Theodora L'Engle Knight's Open Salon Blog

i love everyone who has loved me and i am really gone.

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 07:11:07 -0500

i'm so mentally ill right now that i am scaring people away like crazy. i get it completely. i do. i went from mania to ptsd back to mania and now i'm sleeping 20 hours a day and the poor wonderpups are paying the price for it all. and that is not okay.

those who love me, or did before this last awful time :), thank you forever and ever. i apologize to the end of the universe and back to those for whom "i tore you a new asshole", as a probably former friend said to me. and she is and was right. i've behaved aggregiously the past week or so. i got triggered and that triggered a mania and who the fuck cares, i know. i just need to apologize. other bipolars have told me that they don't talk to anyone when they are actively ill and i have to learn to do that. i have very poor impulse control and need to learn to do much much much much better.

As Maya Angelou, says, "you did what you knew how to do then. when you know more, you will do better." or something like that. godiverse, i hope so.

those who want nothing to do with me, reach out to the Palin brothers and commiserate with them. and with Fireeyes too (she and the lovely emma peel and tits completely flamed me several months ago and emma peel told jane smithie that she wanted to force me off OS. that's been hard for me to get past. it might be hard for others to do so too.and this is why they showed up on robin sneed's post about me helping to save her and trashed me. there are witnesses. i just want them outed forever and ever. they do evil evil things.) twell, Fireeyes did, but she now seems to be a lovely person to everyone and that is fabulous. hank you, all three of you, for caring for someone special to all of us and for helping me make this hard decision to go.

those who supported my writing, same as above. i love you always. my writing, sadly, is me. i don't self-edit at all. some people enjoyed that. it scared others away. i get it.

if you want to stay in touch, my email is: prozaconpaws@yahoo.com

if it's too stressful and/or intimate, i completely understand. i'm so sorry that i'm leaving on the note of being as crazy as i've ever been in my life. i'm rapid cycling, but this has been ridiculous.

as my beloved john irving wrote, "Keep passing the open windows", folks.

PS please read Dorinda Fox's comment on my post and see what i've been up against the whole time i've been on here. it's no one's business how many times i say good-bye, right?

if there is something you'd like me to read, especially something a bit light-hearted (yes, lunchlady and mypsyche, i'm talking to you two especially.:)) please send it to my email. i don't want to read anyone's comments anymore. those palins are everywhere.

seriously, folks, i get that i'm unpleasant to be in contact with if you don't get the bipolar thing and/or you just don't like me because i was mean mean mean to you, but, shit, man, i don't dislike you Palins, i never did, i was manic and i was mean and i'm so freaking sorry and i was so freaking hurt that you couldn't forgive me that i acted poorly, but when someone helps to save your friend, seems like you could suck it up enough to use that person's name in a post about that person. i was completely willing to suck it up for that friend, but, for me, it's not sucking it up because i really like you two. i would forgive FE too, for my friend. and, yes, i realize that i'm acting very mentally ill here, but I am mentally ill right now and here. i'm also devastated by having to let go of a friendship because this not sucking it up makes the contact much too painful.

don't worry about those fucking ratings now, guys. couldn't mean less anymore.

so long & thanks for all the fish, confession & UPDATE!

Sat, 7 Nov 2009 04:11:26 -0500

CONFESSION first and then Update: okay, well, those who read me know that i've been all into the fact that i'm a jewy Jew and where are the other Jews on here and such. well, i have a huge confession to make. when i am agitated, and there's been a lot of that lately, the music that calms and comforts me? well, shit, i confess. it's Christmas carols. god, i know. the shame, the shame. please don't call the rabbis, people, or my relatives. these days, i am listening practically non-stop to Josh Groban's Noel CD. for those of you who also love this Xmas stuff, this CD is exquisite. i LOVE his voice anyway... and, yes, Virginia, i do have very Middle American taste. long and very funny story about that at some point.

