9:37 PM |
Sexting to LA. I am wicked. I promised myself that I wouldn't blog under this influence-- entire bottle drained. It wasn't that good (the champagne that is), but the fantasy is incredible. Started texting about whether to watch Dick Clark's Rockin' New Year's with Ryan Seacrest or New Year's Eve with Carson Daly. Former: traditional but Dick Clark's sorta paralyzed, maybe boring, but who knows, Snooki may show up. Latter: Who can't love the fabulous Gay Eye. Traded witty reparte about what I would watch if I was so drunk I couldn't handle the remote. Bridezillas or Loggers. Man v. Food or Ghost Hunters. How about Monster Fish of the Amazon?
Texted my almost-real imaginary boyfriend with fantasy. Here's how it starts (see left):
Use your imagination. I did. By text.
I find that I really like this communication. It's like an imaginary relationship with real physical effects. I'm in such need of relief. It's never been like this for me before. Which is why the almost-real imaginary boyfriend is useful. Brad falls a bit short in this department as he can't text. Or touch. But neither can the the almost-real one.
Please, please text me back. I'm dying.
Texted my almost-real imaginary boyfriend with fantasy. Here's how it starts (see left):
Use your imagination. I did. By text.
I find that I really like this communication. It's like an imaginary relationship with real physical effects. I'm in such need of relief. It's never been like this for me before. Which is why the almost-real imaginary boyfriend is useful. Brad falls a bit short in this department as he can't text. Or touch. But neither can the the almost-real one.
Please, please text me back. I'm dying.
Forgot to put the champagne in the fridge. I've had a bottle of something since about 1997 (I think) when we got our first bank loan for the business. From my employees. Boy were they worried about the money. Piper-Heidsieck Brut, the almost-cheapest available. We'll see.
Text from my almost-real imaginary boyfriend (!):
Still working on those 3 litres.
Hope you have a fun evening and great nye.
I'm having pizza and movies with my brother.
I love him because he punctuates.
Me:
Watching the ball fall on TV while drinking an entire bottle of champagne
It's just not new year's day without a hangover
Text from my almost-real imaginary boyfriend (!):
Still working on those 3 litres.
Hope you have a fun evening and great nye.
I'm having pizza and movies with my brother.
I love him because he punctuates.
Me:
Watching the ball fall on TV while drinking an entire bottle of champagne
It's just not new year's day without a hangover
Besides putting animals to eternal rest, I have only brandished my firearm once. At that time, my house was a one bedroom. I slept upstairs, and the bathroom was downstairs. I had no windows on the road side of my property (and for the bypassers' sake, it was a good thing). I also had a cute-as-the-dickens carved mailbox that looked like a rooster.
Out here, there is absolutely nothing for teenagers to do. You see where I am going with this. Once I heard a noise and in the morning found my mailbox ripped off its pole, but fairly intact. The next time it was demolished. I had to search and search for another one that somebody may have had lying around, as the creator was old and had died. Finally, I put up the new one.
Well, one night I could hear the heavy bass that had stopped about where my mailbox would be. I ran down the stairs and out the front door with my white nightie on and a Glock in my hand. I was a sight. I have always wanted to point a gun at an assailant and bark something suitably bad-ass. Here was my chance. With the foyer light at my back, I ran up toward the mailbox and one kid peeing.
Don't EVER come back here again! And they never came back. Until the rooster's head was removed. My dear Mexican gardeners made me a new one, with a reflector under its beak, like that red wrinkly thing real roosters have.
There is a kicker to this story. One day, two young men in a truck were stopped at the end of the driveway. Can we borrow your phone? What do you need?, I asked. Well, ma'am, do you have some gas? Of course, here's the container, take what you want. They did. And they were the same boys I nearly shot.
Out here, there is absolutely nothing for teenagers to do. You see where I am going with this. Once I heard a noise and in the morning found my mailbox ripped off its pole, but fairly intact. The next time it was demolished. I had to search and search for another one that somebody may have had lying around, as the creator was old and had died. Finally, I put up the new one.
Well, one night I could hear the heavy bass that had stopped about where my mailbox would be. I ran down the stairs and out the front door with my white nightie on and a Glock in my hand. I was a sight. I have always wanted to point a gun at an assailant and bark something suitably bad-ass. Here was my chance. With the foyer light at my back, I ran up toward the mailbox and one kid peeing.
Don't EVER come back here again! And they never came back. Until the rooster's head was removed. My dear Mexican gardeners made me a new one, with a reflector under its beak, like that red wrinkly thing real roosters have.
There is a kicker to this story. One day, two young men in a truck were stopped at the end of the driveway. Can we borrow your phone? What do you need?, I asked. Well, ma'am, do you have some gas? Of course, here's the container, take what you want. They did. And they were the same boys I nearly shot.
I have been attempting to squeeze about four households into mine. There was the high school and college household. Then the first job household, and the married household (most of which was hastily packed into storage bins). Now my actual household that is pretty much the way I like it.
EXCEPT, I am now getting things back from the other half of my married household. My son is moving his stuff in as it appears dad is going to move. Then I have my father's household, and anything that I might want from my sister's household, as she is renovating and has to reduce, reduce, reduce.
Going to the dump for the first time is one of those proverbial ripping the band-aid off events. We actually do have a dump out here. You drive your truck onto the scales, just like the big boys do. Then you go up to the "small loads" area. They have three giant, I don't know, pits encased in metal. You back your truck up to the bumpers and just toss it all in. Most of the time the guy in the next truck offers to help. I never take it. I do, however, enjoy the aid in the form of a front-end loader. You can toss your sofas right on the ground, and they scoop them up and take them away, up the garbage mountain. They also have an "appliance" shed that has mostly old TVs and computers. I have no idea where they go. When you're done, you go get weighed again. You pay per pound, but every township has a different rate. My tab is usually $23 or so, although I have gotten $112 worth of crap in my bed. You pay at a window where they know which vehicle is yours (even though you have to keep on giving your township). Incidentally, outside the weighed area, there are recycling places for the usual cardboard, paper, bottles and cans. They also take batteries (toxic) and used motor oil. I asked what to do with paint. They told me to let it dry out and then just throw in into the trash. Hmm.
Back to the point, I have been cleaning out my storage bins (or units, as you probably call them). I pay $3000 a year for these, and I have plenty of space in my house, barn and basement. Well, when I finally got around to it, I was locked out because they saw the truck I rented. In my naivete with the business of personal storage, I didn't get it. It turns out they wanted to make sure I paid my last bill without absconding with the collateral.
I brought a broom, a dust pan and brush, garbage bags, paper towels and Fantastik. I don't like dirty things in my house. Silly me. I needed a hazmat suit and an exterminator. As I sorted out the stuff, it became apparent that the first cut needed to be made by smell. So many of my things had mildewed. Mostly the expensive stuff. When I got to the floor, I found that the aggregate poured there in about 1990 had crumbled, and I had a sort of semi-marsh. No joke, there were dead frogs in there. I needed to pare down my hoard, so that really wasn't that bad. Except for my memorabilia. My mother had saved every report card we ever got. My dried junior prom corsage. The ashtray I made in Brownies with my picture peeking through the glass bottom (at that time it was okay for Brownies to make ashtrays). And all of it was filled with silverfish.
Eventually, it was done. I filled a bag with the mice, frogs, and stink bugs. I'm not too squeamish, as I am still hunting the resident groundhogs with a shotgun (and also took my 9 mm to the head of a dying deer that was run over). When I checked out, I noted that there was an issue with the floor and with some vermin. I told her that I had left a bag. She nodded and said that she'll let them know that I had a bag in the unit. Uh, no. I left the bag for them right in the office.
