Report From a Drifting Dinghy

So ... it's the end of February.

My drafts folder is de-bloated and I've milked this excuse for not living up to my new (already-defunct) "Sex Blogger" status for all it's worth. 

(Which I have suffered some serious pangs of guilt over, btw. I can't tell you how many people have arrived here lately from some iteration of the Sex Bloggers list -- and the statistics of each visit tell the story of one very confused perver...

 "This can't be right. Let me try again. (*click*) Nope, still elephants, beds, and books. Once more. (*click*) You've gotta be KIDDING me! This is no sex blog…! What was she…? (*click*) What the…???(*click*) (*click*) (*click*) Oh, man! This is just wrong!" 

Sorry, Rori!!)

But I digress.

I was telling you about my angst over the end of February Fragments.

It's been a great delaying tactic but now I'm up against reality again.

The truth is, I am no longer a member of this tribe.

I don't fit, the commonality is gone,

I don't belong anymore

     ...but I don't know where else to go, either.

There are options, of course.

Fr'instance, I could become a Gnostic.

Gnostics believe that the world of the physical is evil (totally down with that right now, for sure!) and that we should devote all our time to thinking lots and cultivating inner knowledge in order to escape this tawdry existence for the true world of the spirit.

That feels like an excellent fit.

Except for the minor difficulty that Gnosticism petered out around the 4th century AD.

Which makes joining up with my new peeps a bit problematic...

I also briefly considered becoming a stylite -- but my vertigo disqualifies me.

Another possibility is breatharianism.

This would allow me, nay require me, to eschew all food and possibly liquids and be sustained solely by prana.
        Hmmm...

Lose weight, save money, find tribe…

Score!!

(I can't shake the feeling that this one isn't quite as straight-forward as they make it sound, however.)

Maybe I'll just keep lurking at the edges here a while longer, until the right tribe appears... 

Playing Before The Ashes

It wouldn't be fair to say, "Screw New Orleans and Rio!" 

I'm sure Mardi Gras and Carnival are both amazing experiences, if a bit overwhelming for this straight-laced and currently libido-less Yankee girl.

But if we're talking "bucket list"-level experiences, it's the Carnival of Venice that calls to me.

Every year, I look at these pictures and sigh…

Mind you, I'm sure there's still licentiousness and debauchery to spare, but it's all overlaid by such sumptuousness that I'm pretty sure I would find it in myself to simply laugh merrily as I stepped one daintily-shod foot over the prone forms of fornicators in the street…

(ok, I may have gotten a little carried away with that last bit… but the visual worked for me!)

A Brief Literary Question

     "There was Shield Sheafson, scourge of many tribes, 

     a wrecker of mead benches, rampaging among foes.

     This terror of the hall-troops had come far.

     A foundling to start with, he would flourish later on

     as his powers waxed and his worth was proved.

     In the end each clan on the outlying coasts 

     beyond the whale-road had to yield to him

     and begin to pay tribute. That was one good king."

                                 -Beowulf - trans. Seamus Heaney

So…

Think he's a Dom?

;-D

(I have a hard time deciding which of those phrases I like the best. Love this translation!)

Bed Lust

I totally and completely WANT this bed...

Really.

More Things I Love About My Small Town

-My insurance company will call to warn me when my payments are late - but there's still time to get them in without penalty... 

-The car wash guy who escorts little old ladies to the waiting area at the end of the wash before hopping in and driving their cars onto the rails for them…

-That the local ice cream place is so generous with it's servings that you occasionally get a Dixie cup of overflow on the side… 

-That dump with the conversation benches?

Now has free range chickens...

and live music on Saturday mornings.

(This was not taken in my small town -- but it absolutely could have been...)

alrighty... well...

Many things about this image puzzle me…

-How did an elephant get to the beach?

-Why is the elephant chasing the woman?

-Can a naked woman really outrun a stampeding pachyderm?

-Why is she laughing as though that's a playful puppy behind her?

-What is it like to be able to run braless?

-Why did the compositor not correct the egregious discrepancy between shadows?

Enquiring Minds Want to Know!!! 

Mostly, however, this picture just makes me laugh.

  :-D

The Importance of Laughter

"If anybody does marry you, Peter, it will be for the pleasure of hearing you talk piffle." -- "Strong Poison", Harriet to Lord Peter 

I may never be able to meet Lord Peter, but I do know SP - a Master of Piffle himself.

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

SP: Seriously, sweetie, I love to hear you laugh. 