{UPDATE: wow, you guys have been so lovely to me. i'm so grateful. i need to talk about what's really going on with me and why the trolls were able to get to me so much. i've finally realized, thanks in part to the lovely SirenitaLake, that i'm in PTSD mode and not thinking clearly and that this isn't the time to make any major decisions. (which is why i cancelled that order for a thousand chocolate cupcakes. :() that should have been more clever. sorry.

sometimes, in order to help someone else, you have to go to some very dark and ugly places in your own mind, you just do. and those memories don't just fade away. it's what happens to war vets especially. so you are stuck in PTSD flashback shit for a while. and it's hell on earth. and it never feels like you're getting enough support because you are feeling such terrible things. even when gracious people are reaching out to you on here and in PMs.

so i APOLOGIZE PROFUSELY for any and all ungrateful comments or PMs responses. they were all made/sent before i went into the ugly cry and got so much of it out out out. i'm now back to feeling grateful and blessed, which i am, to have so many of you stand up for me.

but godiverse listened a little bit and i actually cried and sobbed and got hysterical, which is so what i needed to do, but i have these chronically infected eyelids and tear ducts and yada yada yada..., so the crying was a small miracle even though it scared the shit out of the Wonderpups! i'm better now and i can now reach out for appropriate support and not demand attention. and maybe get some real help, although that is scarce here in this very poor state. whatever, i'll find something.

and if i do decide to stick around, when i'm not out of my mind with PTSD, i hope that you will forgive me for taking care of myself and this stupid chronic Flutigue and not reading a lot of posts. PMing me about your new stuff really helps me. when i go to the Recent Post place on the cover, i can't help myself from looking to the left and the right and seeing Top Rated and Viewed and stuff. So you PMing me? a godiverse send, guys.

but, still, thanks for all the fish, guys. :)}

i wish you all everything that is good. i've run my course here. the tech shit is the last straw. i have to be able to upload photos (os is now telling me that it can't upload photos from the same camera i've used for so many uploaded others). well, that and the lack of other Jews. :) well, kidding and not. i'm grateful for the many honorary Jews who have been there for me.

thank you for the excellent support and laughs and kindness and caring and compassion. and the advice and the lectures too, well, not so much. i hope i made some of you laugh too. i hope i helped make some people's lives a little better once in a while. that was/is one of my many missions. i wish you all everything that is wonderful in the godiverse.

love love love and gratitude and buh bye

And i so much want to thank the lovely Robin Sneed for this:

http://open.salon.com/blog/robin_sneed/2009/11/06/theodora_lengle_knight_saves_lives/comment

i love you, sweetheart, and i'm so happy that you are safe now and that TrigX got you wearing a Pirate Patch over your eye so you are now one of the Pirate Wimmen agin!

desperately seeking jews & other ethnic people on OS.

Wed, 4 Nov 2009 12:11:39 -0500

UPDATE OF THE UPDATE: i no longer feel the way i was feeling when i wrote the old part of this post. i've let go of the EP/Cover/Ratings shit, so i don't need any more advice and such on that count. okay, guys? not that i'm not grateful for all the support and the kicks in the ass. i am so freaking thankful, and i love you all. i just wanted people to see what i was obsessed about before, and how i had this GIANT INSIGHT and have changed my focus thusly:

UPDATE: i finally figured out why i feel so fucking uncomfortable on here. it's all gentiles on here. how is that even possible? where are the jews and the italians and the other ethnic people???? i know that there are a few black people, which is wonderful. but where the fuck are the other ethnic writers? how do you have a site about being literate and not hear SCHLEP OR KVETCH OR PLOTZ once in a while. this is insane. yes, i know, i'm a looney tune, but some of it is that i'm a very ethnic person! loud, emotional, talk with my hands, all of that carp.