I am accustomed to driving trucks. I made three or four uneventful trips between my barn (for further triage) and the storage place. The last time, something rolled in the back, making me start (and swear). What on earth could be broken now? My copper gutters, it was. I had run the truck right up to the barn roof, tore off the gutter and miscellaneous shingles, and worst of all, I took a huge chunk out the fiberglass body. $5000 at least. And I had declined the insurance. And my insurance through my credit card and regular policy doesn't cover trucks. That'll teach me to take possession of my possessed possessions.
So, I've been making regular trips to the dump. And it feels great.
EXCEPT, I am now getting things back from the other half of my married household. My son is moving his stuff in as it appears dad is going to move. Then I have my father's household, and anything that I might want from my sister's household, as she is renovating and has to reduce, reduce, reduce.
Going to the dump for the first time is one of those proverbial ripping the band-aid off events. We actually do have a dump out here. You drive your truck onto the scales, just like the big boys do. Then you go up to the "small loads" area. They have three giant, I don't know, pits encased in metal. You back your truck up to the bumpers and just toss it all in. Most of the time the guy in the next truck offers to help. I never take it. I do, however, enjoy the aid in the form of a front-end loader. You can toss your sofas right on the ground, and they scoop them up and take them away, up the garbage mountain. They also have an "appliance" shed that has mostly old TVs and computers. I have no idea where they go. When you're done, you go get weighed again. You pay per pound, but every township has a different rate. My tab is usually $23 or so, although I have gotten $112 worth of crap in my bed. You pay at a window where they know which vehicle is yours (even though you have to keep on giving your township). Incidentally, outside the weighed area, there are recycling places for the usual cardboard, paper, bottles and cans. They also take batteries (toxic) and used motor oil. I asked what to do with paint. They told me to let it dry out and then just throw in into the trash. Hmm.
Back to the point, I have been cleaning out my storage bins (or units, as you probably call them). I pay $3000 a year for these, and I have plenty of space in my house, barn and basement. Well, when I finally got around to it, I was locked out because they saw the truck I rented. In my naivete with the business of personal storage, I didn't get it. It turns out they wanted to make sure I paid my last bill without absconding with the collateral.
I brought a broom, a dust pan and brush, garbage bags, paper towels and Fantastik. I don't like dirty things in my house. Silly me. I needed a hazmat suit and an exterminator. As I sorted out the stuff, it became apparent that the first cut needed to be made by smell. So many of my things had mildewed. Mostly the expensive stuff. When I got to the floor, I found that the aggregate poured there in about 1990 had crumbled, and I had a sort of semi-marsh. No joke, there were dead frogs in there. I needed to pare down my hoard, so that really wasn't that bad. Except for my memorabilia. My mother had saved every report card we ever got. My dried junior prom corsage. The ashtray I made in Brownies with my picture peeking through the glass bottom (at that time it was okay for Brownies to make ashtrays). And all of it was filled with silverfish.
Eventually, it was done. I filled a bag with the mice, frogs, and stink bugs. I'm not too squeamish, as I am still hunting the resident groundhogs with a shotgun (and also took my 9 mm to the head of a dying deer that was run over). When I checked out, I noted that there was an issue with the floor and with some vermin. I told her that I had left a bag. She nodded and said that she'll let them know that I had a bag in the unit. Uh, no. I left the bag for them right in the office.
I am accustomed to driving trucks. I made three or four uneventful trips between my barn (for further triage) and the storage place. The last time, something rolled in the back, making me start (and swear). What on earth could be broken now? My copper gutters, it was. I had run the truck right up to the barn roof, tore off the gutter and miscellaneous shingles, and worst of all, I took a huge chunk out the fiberglass body. $5000 at least. And I had declined the insurance. And my insurance through my credit card and regular policy doesn't cover trucks. That'll teach me to take possession of my possessed possessions.
So, I've been making regular trips to the dump. And it feels great.
Went to restorer's to pick up my UPS packages. Only in our town would the delivery guys drop your stuff at someone else's if it needs a signature. Sticky note on door tells you where it is. If it doesn't require a signature it goes on your kitchen counter. I never lock my doors. When I had cancer and had just moved here, someone came in and stocked the refrigerator. It's just that kind of place.
Anyhow, Mr. chatty cathy, my introducer and sometimes carrier pigeon, filled me in on the he saids (he being my almost-real imaginary boyfriend). He was going to come up to the shop to check on one of his cars and "had some other things to do in PA". Preferable do me. I hope not 5'10", 110 pounds, 23 and gorgeous instead. I just don't get it.
Chatty thinks he's nervous. Guys are that way too, he said. It never crossed my mind that my age would be a formidable asset and not a dreadful circumstance. As you know, he keeps on doing the credentials thing, which I think is a male thing and maybe an age thing. At that point in life, they're still becoming what they are going to be, and the accomplishments are important to them. For goodness sake, I thought we had established that he's smart, I'm smart, he's accomplished, I'm accomplished, he's rich, I'm rich, and that was that.
Is there still hope? Not counting on it. Besides, I'm going to hit the road soon.
Anyhow, Mr. chatty cathy, my introducer and sometimes carrier pigeon, filled me in on the he saids (he being my almost-real imaginary boyfriend). He was going to come up to the shop to check on one of his cars and "had some other things to do in PA". Preferable do me. I hope not 5'10", 110 pounds, 23 and gorgeous instead. I just don't get it.
Chatty thinks he's nervous. Guys are that way too, he said. It never crossed my mind that my age would be a formidable asset and not a dreadful circumstance. As you know, he keeps on doing the credentials thing, which I think is a male thing and maybe an age thing. At that point in life, they're still becoming what they are going to be, and the accomplishments are important to them. For goodness sake, I thought we had established that he's smart, I'm smart, he's accomplished, I'm accomplished, he's rich, I'm rich, and that was that.
Is there still hope? Not counting on it. Besides, I'm going to hit the road soon.
I hate doing some household chores. Detest them. This is inexplicable as they are not very onerous. I'll kill rodents. I'll unstop toilets. I'll clean out the attic and organize my files. But I will not empty the dishwasher.
So I wondered, how long does this take me anyhow? I timed it. Two and a half minutes. 150 seconds. Well, nothing can be that bad if it only takes two and a half minutes. I tried this method with other things I hate. Squegeeing the shower door. Throwing the gym clothes in the dryer. This was a revelation! I only had to withstand these trials for a teeny tiny time.
The sink piles up with ice cream bowls and chocolatey spoons. I hate dirty dishes in my sink. I still don't empty the dishwasher.
I wish my imaginary boyfriend was home.
So I wondered, how long does this take me anyhow? I timed it. Two and a half minutes. 150 seconds. Well, nothing can be that bad if it only takes two and a half minutes. I tried this method with other things I hate. Squegeeing the shower door. Throwing the gym clothes in the dryer. This was a revelation! I only had to withstand these trials for a teeny tiny time.
The sink piles up with ice cream bowls and chocolatey spoons. I hate dirty dishes in my sink. I still don't empty the dishwasher.
I wish my imaginary boyfriend was home.
I want to go places I've never been, and revisit those that have great memories, of course guaranteeing that I will be disappointed. Here are some new places I would like to go to:
A tent revival
Tarot card reader
Voodoo shop
Sex stores (in fact, several)
Black church with fervent pastor and choir (oh dear, better pack something else than jeans, and perhaps a great go-to-meeting hat-- I actually have several of these and they don't weigh much)
Hmmm... does this mean I want my sex to be a religious experience? And maybe cast some love spells?
Now to Mary Mary. I was a little sister of a fraternity and their sweetheart as a senior. Many of my friends also hung out at the fratty house. One of the brothers had a girlfriend who was quite adamantly (and verbally) saving herself for marriage. Someone said they'd like to be a fly on the wall and hear that thing pop on her wedding night.