Your laughter has a forest elfin quality, like little bells behind trees- a sweet sound, but with a wink of derision in it and an irresistible 'come hither' component.

Jz: (I think I'm blushing…)

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

Silly -- but it is true that laughter can be more than you think...

This Says It All

Channeling Mrs. Malaprop

A malapropism occurs when:

1. The word or phrase means something different from the word the speaker or writer intended to use; and
2. The word or phrase sounds similar to what was intended (for example, using obtuse instead of acute is not a malapropism; using obtuse when one means abstruse is); and
3. The resulting utterance is nonsense.

Now, I'm not claiming immunity -- we all come out with them on occasion, particularly in these days of auto-correct and spell-check, when proof-reading is ignored unless the computer alerts us that something is amiss.

   But words have subtleties and nuances that a computer simply cannot comprehend.

Which means that we really should take that time to re-read and scan. Otherwise, we may find ourselves saying things that really are not at all what we mean. And while I can certainly live with misspelling or misspeaking a word, I greatly prefer that my nonsensical utterances be intentional, not the result of slips of the finger. 

Like all nonsense, malapropisms come in a wide variety of sizes and shapes.

-Some still work, in a strangely warped way…

    "it's a mute point"

-Some have the ability to irritate the pants off of me…

    "I had to reign her in"

Can we talk "reign" vs. "rein", please?

  "reign" refers to having authority or rule; 

  "rein" alludes to the straps used to guide horses

It's a subtle distinction, particularly in the D/s community, I realize. 

But still, you may reign over me, you may rein me in, but if you hope for me to take you seriously, please be certain which it is you're attempting to do. 

(Sorry. I know I'm being A Persnickety Bitch again, but this one reduces me to shrieking in exasperation, so I simply could not let it go without mention…)

-And finally, there are those that just plain give one pause…

    "she's laid bear for me"

(May we all find that kind of devotion, my friends.)

Malapropisms.

Yet More Proof That Words Matter...

As God Is My Witness...

Someday I will vacation here:

(who's with me?!)

The New Plan

Once upon a time, during a very difficult period in my life, I told someone that I couldn't see my way forward; that happiness, even simple contentment, seemed impossibly distant and unreachable.

My friend suggested that I not look that far ahead, but just limit my focus to no farther than two feet in front of me and let time do the rest...

Fast forwarding to the present, you've probably gathered that it's been a little rough around here lately. Initially, I was just plain numb, which, whatever else you may say about it, does make it easier to go through the motions. Now, however, the numbness is starting to wear off and things are getting a bit rocky.

So my plan is to follow that advice once more -- to put my head down, look no farther than the front of my toes, pretend my life has not gone to hell in a handbasket, and forge ahead...

What I'm actually hoping, of course, is that I'll blunder smack into something hard, knock myself out, and remain sprawled unconscious on the ground until the system reset is complete.

(C'mon, if anyone can do it... ;-p)

Wish me luck!!

Or, Perhaps In A Different Alternate Reality

Instead of Wonder Woman, I would be Towanda*

(Don't you think this wild-eyed stare is perfect for her?)

I'm only interested in the role, however, if I get to have the pert boobs…

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

*Evelyn: I never get mad, Mrs Threadgoode. Never. The way I was raised, it was bad manners. Well, I got mad.. and it felt terrific! I felt like I could beat the shit out of all those punks. (Excuse my language.) Just beat 'em to a pulp... beat 'em till they begged for mercy! 
Towanda the Avenger! 

And after I wipe out all the punks of this world, I'll take on the wife-beaters ... and machine-gun their genitals!  Towanda will go on the rampage… 

I'll put tiny little bombs in Penthouse and Playboy so they'll explode when you open them. 

And I'll ban all fashion models who weigh less than 130 pounds. 

And I'll give half the military budget to people of 65 and declare wrinkles sexually desirable! 

TOWANDA, Righter of Wrongs, Queen Beyond Compare!

Ninny: How many of them hormones are you taking, honey?

                                                                   -from "Fried Green Tomatoes"

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

If I Were a Super Hero...

I suspect I still wouldn't be organized...

(I think this was you, Tom. Thank you! :-D)

Lost in Translation?

Every now and again, I find that someone has read my page through google translator.

I must admit, I always wonder how that works out for people…

One of SP's favorite things to do is to lecture me with idioms from his idiosyncratic mother tongue -- and then refuse to tell me what they mean. (insert rolling eyes)

So I break out the translation software, finesse the grammar, and submit them for approval...