but, first, now my attitude, thanks to the miracle of getting to be of service to someone i love and of being supported and comforted by fabulously appreciate and gracious and supportive and excellent friends who made me feel like a Hero for my service, well, my attitude is that Everyone Who Doesn't Read my Often Excellent posts???? it's your giant loss. i am so freaking funny. seriously, people. and overly honest too. i know. but mostly i am so freaking funny and real and courageous and always fighting to have a better life and be a better person and to support those i love and to give solace to those i don't know who are in great pain. (i have references if you want to see them.) and i have the most fabulous wonderpups/service dogs in the world and i educate about service dogs for invisible disabilities and i help people who had no idea that they were entitled to a canine-american companion. that's not so shabby, eh?

so back to the first thang: where are my jews??? where are the ethnic people on here????? what is with all the white white white white people who dominate this place??? Endicott and Brady and McCarter -- not picking on you, melissa :) -- and Thurston Howell the third, for god's sake. i dont' get it. this is writing. this is literate stuff. this is art. where are my jews, man? i know of a few Jews on here. One of them is a new friend and is fabulous and talented and a great man to have in your corner -- it's Jeff Brawer, please read his very jewy comment below. i know i'm going to get blasted and i don't care. i just don't. warm, loud, expressive ethnic people would not be as scared of my very honest writing as WHITE people are. i studied Cultural Anthropology at Hahhvahhd and i spent waaay too much time around WASPs there and at Miss Winsor's School for Young Ladies not to recognize when i'm surrounded by that vibe.

yes, i know i'm white too, but, shit, i don't feel like it here in very very very white and bland Portland, OR (well, there are about 3 jews, some non-smiling Ukrainians/Russians and 1 or two black people but that is about it.) or on here most of the time. so please, if you are Jewish and have any idea what i'm talking about or if you are ethnic and get this too, please reach out to me!!!!! i'm not saying that all jews are the same or that we all think and feel the same things. not at all. but there is a culture there. there is a certain humor, a certain way of being, a certain world view, that i miss like crazy. and i'm not trashing very White people. it's just a different culture, a different way of expressing things, of seeing life. sometimes i feel like i'm the most effusive commenter on here. i know i'm not, but what the fuck is wrong with cheering people on? with getting super-excited about someone's excellent work or someone's wonderful personhood?

okay now, bring it on. i will probably have someone else read my comments for me, but bring it on. and please please please, if you get this at all, if you understand what i'm saying, please reach out and let's commiserate. love love love and HUGE gratitude in advance.

i tried to take some photos of myself to ask people what they thought of the red highlights that i put in my dark brown hair, but my arms only reach so far so i ended up with pics of the top of my head, my looking up face -- this is my new thang. i don't like looking my age so all photos from now on will be of me looking up up up up up so you can't see my carpy neck and shit (i don't get why my zits and stuff don't show up on camera. you guys think i'm cute and i kind of am, but i have these things called MILLIA on my face that look like warts, all over the place, from too much sun, and shit, man, they will not go away with any drastic measures i can afford. then there is the acne scarring...)

plus i wanted you all to admire my blue Star earrings that i think are fabulous but that no one ever notices here because they are extremely fashion and fun-impaired! so, it's hair, up face, earrings and wonderpups. have some smiles on me!!!! and start acting like a warm ethnic person even if you are not!

Never freaking mind, guys. OS won't upload my pics. this is happening almost all the time now. they are less than 2 MB. i tried to copy the message they are sending me. i am so freaking frustrated. can i send my pics to someone and you tell me what the freak is wrong with them????? please, tech geeks, please help me. Star Earrings, guys, Star Earrings that kind of spin around.