She and I had a friend named Mary. Mary Mary. We saw Mary Mary one morning a bit disheveled and presumed she had slept somewhere other than her own bed. The rival fraternity (you know, the one with the good-looking guys with the blond girlfriends) was somehow affiliated with fire trucks. National symbol? They had one? I can't recall. I do recall that the gentleman in question was reputed to sleep with the fire hose. We were dying to find out. Mary Mary confirmed our fears and awe (we were southern ladies, after all). I can corroborate that as I ran into him on Columbus Boulevard one summer and had to find out for myself.
Mary Mary Facebooked me today. It's Mary Mary!!! she wrote. Wow. I have to get to Florida. I hope she's still there.
Anyhow, we were all kind of titillated that morning at school. We went to a movie that night and popped Quaaludes.
A tent revival
Tarot card reader
Voodoo shop
Sex stores (in fact, several)
Black church with fervent pastor and choir (oh dear, better pack something else than jeans, and perhaps a great go-to-meeting hat-- I actually have several of these and they don't weigh much)
Hmmm... does this mean I want my sex to be a religious experience? And maybe cast some love spells?
Now to Mary Mary. I was a little sister of a fraternity and their sweetheart as a senior. Many of my friends also hung out at the fratty house. One of the brothers had a girlfriend who was quite adamantly (and verbally) saving herself for marriage. Someone said they'd like to be a fly on the wall and hear that thing pop on her wedding night.
She and I had a friend named Mary. Mary Mary. We saw Mary Mary one morning a bit disheveled and presumed she had slept somewhere other than her own bed. The rival fraternity (you know, the one with the good-looking guys with the blond girlfriends) was somehow affiliated with fire trucks. National symbol? They had one? I can't recall. I do recall that the gentleman in question was reputed to sleep with the fire hose. We were dying to find out. Mary Mary confirmed our fears and awe (we were southern ladies, after all). I can corroborate that as I ran into him on Columbus Boulevard one summer and had to find out for myself.
Mary Mary Facebooked me today. It's Mary Mary!!! she wrote. Wow. I have to get to Florida. I hope she's still there.
Anyhow, we were all kind of titillated that morning at school. We went to a movie that night and popped Quaaludes.
I have become a cyberstalker. Facebook. Google. Google parents. Google parents' company. Google mom. Google dad and his charitable interests. Check the campaign spending. Hmmm... gives to both parties. Sift through permit applications. And then the motherlode: a Facebook page with hundreds of pictures, videos, witty captions. I have now officially seen more of him online than I have in person. The weird thing is that when we talk he assumes that I know all this stuff, like there was Blackberry osmosis. Noticed that his Facebook photo is of his dog. A little one. It used to be him at a bar with a blowup doll. I hope it was a bachelor party. I blocked him from my Facebook.
Thank heavens I actually waited overnight before I did this. I was thinking, his parents are getting divorced and mom is getting the brunt of it. She ran away. He wants her back, but she is changing the locks and hanging out with her trouble-making girlfriends, it is said. She ruined everything. What about the holidays?
I don't get it. After 35 years of marriage, the woman is entitled to be herself. We get that, don't we? They all try to hope it blows over when she's done" finding herself". Please. She has always known who she is and it's her turn now. Have a martini and dance on the bar. Oh dear, that reeks of one of those "whimsical" glasses painted with leopard spots and boa pieces glued to the stem. Sorry, that wasn't the intention.
A brief aside:
My stepmother texted me to ask what my father should wear to a certain event. I texted back that he could wear a polo shirt or one of those cashmere things. Well, you know old autospell. The return answer was that she didn't have one, but would a cashmere or ermine one do? A thing, not a thong.
Back to the disaster averted. I thought wouldn't it be great if I just dropped her a note and say that I'm hitting the road, and she'd be welcome at any time. I hope I wasn't thinking Thelma and Louise, but maybe that would work for her.
I went to sleep, got up and had a meeting, then went to the gym, and on the way home I thought about it again. Oops! No one is supposed to know about the drama. Why I was the confessor on this, I do not know. A more interesting oops: how would I tell her that I knew she needed a road trip. Do I tell her I'm a friend of her son's? I imagine it happening and I think of how skeevy it would be if she had any idea of the sexting that had been going on between us. On the other hand, I've never been one to avoid walking into a hornet's nest just to see what would happen.
Sigh, my imaginary boyfriend would have to do. He'll eat less and borrow less lipstick.
I don't get it. After 35 years of marriage, the woman is entitled to be herself. We get that, don't we? They all try to hope it blows over when she's done" finding herself". Please. She has always known who she is and it's her turn now. Have a martini and dance on the bar. Oh dear, that reeks of one of those "whimsical" glasses painted with leopard spots and boa pieces glued to the stem. Sorry, that wasn't the intention.
A brief aside:
My stepmother texted me to ask what my father should wear to a certain event. I texted back that he could wear a polo shirt or one of those cashmere things. Well, you know old autospell. The return answer was that she didn't have one, but would a cashmere or ermine one do? A thing, not a thong.
Back to the disaster averted. I thought wouldn't it be great if I just dropped her a note and say that I'm hitting the road, and she'd be welcome at any time. I hope I wasn't thinking Thelma and Louise, but maybe that would work for her.
I went to sleep, got up and had a meeting, then went to the gym, and on the way home I thought about it again. Oops! No one is supposed to know about the drama. Why I was the confessor on this, I do not know. A more interesting oops: how would I tell her that I knew she needed a road trip. Do I tell her I'm a friend of her son's? I imagine it happening and I think of how skeevy it would be if she had any idea of the sexting that had been going on between us. On the other hand, I've never been one to avoid walking into a hornet's nest just to see what would happen.
Sigh, my imaginary boyfriend would have to do. He'll eat less and borrow less lipstick.
My house was renovated by a 6'7" man. I can't reach anything. I do have a little foldable stepladder that I have in my closet with my dresses. The only full length closet in my boudoir is literally 12 inches wide. I go with separates. I can get the ladder out and drag it around the house, but what's the point if you have a tall man around?
These are things I need to have reached:
My hats on the top shelf
Light fixtures that need to have the bugs cleaned out in them
The hanging baskets on the porch when I first put them up and when I forget to water them and they are almost beyond hope but then I soak them in a big tub of water overnight and they're pretty much okay until I'm too lazy to water them again
The copper gutter that's off it's clips because I ran a rental truck into it (hey, did you ever measure how high your gutters are off the driveway?)
The business records boxes on the top garage shelf that need to be shredded before more than two mice take up residence
Picture hooks- not putting in, but taking out- I can take the picture off, but you have to pull the nail up, not down to get the hanger off the wall
Anything to be hung up on the perfect Shaker pegs-- I can just yank jackets off, but I need to jump to put them back on, and half the time I either miss or they slide right off
The plants in the part of the truck bed closest to the cab
Those small appliances you have that you never (or almost never) use but you have to have anyway that are in the tippy top kitchen cabinets-- why the heavy ones always go up there, I'll never know, but I pack around them with miscellaneous Tupperware so that when you pull down the waffle maker, say, or the George Foreman grill, everything hits your head, but you burst out laughing because when you live by yourself, yelling Fuck, Shit, Fuckety Fuck just doesn't get any reaction
That's why my imaginary boyfriend is tall.
These are things I need to have reached:
My hats on the top shelf
Light fixtures that need to have the bugs cleaned out in them
The hanging baskets on the porch when I first put them up and when I forget to water them and they are almost beyond hope but then I soak them in a big tub of water overnight and they're pretty much okay until I'm too lazy to water them again
The copper gutter that's off it's clips because I ran a rental truck into it (hey, did you ever measure how high your gutters are off the driveway?)