     Which is never better than, "sort of close".
(Really, I think he mostly enjoys doing this because he gets to tell me I'm wrong TWICE for every one sentence…)

But since I'm armed with this up close and personal knowledge of just how badly a translation software can fail a person, I always wonder if anyone actually gets anything out of my words when they read them in translation. Particularly as I fluctuate madly between katharevousa and demotike...

Sometimes I just feel sorry for the people who read me...

just so you know...

This really wasn't what I'd hoped you'd do with that...

The Sara Lee Complex

I've known since I was a kid that I'm not everyone's cup of tea. Sure, I had friends (one of whom just left after dinner, in fact) but there were also those who made no secret of their deep dislike of me. 

It's a hurtful realization but an important lesson: Nobody is liked by everyone.

I was talking with a friend about how we (women particularly, I think) can look at someone else, think to ourselves, "I think I'm just as happy to be me, with my life, thank you" and yet still feel that horrible, stupid pang when people seem to prefer this other person to us. These don't even need to be people we like, mind you.
Which just makes the reaction even more maddening...

The reality, of course, is that people are all marvelously different, so everyone effects every one else in a different way. People you like have detractors. People you don't care for have supporters. Heck, Paris Hilton has a twitter following. 

There is just no telling who will like whom and why. 

And yet, we often feel some degree of failure when it turns out that we are NOT the single dazzling exception to this rule.

What is up with that?

If It's Wednesday...

... there might be books!

Today's What'cha Readin' Wednesday takes us on an adventure into rugged and challenging territory, as we trek through the mountains of Peru with Mark Adams, who is following in the footsteps of Hiram Bingham III's 1911 expedition.

Bingham set out to discover "The Lost City of the Incas" -- and  ended up at the ruins of Machu PIcchu. For many years, he was credited with discovering the city but as the 100th anniversary of his achievement approached, controversy began to emerge.

Had Bingham lied about discovering Machu Picchu or was he following a map from 40 years earlier? Had he smuggled artifacts out of Peru illegally? And was he really the inspiration for Indiana Jones?

Adams originally wanted to investigate the controversies, but found himself becoming more and more fascinated with the story of how Bingham had gotten to Machu Picchu in the first place. Like Bingham, he became more and more obsessed with, "why such a spectacular granite city had been built in such a spellbinding location: high on a secluded mountain ridge." He decided, "the clues were still out there to be examined by anyone with strong legs and a large block of vacation time."

So off he went...

and wrote "Turn Right at Machu Picchu" to tell us all about it.

Weaving his own adventures in with that of the original expedition, Adams takes us along as he hikes and climbs his way from Cusco up into the mountains of Peru (along with his guide, mule driver, cook, factotum, and a half-dozen sturdy mules.)

"Between my microfiber bwana costume and the bags of candy that [the cook] kept foisting on me, I could have been trick-or-treating as Hemingway.”

I'm still fairly near the beginning of the book, (we're just a couple of days down the trail) but I'm already thoroughly enjoying the mix of history, culture, and humor in this book. 

Anyone wanna come trekking with me?

Visionary Angst

I guess that when you've gotten to the point where a lens falls out of your glasses on a weekly basis, it's really time to consider getting new ones…

But, ooooohhhhh, how I hate the whole process.

For one thing, glasses are stinkin' expensive. I could buy several months worth of groceries for the price of one pair - which just irritates me on general principles.

Then there's the overall nuisance factor of the eye exam. You scramble to get there, only to sit and wait (in uncomfortable chairs) for the dubious privilege of having your pupils dilated; eyeballs blasted; and retinas seared by light -- before you are taken to another uncomfortable chair, this time in a dimly-lit room, where you will don bad steampunk headgear and be forced to participate in an agonizingly tedious evaluation process. ("Number 1 or Number 2?… Better?… Worse?… 1?… 2?… Again...")

But the part that really fills me with dread is Choosing the Frames.

The mere thought makes my heart sink -- largely because symmetry was not one of my genetic gifts. Every. Flipping. Feature on my head is crooked. 

Highly individualistic, to be sure… but irritating to work with none the less.

In fact, I can't even start the proceedings until I get the spectacle equivalent of a shoe lift over one ear, to even me out and stop the teeter-tottering on my nose. 

Then there's the challenge of the rims. Since my eyebrows are neither level nor skewed at the same angle as my ears (which would be far too convenient) the rims must be carefully selected to obfuscate the fact that one sits above an eyebrow while the other is below…

So I'm disgruntled and discouraged even before we get to the cosmetic considerations like color, fashion, age-appropriateness, and the personality statement made by each possibility.