Okay, last thing. i want to explain why ratings are important to a part of me. see, this drives me a little nuts. two people come by, lovely people, lovely readers and friends, and only one of them rates this thang. what is the deal, guys? i rate every post i read unless it's just dreck because it's our gold stars.

what people don't understand about me (or people like me) is that i was severely traumatized for 12 years of my childhood. severely. and when that happens, a healthy person will begin to create fragments of her self and kind of leave her body in order to survive the trauma and not become Ted Bundy. so it's not the Me of Me who craves the Ratings. it's the child parts who broke off and hold those memories. those parts who are sooo proud of this writing and who want those gold stars so badly. it's called dissociation. you can google it. it happens to all of us. when we leave our bodies during a boring meeting, when we get home and can't remember how we got there. some of us just do this more often and did it intensely when we were in intolerable situations as children or adults. it's that simple. when you're like this, the child parts of you react strongly to what is going on with you as an adult.

it's that simple. THE KIDS IN ME, THE CHILDREN WHO SAVED ME FROM LOSING MY MIND WHEN I WAS YOUNG, WANT THEIR GOLD STARS.

i love you, all. i do. and you all know that. i help a lot of people who are in trouble or grieving or whatever. i'm here for any of you who need me. i have that laser intuition and i have the ability to comfort people and/or make them laugh and they feel so much better and/or to cut right to the heart of what ever problem someone is having. it's a gift, i'm finding out.

OLD CARPING: so many of my good friends are AWOL for all kinds of reasons and i feel lonely here now. i know this is a natural attrition. i get that, but i never thought it would happen with my Good Friends, that they would all just disappear.

and the EP/cover shit has finally gotten to me. i've worked so hard to not think about it but i have to go to the cover page to look at the Recent Post thang so i don't miss out on good pieces of writing. this sucks. i don't understand why i can't access recent posts from my blog. when i see the cover, i lose my mind a little bit. once again, it's luluandphoebe and deven and jodi kasten and others who are always on there. they are great writers but they aren't the only ones on here. it's just ridiculous and is getting to be borderline evil.

i hate that it's so competitive here. and i've become very competitive while my nature is to be kind and caring. no one will pass a post on to their friends when asked. i rarely do it myself because i'm afraid of losing ratings. it's sick. this was never what i wanted. i wanted a cooperative setting, not a competitive one. but i understand why it is this way. it's Salon.com and it's about advertising dollars so keeping the same people on the cover makes sense since they are sure things and bring in the dollars.

i get it all. i guess i'm just tired of it. and too envious. i see so many other people getting high high ratings. they deserve them. i know this. while i have to PM and PM even my close friends to get them to show up. i've been too crazy. i've hurt people's feelings. i've behaved badly when manic and when not. i scare people because of who i am and what i'm like. i get that completely. i've had a lifetime of scaring people but not knowing why i got like that. now i know but the meds aren't working that well. and i scare people with my writing. it's too emotionally charged, i'm told. i'm too honest. i get that too. but i don't know how to write any other way. and i just posted a piece that is sexy and funny and not emotionally charged but i still had to drag people to read it.

i'm tired. there are so many kind people on here. i'm so grateful. i will write a gratitude post soon. i love doing that. but overall, something is wrong here, for me. it's probably wrong everywhere for me because i am wrong. i do good things. i help people. i help people a lot. but i'm wrong. something is wrong. i don't know what i need. but i sense that i could feel safer somewhere else.

love love love and gratitude for everyone who has been a loyal reader and a kind kind kind friend to me. it could not mean more.

Scupper and Debbs4, i LOVE all the pants you two sent me. you are angels on earth. i'm heartsick that i'm a size 18 now, eeek, but now i have a choice about my bottom half wardrobe!

how i 1st met my sexy 2nd husband/hot/possible book chapter

Mon, 2 Nov 2009 05:11:22 -0500

okay, this is a story that is really about how not to meet or choose your future husband. it worked out for me, except for the sad death part that will not be discussed in this piece. it was early 1990s and i was reaching the end of my 'ho-ishness in So. CA.* well, now, the 'ho period was reaching its end, but i was in my early 40s and was really feeling my sexuality as 40something women are wont to do. and in a much healthier way since i had been clued in to my sexual addiction not being all that healthy, so i was in recovery. i wasn't and would never be recovered. no addict ever is. well, i'm pretty much recovered from being an accountant but every once in a while, i do get a craving for a nice ten-key.