The business records boxes on the top garage shelf that need to be shredded before more than two mice take up residence
Picture hooks- not putting in, but taking out- I can take the picture off, but you have to pull the nail up, not down to get the hanger off the wall
Anything to be hung up on the perfect Shaker pegs-- I can just yank jackets off, but I need to jump to put them back on, and half the time I either miss or they slide right off
The plants in the part of the truck bed closest to the cab
Those small appliances you have that you never (or almost never) use but you have to have anyway that are in the tippy top kitchen cabinets-- why the heavy ones always go up there, I'll never know, but I pack around them with miscellaneous Tupperware so that when you pull down the waffle maker, say, or the George Foreman grill, everything hits your head, but you burst out laughing because when you live by yourself, yelling Fuck, Shit, Fuckety Fuck just doesn't get any reaction
That's why my imaginary boyfriend is tall.
Not personal-just business, I texted
I'm looking for a 3 litre Bentley
Do you know anyone who has one?
Immediate phone call. Ah, the aphrodisiac of motor oil. In his car on speakerphone. Brother is there. Hi, brother! Yo, he said. Lots of in-the-know talk. Somewhere in there I said I really just want to tour in it. Surprise. He thought I was looking for it for someone else. Now, we are talking about more than the average house value in America. I'm looking better all the time. What a manipulative bitch. Except it's true. I am looking.
Call you tomorrow morning. I think he really means it, but I don't expect him to because he's not very good with follow up, you know?
I was right. This time, I don't feel at all sorry for myself, as I am getting ready to be with my imaginary boyfriend for a while. Yee-hah!
I'm looking for a 3 litre Bentley
Do you know anyone who has one?
Call you tomorrow morning. I think he really means it, but I don't expect him to because he's not very good with follow up, you know?
I was right. This time, I don't feel at all sorry for myself, as I am getting ready to be with my imaginary boyfriend for a while. Yee-hah!
Today I bought:
I am also figuring out which XM to get. The best deals are to be found directly from them, but it's an amazing ordeal to figure out your customer code, figure out if you should use that one or some other one, or just to throw in the towel and become a new customer. Or buy it on Amazon. It qualifies for Prime, so it will be here in two days. Weighing the discount against the convenience. As always. Convenience seems to be the overwhelming winner in the larger scheme of my life.
 |
| This is Devin from the Apple Store |
- MacBook Air (love it but my fingertips are sore from trackpad usage)
- Garmin Nuvi (have an older one in my pickup)
- External DVD for MacBook (because you can't fold up your CD's and stick them into the ridiculously flat Air, and I occasionally need a throwback from the Aerosmith days)
- Little speakers
- Kodak PlaySport video camera (ick, who wants a Kodak, but these are supposed to be really good)
And, a whole pile of new underwear.
There are hot pink ones, yellow lace ones, white with black, black with white, flowered ones, sheer ones, purple ones and god knows what else. They give you a bag to put your choices in and you can't see exactly what you put in there in the first place, but it's a sale, and by the time you get to the check out line..... well, you pretty much own them all.
This would be great for housewife role playing:
This would be great for housewife role playing:
I am also figuring out which XM to get. The best deals are to be found directly from them, but it's an amazing ordeal to figure out your customer code, figure out if you should use that one or some other one, or just to throw in the towel and become a new customer. Or buy it on Amazon. It qualifies for Prime, so it will be here in two days. Weighing the discount against the convenience. As always. Convenience seems to be the overwhelming winner in the larger scheme of my life.
I'd prefer to be able to listen to local stations, especially in the sticks, but I'm not sure if the woody radio works. Pretty sure there was no FM then, but AM could be amusing. Charging all these devices will also be a challenge, as I'm not sure the cigarette lighter works. Probably should, though, as everyone smoked then. It's like it was for us as teenagers, while it was still cool.
I realized that I am treating this trip as though I'll be in the Andes for 18 months. I am adamant that I go no place that I cannot wear jeans. However, I'll probably have to pack a multitude of shoes to make that happen. Hmmm....Manolos and Five Fingers (if you watch Weeds, these are the freaky shoes)? Neither one of those is particularly appropriate for the tiny towns I hope to visit, but then a girl has to be a girl. BUT, I don't think I can kick ass in either one. Something to ponder. Maybe I'll just get along on my charm.
I've found him! The perfect imaginary boyfriend will be constructed by fabulous Etsy artists. I'm so excited to meet him as my almost-real IBF is nowhere to be found. He's what my angels say:
This is brilliant! We hope you gather a million new and happy memories to replace the heartbreak, and we would love to help you with this project. Our bid includes drafts and revisions, and the finished piece can be done in acrylic on cardboard or foamcore, articulated so that he can sit comfortably and will be the perfect traveling companion. You are welcome to view samples of our work in our online portfolio here: http://www.facebook.com/aphotica?v=photos#!/photos.php?id=136637536361770
and in the "sold" section of our Etsy shop here:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/aphotica/sold
Thank you for considering our bid; we look forward to hearing from you!
-Dawn and Becky
This is brilliant! We hope you gather a million new and happy memories to replace the heartbreak, and we would love to help you with this project. Our bid includes drafts and revisions, and the finished piece can be done in acrylic on cardboard or foamcore, articulated so that he can sit comfortably and will be the perfect traveling companion. You are welcome to view samples of our work in our online portfolio here: http://www.facebook.com/aphotica?v=photos#!/photos.php?id=136637536361770
and in the "sold" section of our Etsy shop here:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/aphotica/sold
Thank you for considering our bid; we look forward to hearing from you!
-Dawn and Becky
How can you hate a station like that? BEN-FM in Philadelphia.
I wait each time I'm in the car for the best part of the set: the kicker to the playing anything...
For example:
Playing anything we want but dressing as a mermaid with a cowboy hat is another thing
Playing anything we want - you don't need an app for that
Now playing more music than ever, as long as you're listening
And my latest favorite:
So are you gonna just sit at your desk and weep through these songs?
As you might expect, I'm listening to more music and less Terry Gross. I do miss Ira Glass, though. Maybe he'd like my imaginary boyfriend. Nevertheless, I am mooning over lyrics that used to pierce through my teenage hormones and into my earnest heart. Stairway to Heaven, anyone? And first job boyfriend and I were crazy about Garth (Party on! Excellent1) and Love In An Elevator. We even recorded the SNL episode with real Aerosmith as guests. I'm not sure how we did that. I think it was Betamax. And don't start me on 8-track....
I wait each time I'm in the car for the best part of the set: the kicker to the playing anything...
For example:
Playing anything we want but dressing as a mermaid with a cowboy hat is another thing
Playing anything we want - you don't need an app for that
Now playing more music than ever, as long as you're listening
And my latest favorite:
So are you gonna just sit at your desk and weep through these songs?
As you might expect, I'm listening to more music and less Terry Gross. I do miss Ira Glass, though. Maybe he'd like my imaginary boyfriend. Nevertheless, I am mooning over lyrics that used to pierce through my teenage hormones and into my earnest heart. Stairway to Heaven, anyone? And first job boyfriend and I were crazy about Garth (Party on! Excellent1) and Love In An Elevator. We even recorded the SNL episode with real Aerosmith as guests. I'm not sure how we did that. I think it was Betamax. And don't start me on 8-track....
December 26. I text Merry Christmas I hope everyone's sanity is intact. Apparently not. Nothing.
I was 18 when I lost my virginity, 24 for oral sex (me), 34 for oral sex (him), 42 for anal sex (when I was high). Leave it to say that I was not particularly skilled at anything, given how little I practiced.
My almost-real IBF doesn't like boring sex. He told me so. In fact, he seemed to have left a long time girlfriend for that reason.
When I was 40, I climbed a 14,000 foot mountain in one day--by myself. I also learned to surf. At surf camp, I behaved myself until the last evening, at which time I bought and drank some craft beer with insanely high levels of alcohol. The bottle had a cool label. I nearly had sex on the beach, but was caught by a family with elementary school aged children.
On the way home, I pierced my navel which was a big thing as I am one of the last people on earth without pierced ears. My dad said that is for whores and gypsies. I guesss I am a secret whore, which suits me just fine.