(And can anyone explain to me how you are supposed to see to choose a flattering frame when the corrective lenses that grant you vision are, perforce, not currently on your face?)

No, getting new glasses is simply an exhausting and disheartening experience… that always leaves me feeling vaguely like a squinting Quasimodo.

Maybe it can wait 'til next month...

A Picture Of...

Don't ask why this makes me laugh so hard, it just does...
:-)

Belonging

I've said it so often, most of you can probably finish my sentence for me, but I've never really cared if I got married. I'm not set against it but it's never been a goal in and of itself, either. 

The flip side of that, however, is that I have always thought it would be really lovely to belong to someone -- someone who wants you and who wants to belong to you right back. 

However the relationship is shaped doesn't matter -- but the belonging part sounds grand.

Life, however, rarely gives you all the lovely things you hope to find in it. 

You can rack up quite a few, mind you. Laughter, friendships, books… just not usually all.
And I think belonging is one I'm not going to get.

Which, y'know, is what it is -- but some days that bothers me more than others.

(And the two weeks before February 14th hold rather a lot of those "some days" for the newly-unattached person …)

"It was cut-your-wrists lonely not to have another human being who knew the worst about you but loved you anyway." - Lois Battle, "The Florabama Ladies Auxiliary & Sewing Circle"

OK...

Raise your hand if this made you snort coffee out your nose...

My Little Idea...

I had always wanted to screw up my courage and do one of those "Other HNT's" - but Weenie Girl kept winning out -- and now the site is closed.

And of course, I'm not going to go posting real, live, identifiable, actual-"nudidity"-involving HNT's on my own blog. 

     Because, embarrassment, hello.

     And fear.

But I got thinking…

Wouldn't it be a hoot to get together a whole bunch of people who, like me, had thought about doing this but were too chicken-shit hesitant…

  and we all randomly exchanged pictures…

    and posted someone else's HNT shot for them?!?

(And then tried to guess who's who?!?  ;-p)

Mind you, it solves the anonymity issue but doesn't take care of the "if you post it to the internet, you are not allowed to complain about it turning up anywhere else" problem.

So I realize this won't happen.

But thinking about it made me grin!  :-D

Only in My Dreams

I can't even walk and chew gum.

~

 Ride and do YOGA?!?!

Consider me already fallen off the horse from sheer laughter...

In Which I Do The Fish Thing

So, I read this comment that really hit home... 

"I cannot get over feeling that men like me despite my looks, rather than for them."

     and it took me off on a mental ramble to not that long ago...

See, I completely understand that feeling. 

I've accepted for years that men don't date me for my looks.
(I'm not saying I'm beat with an ugly stick but no one has been left sockless, either, 'k?)

This opinion has been a bone of contention between me and SP for nearly as long as I've held it. I can't seem to convey that being "adequate" is not the same thing as "dated for"...

Usually, we end by agreeing to disagree.

He won the last round, however, by stunning me into silence…

    Jz: You just say I'm attractive cuz you know me and love me...

    SP: But how did I get to know and love you????????

    SP: hmm?

    SP: hmmm??

    SP: hmmmmmmm????

    Jz: I dazzled you with my wit, of course!

    SP: wit schmit

    SP: It was your legs, tits, and dazzling kisses

    SP: plus those extremely agile hands...

    Jz: wow. … "dazzling kisses"?

    SP: truly

    Jz: oh

Mind you, "legs, tits, and kisses" are still not at all the same thing as "being dated for looks", so this was actually a fairly sneaky deflection -- but I was too busy blinking and gaping nonplussedly to proceed with a cogent argument at the time…

Portrait of the Blogger as Fish

A Compliment I Could Actually Get Behind

Much better than that banal, "you're beautiful" bullshit...

Silver Linings

I won't be spending as much money:

No beer will be needed.

Nor condoms,

Toys,

Lube,

Or slinky lingerie.

My body is mine to decide for again:

Shaving will happen only when I feel like it

    (and only on the bits I want shaved.)

No more piercing pressure.

Plug practice can go the way of the dodo.

I will be better rested:

No more late-night email barrages.

No more post-bedtime trysts.

No more lost sleep over random disappearances.

My health will be better:

No more TMJ-exacerbating blow jobs.

     

There is more room in my house:

From all the toys and BDSM novels I have thrown out.

And the highway is a safer place for everyone:

Because no one is texting me on my drive home.

Found in an Inbox

"Look!!!  

Somebody wrote a book about you!!"

"Much Love,    

SP"