i had moved north of hell lay, but i still had friends in the city, so one weekend a girlfriend and i went to watch the Doo Dah parade in Pasadena. now, for those of you who don't know about this event, i will try to explain. it's a very wacky and fun experience and the parcipitants are extemely creative and out there. my two favorite groups are the Briefcase Brigade. they wear suits and of course carry briefcases which they bang on rythmically while remaining in marching formation like soldiers in a drill. it is vastly entertaining. second favorite -- i'll have to google and see if this still goes on -- is the texas chainsaw massacre float. raw meat is flung into the viewing crowd and hilarity ensues as the massacre folks gun their chainsaws. today, people probably wisely pick up the raw meat, clean it off and have it for dinner.

okay, so, after the parade, my girlfriend and i went to find some lovely beverages, what the pre-pervert Letterman used to call drinks. we were blessed to find a jazz club with an ensemble playing some decent standards. we were both avid fans. i was blessed to have seen Ella Fitzgerald perform 5 times! George Shearing too, along with others too numerous to mention here. we got our drinks, found some seats and focused in on the musicians. they were lovely, and we were having a tired out beer-drinking post parade peak experience. well, then my eyes met up with the very hot and sexy guy playing jazz flute. i watched him for a while with increasing interest, then whispered to my friend, "shit, if he can do that with his mouth, what else can he do?" she nodded vigorously and i glanced around at the other female patrons. they were giving the flute player equally avid attention. later on, when he and I were together, i would watch the women in the crowd and want to yell, "it's twoo, it's twoo!!! (shout out to Madeleine Kahn and Blazing Saddles for the young ones on here. )

well, my sex addiction was up and barking again. i saw the flautist seeing me watching him and there was a moment. a sexy chemical moment and i knew that i was in deep deep trouble. he was exactly my physical type, that black irish thing like Gabriel Byrne or Aidan Quinn, with the dark curly hair and the green eyes and a bit of the rogue about him. i know, i know. okay, he was clearly a player of some kind. nothing happened. my girlfriend and i left and went home since we were exhausted from the sun and the lovely heat and all the merriment.

she, of course, had missed that Gabriel and i had had a moment. she turned out to be one of those passive-aggressive types who are so drawn to my assertive/aggressive extroversion. but whatever. i was heated up from the sparks that had flown.** i love that i knew that i was thin and hot and sexy when i was. that i don't look back and say to myself, "shit, i wish i'd enjoyed that body when i had it." fuck no, i delighted in that body. over and over again, in my 'ho-ish and later just plain sex-loving no pathology here a cigar is just a cigar way.

okay, so, my hot body and i were feeling extremely intrigued and sexed up by this guy. so the next weekend i went, sans passive-aggressive friend, to the jazz place. well, this is the part about the how not to begin a relationship thing. i got there, all dolled up in my favorite Come Fuck Me outfit. it was my late great part cotton/part spandex short black Betsy Johnson dress with the intermittent sparkles on it and the thin criss cross straps over a mostly bare back. this dress outlined exactly what was great about my body, that i was so freaking well-proportioned in those days, my c-cup breasts exactly balancing out my liposuctioned hips. and the great thing about sunny weather is that it heals all your b'acne, which helps immensely with the hotness factor. zits are just not sexy, sadly.

i've never ever been able to wear high heels without crippling and ridiculous pain, and i hate that women knuckle under and wear the high high ones and lie to the rest of us and tell us they are sooo comfortable, so i'm sure that i was wearing my black cowboy boots with the silver tips and silver detailing that i loved beyond life and that i still have and wear, 15 or so years later. i should have had someone re-create them for me because they are seriously comfortable and still cute despite the worn outness and the loss of some of the silver deet-tailing. well, shit, so i walk into the jazz place and wonder of wonders the same ensemble is playing and the flute/gabriel guy is there. this is where it gets kind of romance novel-ish but i think that if anyone has learned anything about me, it's that i am addicted to telling the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it makes other people, and, i've been told, limits my readership. well, fuck it. i yam what i yam.