A few weeks later, the guy with one of those icky little ponytails tacked on the back of his conservative haircut asked me to go to Hilton Head to surf. Our classmates were also invited, but were not guaranteed to show. They didn't. He smoked a little tiny pipe and snuffed it with a quarter to make the pot last. The most miraculous thing happened. The man was good, passionate, patient and accepting in bed (or the shower or wherever). He loved a woman's natural scent and forbade deodorant. He showed me how to stimulate his prostate. In short, I began to see sex as a creative pastime, not just a way to get off.
Not too long after, I met a chiropractor with a steroid-stoked body. After about ten minutes, he took my hands, looked me straight in the eyes, and declared that we had instant chemistry. We did. In retrospect, he probably didnt have much of a penis. I was so delirious with pleasure that I didn't even recall. I learned exhibitionism and role playing. He had me reading amateur porn on the web. I started thinking about going to CKS. Club Karma Sutra was notorious in Philadelphia. You could participate or be a voyeur. I began to think seriously about corsets. I dreamed up one with an embroidered eye on the back. It would pierce people behind me. I seriously considered going to a light S&M joint. Like powerful men, I like being held hostage, banishing my responsibility for the wickedness that was to follow.
Of course, I didn't do any of that. I should have.
I had read somewhere how the younger adults were much more free with sex. I don't know how to deal with that. Remember, my almost-real IBF is 33. 33! I read that gynecologists can tell the age of their patients by how they are groomed down there. They are waxed. We are not. I started researching sex toys online. This is a whole new world for me. I had gone through a little of this with a passing fling that ended in a serious emotional mess. Serious.
Tonight I watched a taped episode of Kendra. Over time, I have become fond of her funny laugh, lack of inhibition, and clear love of her husband Hank. She very matter-of-factly sent her assistant for a whip and so on for Hank's return after a stint with the Vikings (he was an Eagle--twice-- so he was just fine with me).
I began to think about sex shops, and looked up the Philadelphia ones online. I checked the shop link, and hoped for an easy out with unmarked package buying. To my dismay, the link just led to a description of the store. But, they have lessons! Of all kinds! I want to email my almost-real IBF the list of classes I was going to take. Blow HIS mind! Sensual Spanking & Erotic Touch! Blogging Workshop! erotic spanking! And this is only January!
I'm keeping the list as a challenge to actually go. Here it is:
January 2011 Tentative Class Schedule
Friday January 6th ,7-9PM
Blow HIS Mind: The Art of Pleasing A Man with Juicy Justine
Wanna learn how to please your man? Now is your chance! In this workshop you will learn how to satisfy your man. We will discuss male anatomy, positions, techniques, hand jobs, blow jobs, prostate stimulation, sex toys and so much more. You will learn how to “Cheek Condoms” (put a condom on with your mouth), and there will be plenty of time to practice your new techniques using everyday edibles such as bananas, cucumbers, lollipops and more.
Friday January 7th, 7-9PM
Blow HER Mind: Pleasing A Woman with Juicy Justine
Wanna learn how to please a woman? Now is your chance! In this workshop you will learn all about the female anatomy, communication, penetration, sex toys, positions, techniques, safer sex and so much more. We’ll even discuss the infamous G-Spot & Female Ejaculation and there will be plenty of time to practice your new techniques using everyday edibles.
ThursdayJanuary 13th 7-9PM
Beyond the Basic Rubdown with Lynk
Thousands of people perform massage with and without training in a variety of settings. The BDSM scene is one place where massage can be taken to a variety of levels beyond the vanilla world’s. If you are looking for a class that will describe different types of massage, this class is not for you. The objectives of this class are to educate you about how to perform effective massage without experiencing too much stress or fatigue and how to give the greatest benefit to the lucky person receiving your massage. Body mechanics, proper use of hands, elbows, and forearms, and important focus areas for greatest benefit from massage will be discussed. When you leave this class, you will be able to give longer and more frequent massages that have people begging for more, and who doesn’t like begging?
Friday, January 14th, 7-9PM
Sensual Spanking & Erotic Touch with Juicy Justine
Learn theory and practice of percussive play including who likes spanking and why, the anatomy and physiology of spanking , positions, targets, communication, warming up, troubleshooting, toy cleaning, combining percussion with bondage, role play and punishment, tips and tricks.
Thursday Jan 20, 7-9PM
Tantra Wisdom with Anita DeFrancesco
A course that teaches how to balance the physical, sexual and emotional powers. This class is based on the techniques from the Hindu, Taoist, and Buddhist traditions of Tantra yoga. Explore how to increase your sexual energy and develop the courage to a more present foundation. You will learn basic Tantric techniques to move beyond the fear, guilt and shame to more intimate erotic possibilities. Discover your sensual nature, connect to your pleasure source, experience love, and practice full body orgasms, sacred sexuality, compassionate heart connections and find true love when the spiritual and sexual merge as one. You can experience this on your own or with a partner.
Friday January 21, 7-9PM
Sexual & Non-Sexual Ageplay with Ki
This presentation explores what ageplay is, and perhaps more importantly for some, what it isn’t. What is the stigma and what are the risks of being an ageplayer? Why is ageplay considered to be an edgeplay? Why would a person want to participate in ageplay? Is ageplay merely roleplay and if so are there truly any risks associated with it? This comprehensive seminar will cover four variations of ageplay – adult babies, kidz space, sexual ageplay and shadowing. Time to open your mind and step over the edge into Never Never Land.
Saturday January 22 with Ki
12:30-2:30 Wax Play Workshop with Ki
Wax play without paraffin, and with color and scents? Is this possible? Is this safe? Come and play in the warmth of this workshop. Cleans up with soap and water … honest!
3-5PM Knife Play (Bloodless) & Cuttings Workshop with Ki
Created for the players who are past the 101 stage and are ready to step into some of the more advanced play, this workshop teaches how to dance a blade over someone’s skin before moving into the basics of cuttings. Participants are encouraged to bring their own knives to work with.
5:30-7:30PM Needle Play Workshop with Ki
Bevel up! Learn universal precautions, basic needleworking and how to make your work a piece of art. Your first victim will be … a tomato. Fruit provided, participation encouraged.
Sunday Jan 23 TIME & LOCATION TBA
Flogging Workshop with Ki
The name says it all. Bring your whips and floggers and let’s practice how to beat someone … in a good way! Single hand, backhand and four-step Florentine are the main foci of this workshop. Active participation encouraged.
Thursday January 27, 7-9PM
Erotic Bondage with Veronica Bound
Learn creative ways to tie your lover up in order to enhance sexual acess and pleasure!
Friday January 28, 7-9PM
D/s & M/s Styling with Ki
Victorian, Feminine Supremacy, Japanese, Leather, Gorean … so many styles, how does one learn them all, even enough to interact with each without embarrassing anyone? Come to this class and learn how
Saturday January 29th A day with Ki
12:30-2:30 a Prospective BDSM Partner with Ki What is right and what is wrong to be asking a prospective BDSM partner? Does timing matter? Are a person’s skills an appropriate part of the considerations? Should a servant be interviewing dominants in the first place, or is that disrespectful? Is an interview important at all? Why not just let things happen as they happen and find out at time goes by?
3-5PM This is a BDSM Checklist 101with Ki What is a BDSM checklist? What is the importance of one? How often should a person complete one? How long is one? What does a BDSM checklist really tell one’s partner? An extensive BDSM checklist will be openly provided to all attendees. This is one of the presentations in the 101 series designed to help newcomers to the community get their feet firmly under them.
5:30-7:30 Sunday Jan 30 Ritualistic Enhancements What is the difference between a routine and a ritual? What does each one accomplish? What can a ritual accomplish in actuality? What is too much to expect from a ritual? Much of the presentation time will be devoted to helping attendees develop personal rituals.
