outside.  It was extremely hot.  Labia-fattening hotness.  Naturally, I had to reply in kind.  Although it was too cold/drizzly to shoot outside today, I took about a dozen pictures and a video in the comfort and semi-warmth (I turned my heat off last month) of my living room, all the while listening to Donny Hathaway live, which if you haven't heard yet, I suggest.

Nothing brings my inner vixen to the table like some soul classics.





I do hope he can enjoy them as they're intended.  The idea of him clipping through my photo array with a handful of boner makes me swoon. 

In personal news (though what, really, is more personal than provocative pictures of yourself that cater to your exboyfriend's sexual fantasies..?)  I'm still quite enjoying the single life.  I had a love applicant if you will, try to break down the barricade lately, but to no avail.  Despite killer taste in music and a totally affable personality, something never clicked in the meaningful way that would compel me to abandon the easy, selfish life of a single girl.

However, there is another candidate of sorts, someone I've been lusting over off and on for 6 years.  Only now, I'm thinking about him regularly (like, now for example) and even feeling unusually sentimental about the whole thing.  I mean, in my defense, he's a bearded, banjo-playing stone fucking fox.  We have the same taste in books and movies and complimentary taste in music.  He's funny and he smells good (which, by the way dudes, is key.)  His overall asthetic is smart, right, and totally hip.  He's got me swooning like Vincent D'onofrio and Christopher Meloni arm wrestling for my affection (one of my favorite fantastical scenarios!)  So, I mean, there's that....

Another interesting thing about this guy (let's call him Elliott, because I get to make up a name for him, and that's totally fun.) -- Other names that were considdered:  Malcolm (too black,) Seth, and Simon.  Anyway, another cool thing about Elliott is that I know alot about him sexually.  We have a very sexual relationship; at times in our history together, that's probably the extent of what we meant to one another.  Now, though, I feel a real friendship and chemistry with him PLUS the fact that I know he's packing major heat.

He's definitely an experimenter.  I would feel confident telling him any sexual secret of mine:  Recently I told him that I occasionally thought about Ron White when I 'rubbed the bean.'  (Ron White!?  Really!?)  He's the only man with whom I've ever used a strap-on.  I found the experience to be kind of enjoyable and worth trying again.  Plus I like the term "pegging."  Often when I 'rub the bean,' I conjure the image of someone (like Elliott or even Ron White) face fucking me, but my thrusts are a manifestation of the thrusts I imagine the male figure to be making, so it's kind of like I'm face fucking myself.  Pegging kind of lets me work that out a little bit...I plan on doing more investigation.

But now, I'm going to listen to Hall and Oates and finish the dishes from dinner.


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birthday season

Mar. 25th, 2009 | 10:36 pm
location: on the way to bed


I have some pretty major decidifying to do regarding the rest of my evening:  Fresh off the heels of a friendly, successful 41st birthday party for Alex, do I curl up under the electric blanket and read until I fall asleep?  Orrr, do I spruce up my make up and make the several-block jaunt to where a recent boy interest is playing music?  Conundrum.  While I mull over the possibilities, I thought I'd post a few pics:



Righteous, right?  Yes.  What could be better?  THIS:



p-r-e-c-i-o-u-s.

Here's a picture Mina took of me showing off Alex's birthday spread and another one of his special-request vegan carrot cake (with marzipan carrots!)

 taboule, samosas, macro-vegan dumplings, sesame tofu bites, hummus, carrots, and THE CAKE!

   Tonight's soiree was small but fun and left all of us full of food and nicely buzzed.  Success.  This marks the 3rd of 4 birthdays in our friend group, Mina's being the one left.  Rest assured that we will be doing Mina's birthday up like nobody's business.  Mina's been integral in ensuring that the three birthdays preceeding hers were a success, and we're going to use that concentrated party know-how to give her an awesome bash.  Look out for a parade of intoxicados in wigs roaming ths streets singing classic rock...
Also, before our fourth non-FG guest arrived, we brainstormed ideas for a new shoot that we're doing Monday.  It's going to be so rad.  I'm totally inspired and into it, and I'm especially stoked that we're shooting at my house!  I love home court advantage.  All I have to do is wake up, and Mina will be there to do my hair and make-up.  Smashing!