okay, well, flute boy senses something and looks up to catch my eye. i find a seat, radiating sex sex sex i know, and order a lovely refreshing vodka gimlet. a minute later, the flautist is in front of me and he takes my hand and my gimlet and leads me up to sit beside him on the bench that rests alongside the not so grand piano, turns to me and begins to kiss me passionately. i kid you not, people. it was beyond. we are then fiercely making out -- i hate that term, btw -- and the jazz guys are looking on and nodding and smiling and god knows what the audience is thinking. probably, look at that slutty 'ho up there with that what else can he do with his mouth dude. but i am completely lost in the moment after delirious moment and not remotely thinking about calling my sex addicts anonymous sponsor.

now, there is nothing that i love or loved doing more than kissing. yes, fucking and all of the foreplay is a blast, but kissing someone who does it really well is pre-foreplay, when your body is blazing and you can feel it in your nipples and in your crotch, but you're not going to act on it yet because it's too amazing and crazy and the anticipation is the sweetest most sizzling thing of all. that's what i need now, in my dotage, an impotent man who's a fabulous kisser!!!

my first husband was a terrible kisser, somehow his freaking teeth were always there and clanging on mine, and he refused to give oral sex because he was a doctor in training and said that the grossest things he'd seen involved female private parts! can you imagine? whenever i think about his thousand year marriage to my blond replacement, all i have to do is ponder those two factors and my envy evaporates like it was never there. so i have never ever settled for a poor kisser since that time. for me, it's absolutely a dealbreaker if someone is inadequate in that area since it predicts lack of skills in the other hidden area.

well, eventually it got ridiculous, and we stopped the voracious kissing. my lips were sore, my lipstick was long gone, my red (that month) hair was beyond bedhead at that point, but i didn't care. i sat there on that bench watching, listening and bopping to the fabulous jazz standards -- green dolphin street? was that the one i loved the most back then?-- buzzed on this guy and on my lovely vodka gimlet. god, i've got to get me some vodka and some rose's lime juice. oh, and i was in rapture as i watched my new friend play that jazz flute, knowing in that place between my thighs that, yes, it was twuuueee, it was so twuuueee.

oh, i forgot to mention that Gabriel was wearing a sea green maybe celadon shirt and some khaki cargo-ish pants or, well, whatever was cool before that style. the green matched his quite bedroomy eyes and he could not have looked sexier. i've always loved a man who can dress himself, especially since i had to do a complete makeover on first hubby. funny story where i eventually realized that i was grooming him for the blond bitch who was next in line. but whatever, right?and, shit, if a man doesn't know what to do, then a t-shirt and some 501s or the equivalent are just fine, or a flannel shirt and the same jeans in colder weather. i know, i know, that is not fashion. but i've always been partial to a more blue collar look and affect. probably because i was raised in such a fucking you have to go to an ivy league school and become a doctor upper middle class jewish way.

so it is the end of the jazz music, and the musicians are all packing up their instruments. they're cool and i've been introduced, but then i don't quite know what to do with my bad self. but gabriel comes to me and he's really called richard, it seems, and he comes with me to my parked car. we re-entwine ourselves and kiss and kiss and kiss explosively while leaning on my red toyota wagon with the atm machine looking thing on the back. eventually we come up for air, actually gasping for breath and reason. he miraculously doesn't ask me to come back to his place so i don't have to make the "to 'ho or not to 'ho" decision. i find out later that he is even more of a slob than i am and that he didn't want to scare me off with the crap/carpiness of his apartment. that was a good decision since i'm better at tolerating my own pigpennishness than i am someone else's.