8-10Training, Collars & Contracts Why have someone else train your sentient property? Why, as a Dominant, would you seek training for yourself? What are the different types of collars and what does each signify? What are the different types of Contracts and what goes in them?
Juicy Justine is a highly trained Sexuality Educator with her Masters in Human Sexuality Education. Justine currently presents workshops on a variety of topics related to sex and sexuality in a fun and interactive format for individuals of all ages
Lynk is a doctor of physical therapy as well as a certified strength and conditioning specialist. He has been involved with bodywork and the kinky community for over 5 years. His background gives him a unique perspective on the activities in the community that he has been able to apply to create classes to improve bodywork skills, body movement, and decrease risk of injury.
Anita DeFrancesco, M.A., Sex, Love and Relationship Educator. Her focus and vision have been the evolution of spirituality, sexuality, and teaching others to awaken from separation and suffering and to embrace the modern world with oneness and love. She helps people to liberate and let go of the grudges. She has been featured on Playboy’s Sexcetera, Fox and MTV. She is the author of Live Free: Your Journey to a Liberated Life.
‘Ki’ is a forty year old woman of many facets. She is, first and foremost, a slave to Ichizoku Seikiji and the unconditional 24/7 personal slave of the Master of that House. Otherwise she is dominant in nature (slave, not very submissive). She is an accomplished Top and vicious sadist who (perhaps overly) enjoys developing immersive mindfucks. She also adores her opportunities to bottom, particularly for edge play, and possesses slightly more than a teeny-tiny bit of a masochistic streak. She gives the term ‘switch’ a migraine the size of the Grand Canyon, but through it all she is an instructor.
Veronica Bound is a sensual sadist and professional dominatrix whose entertaining classes emphasize consensual, safe technique.
I want to do this. But I'll be on the road with my IBF! Maybe to meet my almost-real IBF. Then I'll let him decide. If it isn't already too late.
My almost-real IBF doesn't like boring sex. He told me so. In fact, he seemed to have left a long time girlfriend for that reason.
When I was 40, I climbed a 14,000 foot mountain in one day--by myself. I also learned to surf. At surf camp, I behaved myself until the last evening, at which time I bought and drank some craft beer with insanely high levels of alcohol. The bottle had a cool label. I nearly had sex on the beach, but was caught by a family with elementary school aged children.
On the way home, I pierced my navel which was a big thing as I am one of the last people on earth without pierced ears. My dad said that is for whores and gypsies. I guesss I am a secret whore, which suits me just fine.
A few weeks later, the guy with one of those icky little ponytails tacked on the back of his conservative haircut asked me to go to Hilton Head to surf. Our classmates were also invited, but were not guaranteed to show. They didn't. He smoked a little tiny pipe and snuffed it with a quarter to make the pot last. The most miraculous thing happened. The man was good, passionate, patient and accepting in bed (or the shower or wherever). He loved a woman's natural scent and forbade deodorant. He showed me how to stimulate his prostate. In short, I began to see sex as a creative pastime, not just a way to get off.
Not too long after, I met a chiropractor with a steroid-stoked body. After about ten minutes, he took my hands, looked me straight in the eyes, and declared that we had instant chemistry. We did. In retrospect, he probably didnt have much of a penis. I was so delirious with pleasure that I didn't even recall. I learned exhibitionism and role playing. He had me reading amateur porn on the web. I started thinking about going to CKS. Club Karma Sutra was notorious in Philadelphia. You could participate or be a voyeur. I began to think seriously about corsets. I dreamed up one with an embroidered eye on the back. It would pierce people behind me. I seriously considered going to a light S&M joint. Like powerful men, I like being held hostage, banishing my responsibility for the wickedness that was to follow.
Of course, I didn't do any of that. I should have.
I had read somewhere how the younger adults were much more free with sex. I don't know how to deal with that. Remember, my almost-real IBF is 33. 33! I read that gynecologists can tell the age of their patients by how they are groomed down there. They are waxed. We are not. I started researching sex toys online. This is a whole new world for me. I had gone through a little of this with a passing fling that ended in a serious emotional mess. Serious.
Tonight I watched a taped episode of Kendra. Over time, I have become fond of her funny laugh, lack of inhibition, and clear love of her husband Hank. She very matter-of-factly sent her assistant for a whip and so on for Hank's return after a stint with the Vikings (he was an Eagle--twice-- so he was just fine with me).
I began to think about sex shops, and looked up the Philadelphia ones online. I checked the shop link, and hoped for an easy out with unmarked package buying. To my dismay, the link just led to a description of the store. But, they have lessons! Of all kinds! I want to email my almost-real IBF the list of classes I was going to take. Blow HIS mind! Sensual Spanking & Erotic Touch! Blogging Workshop! erotic spanking! And this is only January!
I'm keeping the list as a challenge to actually go. Here it is:
January 2011 Tentative Class Schedule
Friday January 6th ,7-9PM
Blow HIS Mind: The Art of Pleasing A Man with Juicy Justine
Wanna learn how to please your man? Now is your chance! In this workshop you will learn how to satisfy your man. We will discuss male anatomy, positions, techniques, hand jobs, blow jobs, prostate stimulation, sex toys and so much more. You will learn how to “Cheek Condoms” (put a condom on with your mouth), and there will be plenty of time to practice your new techniques using everyday edibles such as bananas, cucumbers, lollipops and more.
Friday January 7th, 7-9PM
Blow HER Mind: Pleasing A Woman with Juicy Justine
Wanna learn how to please a woman? Now is your chance! In this workshop you will learn all about the female anatomy, communication, penetration, sex toys, positions, techniques, safer sex and so much more. We’ll even discuss the infamous G-Spot & Female Ejaculation and there will be plenty of time to practice your new techniques using everyday edibles.
ThursdayJanuary 13th 7-9PM
Beyond the Basic Rubdown with Lynk
Thousands of people perform massage with and without training in a variety of settings. The BDSM scene is one place where massage can be taken to a variety of levels beyond the vanilla world’s. If you are looking for a class that will describe different types of massage, this class is not for you. The objectives of this class are to educate you about how to perform effective massage without experiencing too much stress or fatigue and how to give the greatest benefit to the lucky person receiving your massage. Body mechanics, proper use of hands, elbows, and forearms, and important focus areas for greatest benefit from massage will be discussed. When you leave this class, you will be able to give longer and more frequent massages that have people begging for more, and who doesn’t like begging?
Friday, January 14th, 7-9PM
Sensual Spanking & Erotic Touch with Juicy Justine
Learn theory and practice of percussive play including who likes spanking and why, the anatomy and physiology of spanking , positions, targets, communication, warming up, troubleshooting, toy cleaning, combining percussion with bondage, role play and punishment, tips and tricks.
Thursday Jan 20, 7-9PM
Tantra Wisdom with Anita DeFrancesco
A course that teaches how to balance the physical, sexual and emotional powers. This class is based on the techniques from the Hindu, Taoist, and Buddhist traditions of Tantra yoga. Explore how to increase your sexual energy and develop the courage to a more present foundation. You will learn basic Tantric techniques to move beyond the fear, guilt and shame to more intimate erotic possibilities. Discover your sensual nature, connect to your pleasure source, experience love, and practice full body orgasms, sacred sexuality, compassionate heart connections and find true love when the spiritual and sexual merge as one. You can experience this on your own or with a partner.
Friday January 21, 7-9PM
Sexual & Non-Sexual Ageplay with Ki
This presentation explores what ageplay is, and perhaps more importantly for some, what it isn’t. What is the stigma and what are the risks of being an ageplayer? Why is ageplay considered to be an edgeplay? Why would a person want to participate in ageplay? Is ageplay merely roleplay and if so are there truly any risks associated with it? This comprehensive seminar will cover four variations of ageplay – adult babies, kidz space, sexual ageplay and shadowing. Time to open your mind and step over the edge into Never Never Land.