Alright, well, in the time it took me to upload these photos, during which I received several endearing texts from the boy interest, I have decided to stay in for the rest of the night.  I can always go out tomorrow...but tonight, bed!

xoxo
Elizabeth
 

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self porntraits

Mar. 16th, 2009 | 12:15 am
location: my cold abode
mood: anticipatory


Naughty home photos and a soon-to-arrive sexy house guest have gotten me all a-flutter, so I thought it would be best shared with the fire community.  I have some frank admissions to make:

1.  earlier tonight, after watching a couple of hours of comedy central, I thought about Ron White licking the toes of my pantyhose, and I masturbated to great effect.  It was as pleasant as it was unexpected.  Gracias, Ron White.
2.  earlier this week, I had a dream about my ex ol' man, in which I was driven into a jealous rage (hey man, it happens,) when I learned that he was dating someone new.  In my waking life, I was already aware of this indiscretion (I thought we both agreed he'd be pining over me for, like, years,) and, while not thrilled at the prospect of one of the most sincere physical and emotional kindreds I've ever known spooning a stranger, I had made peace with the arrangement.  Well, one little rattling of the subconcious, and I shot these into his inbox faster than a load on prom night.  As you can see, I basically just woke up, made the unpleasantly cold jaunt to the freezer to retrieve a pair of pantyhose, and then hopped back in bed and started the tedious, ridiculous process of making these 'self porntraits.'  Take that, moving on!





In fire news, I realized that the last updates to this blog were from a time (11 wks ago...and beyond..) when Alex and Mina weren't really real to me yet.  They were like magical porn fairies with bags of money and endless compliments.  Now that I've gotten to know them, I've realized that this is still essentially true.  But also, they're real people with complicated, stressful lives.  That's made FG all the more vital and exciting for me.  I can't wait to do another shoot.  We've all bounced around ideas; really, it's just a matter of me getting off work. 

During our last huzzah together, I enjoyed a solo visit with Mina wherein she worked out the crazy knot in my hip and I made her a vegan pupusa, and then Alex dropped in for a beer (his fifth ever, he pointed out) and an impromtu fg update.  The news is thrilling.  New look, new energy...like FG with a stimulus package.  insert penis joke here...  and zingo!

Next time, look forward to custom-made Battlestar Gallactica t-shirts on Mina et moi.  C'est chic.

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tis the season

Dec. 23rd, 2008 | 10:29 pm
location: pancakes
mood: you know

With the holidays come some of my favorite passtimes:  spying on exboyfriends via myspace, watching law and order reruns, and of course updating almost-forgotten blogs.  Enter the fire diary.  I've been meaning to post more - more love for FG, more photos, more ranting (I don't rant like Alex, but I do partake from time to time,) more confessions and perhaps a surprise or two.  But despite all my best intentions, not having the internet at home is quite an impediment.  Hopefully, upon the arrival of 2009, I'll be able to connect to the internets without stealing it, ensuring a swift return to blogtown.

I was reading Readymade (www.readymademag.com) and someone therein was identified as a "blogger".....like that's his job.  His professional job for which he is paid.  Dude, I thought being a chef was a lucky break.  If only I could get paid to notice things and then type them.  Hmm, on second thought, I'll stick with cooking -- more access to food.  Oooh, or I could be a food blogger....because we certainly don't have enough of them, we should pay people to do what ordinary jerks do for free.

I'm watching the Robin Williams episode of Law and Order SVU right now, which reminds me - a few people at work are going or have gone to the patch adams clown college thing.  that's cool.  I recall that when I saw "Patch Adams" I was pretty touched.  I'm not sure how I feel about Robin Williams as a straight actor though.  Let me say a few things before I proceed.  I, for one, find Robin Williams to be very attractive.  Yep.  1.  He's famous.  I can't really stress this point enough.  It's a turn-on to me in a couple of ways.  The fantasy has something to do with being in the know, connected to a world of people that everyone else seems to want to know about and, thus, much be interesting.  2.  He's hairy.  (like Nick Cage.)  Raaarrr.  Chest Hair.  Scoff if you must.  3.  I mean, dude's pretty hilarious.  I've seen Mrs. Doubtfire a twillion times, and I still laugh.  Hah.  See, I'm laughing now. Hah.  Um, I think that's all the reasons I have, but as it turns out, it is enough.

Alas, Robin Williams is not on the list.  He might be in the twenty, and that's good; I crush alot, and there are famous people all over tv. 

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