but richard does take my number and promises that he will call and that we will get together very very soon. and i totally believe him, even thought he's a man, for once, because there is mutual need to explore this biochemistry for a loooong looong time and see where it leads. now, i never in my most wild dreams thought that these shenanigans were going to lead to marriage. fuck, no. i had no intention whatsover of getting married again, given the complete heartbreak and humiliation that was the end of my first one. what i would not realize for a long while was that he and I would be able to play dueling dysfunctions at a professional level and that he was the repetition compulsion man of my dreams, which meant that we could work through all of our demons together while having mind-blowingly outstandingly not-kinky but still hot hot sex with each other.

so two days go by and i'm jumping out of my skin. as carrie fisher says, instantaneous gratification is NOT quick enough. fucking A it's not. i was never good with any kind of a delay in any kind of gratification. a script that i'm writing, for an animated children's film, is due soon and i'm having to rein myself in from putting an x-rated scene right in the middle of it. "what is this about dexter the dragon having a huge erection?" i can hear the producer shouting.

Thankfully the phone finally rings and it's Richard and he invites me on the strangest first date ever. in three days i'm to come to his place and then we will go together to have dinner with his parents and his eight brothers and sisters. jesus christ. who does this kind of thing at the beginning of whatever this is? either someone who wants to get married right away or a completely passive-aggressive looney tune. well, of course richard turned out to be a little bit of both, but that's a story for another time.

shit, so now i have 3 days to figure out what to wear to please this guy but to also not horrify his family. thankfully, i have a vintage light pink sleeveless -- god, i had great lightly muscled arms back then -- embroidered dress with a waist and a skirt that billows a bit to just below the knees. it's sexy but also nicely appropriate for dinner and whatever else was ahead. i put on some espadrilles, not too high of course, and the fabulous pink heart chandelier earrings that i'd purchased on melrose avenue back when i lived only a 15 minute walk away. my favorite store was the Wound and Wound company where you could find a fabulous wind-up toy for only 3 dollars or so. i had Early Kindergarten taste back then too.

so i drive down to richard's apartment in pasadena and all the way there i'm in almost unbearable heat. now, i have to say here that i am not good at blow by blow, sorry, descriptions of sex. they embarrass me and end up sounding like bad romance novels with the throbbing members and engorged breasts. so what follows is going to be pretty soft core. there, i've said it. i'm sorry if i've led you on. okay, well, i get there and he lives in one of a series of lovely little bungalows. he didn't tell me until much later about the nightly gunshots and the rats that he'd had to clear out of the space when he'd moved in, thank god. this was not the good part of pasadena apparently, but i was in no mood to hear about it.

and miracle of miracles, the place is spic and span. that was the name of a cleaning product back in the day, not yet one more un-pc term. whatever. there is no mess, no clutter of any kind. probably some cramned with shit closets somewhere. of course it never ever looked that way again, but i didn't know that at the time and i was hugely impressed that he's done all of this cleaning for me. it was sexy, i thought, all that cleaning, but at that point dick cheney would have seemed sexy, downturned half scowling smile and all.

i admire the small bungalow and the very sweet cat. richard says he loves my outfit and that family dinner isn't going to be for an hour, so, well, we kind of fall on each other and the ferocious kissing and moaning begins again as if it had never stopped. and it is all heightened by our knowledge that this time we are going to finish this sucker off and that we have a ticking clock to deal with. so we kiss and grope a little on the futon-type couch in his living room/drafting room/music room. then he grabs my hand and we scramble ourselves into the bedroom and on to his bed. he reaches for the tiny buttons on my pink dress, curses at how many of them there are and we laugh. i'm thrilled because i love being with someone else who doesn't take sex too damn seriously. it is supposed to be fun, for fuck's sake.

i love being undressed by a man. i hate hate hate hate those teen movies where they each take their clothes off and stand there naked and awkward. fucking A. roll around and take each other's stuff off. it's much sexier and much more fun. i love being naked with a man. (not now, but who cares about now, right?) the gorgeous gigolo i dated -- he was being paid to service someone else-- told me that i looked frumpy in a too long betsy number. of course he only said that after he'd taken the garment off me. he was crazy about the part spandex bare back black dress. but mostly he was delighted by how my unclothed body looked and felt, and he'd seen plenty of female physiques given his line of work. i already knew that i was sexy but having a gigolo tell you that you are, well, it's a big boost to the ego. go find one of your own. seriously.