Saturday January 22 with Ki
12:30-2:30 Wax Play Workshop with Ki
Wax play without paraffin, and with color and scents? Is this possible? Is this safe? Come and play in the warmth of this workshop. Cleans up with soap and water … honest!
3-5PM Knife Play (Bloodless) & Cuttings Workshop with Ki
Created for the players who are past the 101 stage and are ready to step into some of the more advanced play, this workshop teaches how to dance a blade over someone’s skin before moving into the basics of cuttings. Participants are encouraged to bring their own knives to work with.
5:30-7:30PM Needle Play Workshop with Ki
Bevel up! Learn universal precautions, basic needleworking and how to make your work a piece of art. Your first victim will be … a tomato. Fruit provided, participation encouraged.
Sunday Jan 23 TIME & LOCATION TBA
Flogging Workshop with Ki
The name says it all. Bring your whips and floggers and let’s practice how to beat someone … in a good way! Single hand, backhand and four-step Florentine are the main foci of this workshop. Active participation encouraged.
Thursday January 27, 7-9PM
Erotic Bondage with Veronica Bound
Learn creative ways to tie your lover up in order to enhance sexual acess and pleasure!
Friday January 28, 7-9PM
D/s & M/s Styling with Ki
Victorian, Feminine Supremacy, Japanese, Leather, Gorean … so many styles, how does one learn them all, even enough to interact with each without embarrassing anyone? Come to this class and learn how
Saturday January 29th A day with Ki
12:30-2:30 a Prospective BDSM Partner with Ki What is right and what is wrong to be asking a prospective BDSM partner? Does timing matter? Are a person’s skills an appropriate part of the considerations? Should a servant be interviewing dominants in the first place, or is that disrespectful? Is an interview important at all? Why not just let things happen as they happen and find out at time goes by?
3-5PM This is a BDSM Checklist 101with Ki What is a BDSM checklist? What is the importance of one? How often should a person complete one? How long is one? What does a BDSM checklist really tell one’s partner? An extensive BDSM checklist will be openly provided to all attendees. This is one of the presentations in the 101 series designed to help newcomers to the community get their feet firmly under them.
5:30-7:30 Sunday Jan 30 Ritualistic Enhancements What is the difference between a routine and a ritual? What does each one accomplish? What can a ritual accomplish in actuality? What is too much to expect from a ritual? Much of the presentation time will be devoted to helping attendees develop personal rituals.
8-10Training, Collars & Contracts Why have someone else train your sentient property? Why, as a Dominant, would you seek training for yourself? What are the different types of collars and what does each signify? What are the different types of Contracts and what goes in them?
Juicy Justine is a highly trained Sexuality Educator with her Masters in Human Sexuality Education. Justine currently presents workshops on a variety of topics related to sex and sexuality in a fun and interactive format for individuals of all ages
Lynk is a doctor of physical therapy as well as a certified strength and conditioning specialist. He has been involved with bodywork and the kinky community for over 5 years. His background gives him a unique perspective on the activities in the community that he has been able to apply to create classes to improve bodywork skills, body movement, and decrease risk of injury.
Anita DeFrancesco, M.A., Sex, Love and Relationship Educator. Her focus and vision have been the evolution of spirituality, sexuality, and teaching others to awaken from separation and suffering and to embrace the modern world with oneness and love. She helps people to liberate and let go of the grudges. She has been featured on Playboy’s Sexcetera, Fox and MTV. She is the author of Live Free: Your Journey to a Liberated Life.
‘Ki’ is a forty year old woman of many facets. She is, first and foremost, a slave to Ichizoku Seikiji and the unconditional 24/7 personal slave of the Master of that House. Otherwise she is dominant in nature (slave, not very submissive). She is an accomplished Top and vicious sadist who (perhaps overly) enjoys developing immersive mindfucks. She also adores her opportunities to bottom, particularly for edge play, and possesses slightly more than a teeny-tiny bit of a masochistic streak. She gives the term ‘switch’ a migraine the size of the Grand Canyon, but through it all she is an instructor.
Veronica Bound is a sensual sadist and professional dominatrix whose entertaining classes emphasize consensual, safe technique.
I want to do this. But I'll be on the road with my IBF! Maybe to meet my almost-real IBF. Then I'll let him decide. If it isn't already too late.
Now, properly evaluating my hair-tearing, weeping and general sadness from 10,000 feet, I began to ask myself why. A comment following Kim's (we are now on an imaginary first name basis, our noms de guerre if you will) post shed some light, although I'm not sure how I feel about a guy with a website called www.thisorprozac.com. I prefer Prozac.
I'm a therapist, and, having dealt with this sort of thing before, I'd offer you the thought you got exactly what you wanted: a fake boyfriend in lieu of a real one. To my ear, the imaginary relationship served as a proxy that offered the fantasies, thoughts, and feelings of a relationship without you having to, in fact, relate. Given the distance between you, you knew from the start it was going nowhere, which, to my point of view, is what made it safe enough for you to engage in.
Wow. I haven't had a date in eight years. Ya think I have a problem with fantasies? See my embarrassing texts and birthday epiphanies.
Nevertheless, I am resolute in my belief that I am not delusional at all. Me and my almost-real IBF have an enormous amount in common. He is my intellectual equal, and more talented. We enjoy the same things. He doesn't read, though, which has the potential to be a deal breaker. My neighborhood is inbred, with our men passing wives around like teenagers passing the bong. This is the right thing to do.
In any event, my IBF and my almost-real IBF may yet meet during my road trip.
I'm a therapist, and, having dealt with this sort of thing before, I'd offer you the thought you got exactly what you wanted: a fake boyfriend in lieu of a real one. To my ear, the imaginary relationship served as a proxy that offered the fantasies, thoughts, and feelings of a relationship without you having to, in fact, relate. Given the distance between you, you knew from the start it was going nowhere, which, to my point of view, is what made it safe enough for you to engage in.
Wow. I haven't had a date in eight years. Ya think I have a problem with fantasies? See my embarrassing texts and birthday epiphanies.
Nevertheless, I am resolute in my belief that I am not delusional at all. Me and my almost-real IBF have an enormous amount in common. He is my intellectual equal, and more talented. We enjoy the same things. He doesn't read, though, which has the potential to be a deal breaker. My neighborhood is inbred, with our men passing wives around like teenagers passing the bong. This is the right thing to do.
In any event, my IBF and my almost-real IBF may yet meet during my road trip.
It appears that someone other than myself has had an IBF. A good writer, in fact. In a real e-publication (Huffington Post). Her story is much like mine except it started on Facebook. I am horribly afraid that my affair with my almost-real imaginary boyfriend will end up just like hers.
With apologies to Kim Jacobs for not respecting her copyright (it is the web, after all), here's what she had to say:
I avoided telling my family about my most recent break-up, as they would simply roll their eyes and say: here we go again. But I'm telling you: this one was different. In fact so different that he was IMAGINARY (well sort of).`
The guy I broke up with insisted I call him my boyfriend early-on, even though we hadn't yet connected in-person (although we had met earlier in life). He now lives on the West Coast and I live on the East Coast. I couldn't accept at that point that he was a real boyfriend so instead I set about to both call him my imaginary boyfriend and then to actually construct one (you know with pillows and what-not and I slept next to him and ok yes, I even talked to him and ok yes, I even talked to him and occasionally kissed him good night. There's nothing wrong with that...)
And he became known to us affectionately as IBF. And IBF cemented a kind of secret language between me and him (the real guy) which was sweet, intimate, fun and helped smooth some of the rough edges created by the distance. I know you think I sound a little (uhm) off. But please let me explain -- when geography separates someone whose aim is to court you, there are a lot of things one can do to become closer. And to be clear, my intention was to eventually replace IBF in favor of an RBF. That said, in retrospect, I had no idea what I was in store for and what I was going to be up against. In fact, I am not sure either of us could have anticipated what was to follow as we both were excited about the makings of an initial, almost magnetic attraction.