so soon i'm down to my pink brassiere and my silkish pink panties. richard's shirt, this one teal colored, is off. we cling to each other then, marveling at that skin on skin tactile intense smooth pleasure that you don't even realize you've missed until you're reveling in it again. one of the marvelous things about being nude with someone else. i know that he can feel how taut my nipples are, and he slides his hand between my legs, smiling with glee when he feels how wet i am. (this is as dirty as it's going to get folks.) then he's reaching for those pesky little bra fasteners in the back and, snap, they are undone. this is a man with mad skills. i can tell this already, and i'm hooked and eyed.

why i shud be chosn as Ed I Tor (thanks, tink)..

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 00:10:28 -0400

(please keep checking back because i will be updating all night with more brilliantly witty remarks and please pass this on to your friends on here because i am an ATTENTION WHORE but i also just plainly LOVE AND LIVE to make people LAUGH.)

because i can play favorites as well as anyone else can.

because, on the same subject, i'm friends with hardly anyone who gets EP and Cover and Top Rated all the time now, which makes room for all kinds of possibilities, folks, and i can be bribed with dark chocolate and puppy pics!

because i write about sex and dogs and sometimes i write about Sex AND Dogs, for those with a kinkier bent.

because, on this same topic, i was a major 'ho back in the day and will write my Sex and Dating Protocol finally if i'm given enough encouragement and it is FABULOUS, PEOPLE, FABULOUS.

because i have the most adorable Wonderpups/Service Dogs in the Known World, well, at least in Portland, OR as i've been told, and we have weekly Interspecies Family Meetings, which i periodically blog about.

because, and shoot i almost forgot this important one, i am agoraphobic and also keep Vampire Hours so you won't find me gallivanting off here and there and being unavailable because i have a Real Life, and you'll be able to reach me in the middle of the night when you have a brainstorm or the muse whacks you on the head or whatever.

because i've been pretty much Blacklisted by the Powers That Be, even though i'm writing my best stuff ever, and i used to get EPs pretty regularly before i began making disgruntled comments. what is gruntled, by the way? (and i will be asking crucial questions like this one.)

because i have Early Kindergarten taste and LOVE cartoons.

because, even though i am a huge ATTENTION WHORE, i also actually care about people and carp like fairness and shit.

because, on this same topic, i have too much time on my agoraphobic hands (and there is all that caring carp), so i do notice when people haven't posted for a while and i check in with them and make sure that they are okay, so people will actually feel that at least one Ed I Tor gives a shit about them.

because i can be depended on to go into a Bad Mania every few months and blast my favorites and lose friends and alienate people so that Other Talented People can get some well-deserved EP and Cover attention, which is only fair!

because when i get Good Manic (when i'm coming off a bad bipolar 2 depression), i get euphoric and love everyone and read everything and this gives new writers and people who are new to me a good chance at EP/Cover. (which is only freaking fair, people.)

because there are a shitload of Bipolar people on here and i kind of understand them even if we don't all get along. and i understand all the Depressives too!

because i went to private girls school and to Hahvahhd so i know all about Dangling Participles and Misplaced Modifiers and that kind of carp/crap, plus i'm my own Spellcheck!

because i am a Recovering Accountant and someone might want to count some things some time, like how many EPs and Covers will be given to people who never get any but who deserve a big ass shout out?

because i'm extremely intuitive and can tell when people are full of shit, even when it's ME.

because i can't freaking figure out what to do on Facebook, so i won't be updating you about my freaking "status" all the time.

once again, if you enjoy this at all, please RATE it because, to me, Ratings are like Gold Stars!!!! and i rate you guys. i promise.