Here's the story: I reconnected with this guy on Facebook. We went to school together (but didn't know each other well). He had been married and is now divorced with kids. Warm and tender --- he was those things plus smart, communicative (or so I thought), athletic, ambitious and hot, all of which is a dater's ideal profile. At the start, we exchanged a few FB msg's which were characterized by that rapid-fire excitement that can happen at the beginning of a relationship and then we quickly graduated to regular Yahoo email and then to text and then (OMG) we elevated the relationship to talking on the phone. So this virtual connection was actually moving it's way along into reality and it was an exhilarating, upward trajectory and inspiring at every turn. And when we finally got to the "phone stage" -- let me tell you: we talked and we talked and we talked and then we TALKED some more. (We must have logged in close to 100 hours of phone time over the course of our 2 month getting-to-know-each-other period). A strong connection was made. And we both agreed this sort of thing rarely (if ever) happens and we must go with its organic flow. Indeed, I got completely swept up in it and he indicated to me many times that he felt the same way and that in fact this could potentially be the start of a great romance.
Finally I said how about we get together. (My friends encouraged this as they were beginning to note I was essentially having a relationship with "a phone"). And he agreed that we could meet though he was less concerned about it than I was. So I had to nudge a bit. And thus we planned to meet. First over the summer (that didn't work out as he had a work conflict, ok that's legit), then a visit to NYC coming in Friday leaving Sunday (sounds good by me) that got can cancelled due to a family emergency (which while incredibly disappointed, I did actually understand and in fact we grew yet even closer from it). And oddly, despite a great talk, I didn't hear from him. (He kept saying he was gonna come, he was gonna come visit). And finally after one full week of radio silence (turns out, he was dealing with the on-going family emergency and embarrassed to reach out to me as a result of it), I reached out to him. Yes, we had another solid conversation -- full of more direct communication; I felt proud of the exchanges, think he did too and my friends actually applauded the effort and thought that this thing as a remote as it seemed -- based on the distance and how long it was taking to connect live -- might actually have some legs to move forward.
Then the idea (his idea) was to (uh-huh) reschedule. He begged me to get out my calendar and to set aside some dates for a visit. (Nota Bene: By this point I had to make him squirm just a little). And of course I had grown a bit weary and a tad impatient from this push/pull of the plan-making and said hmmm maybe we should take a break from this "meeting thing". (After all, I did get some cold feet from the previous series of cancellations but he pressed on and confidently insisted on it saying that he almost showed up to surprise me!). He then asserted, "I have to see you. Clear your schedule for a weekend that works for you; I'm coming to NYC -- you're stuck with me. It'll be fun". So I checked with my inner circle think tank and we approved this was good-to-go and that I had gone this far, made the investment -- that it was still worth checking out and having an in-person meeting. Thus a new date was established for 2 weeks away and the weekend schedule (ahem) cleared. And I high five-ed myself and my IBF (tee hee); I was very much looking forward to sharing that first meal with him and to toasting our good fortune with a Stella Artois, a Ketel One Martini or a glass of Iron Horse Chardonnay -- in fact I couldn't wait. I was euphoric; it actually felt like Christmas in October!
Cut to: Friday, his expected arrival, the same time of day for his ETA as the previous cancellation and guess what? He C-A-N-C-E-L-L-E-D by text! (Read: this is NOT a typo). My jaw literally dropped. Crestfallen, I felt like the bully at the grammar school playground had punched me hard in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I was all at once speechless and aghast. He said he was having problems with his ex. (There were custody issues that are painful and hard and nothing I would wish on my worst enemy). And that he would come Saturday INSTEAD of Friday. So of course I am waiting, waiting (and continuing to try to be supportive of his complex situation) and waiting (I did reach out a few times but to no avail) fully ready to re-meet this person that I had immersed myself in emotionally, mentally and intellectually.
AND to BOOT, I did not hear from him -- NADA; in fact, I N-E-V-E-R heard from him. And as of this writing I STILL haven't heard from him. Abysmal, unacceptable -- all those things, right? After all the various dark clouds of upset, brain fog and confusion passed, the anger and disgust started to set-in big time and it grew exponentially. And then something happened, a visceral click occurred: I snapped out of the make-believe and into the real -- for me, he had officially crossed a line. Such lines I am learning are personal and are drawn in the sand at different times for different people. And my line had arrived so I wasn't going to question it, but instead seize the momentum of this epiphany. And I gathered my senses, picked up my BlackBerry and my courage and did (finally) text him -- to inform him that we are done here and that I wished him the very best. (Upon reflection, I should have just simply written in Gossip-Girl-textspeak: "WTF!").
And so you would say the man is scared, the man is a jerk and the man is I dunno pathetic? But looking at this openly, maturely and clearly: He is actually none of those things. He canceled (third cancel) because he got into a tight jam with his ex-wife which created an aggressive ripple effect and thus I got caught in the tidal wave, whipped around and forced to ride the turbulence -- just call me the collateral damage in this game of finding love. The thing is I know the guy cares for me in his heart. (And strikingly: I was having an almost full-blown relationship of sorts with a man I hadn't EVEN so much as held hands with or kissed! In fact, I BROKE UP with someone that I NEVER even DATED to begin with -- an ABSOLUTE first!). In my gut, I know he ultimately wants to do right by me. But somehow wanting to do right by me and only trying to make it happen just isn't enough -- ya gotta SHOW UP dude -- as Woody Allen says: "80% of success is indeed showing up". And when he (IBF aiming to be RBF) finally does summon the courage appear and to man-up if you will, I am sure I will more than likely be onto my next boyfriend and I know for sure he won't just be virtual or imaginary but 100 percent genuine -- for real!
With apologies to Kim Jacobs for not respecting her copyright (it is the web, after all), here's what she had to say:
I avoided telling my family about my most recent break-up, as they would simply roll their eyes and say: here we go again. But I'm telling you: this one was different. In fact so different that he was IMAGINARY (well sort of).`
The guy I broke up with insisted I call him my boyfriend early-on, even though we hadn't yet connected in-person (although we had met earlier in life). He now lives on the West Coast and I live on the East Coast. I couldn't accept at that point that he was a real boyfriend so instead I set about to both call him my imaginary boyfriend and then to actually construct one (you know with pillows and what-not and I slept next to him and ok yes, I even talked to him and ok yes, I even talked to him and occasionally kissed him good night. There's nothing wrong with that...)
And he became known to us affectionately as IBF. And IBF cemented a kind of secret language between me and him (the real guy) which was sweet, intimate, fun and helped smooth some of the rough edges created by the distance. I know you think I sound a little (uhm) off. But please let me explain -- when geography separates someone whose aim is to court you, there are a lot of things one can do to become closer. And to be clear, my intention was to eventually replace IBF in favor of an RBF. That said, in retrospect, I had no idea what I was in store for and what I was going to be up against. In fact, I am not sure either of us could have anticipated what was to follow as we both were excited about the makings of an initial, almost magnetic attraction.
Here's the story: I reconnected with this guy on Facebook. We went to school together (but didn't know each other well). He had been married and is now divorced with kids. Warm and tender --- he was those things plus smart, communicative (or so I thought), athletic, ambitious and hot, all of which is a dater's ideal profile. At the start, we exchanged a few FB msg's which were characterized by that rapid-fire excitement that can happen at the beginning of a relationship and then we quickly graduated to regular Yahoo email and then to text and then (OMG) we elevated the relationship to talking on the phone. So this virtual connection was actually moving it's way along into reality and it was an exhilarating, upward trajectory and inspiring at every turn. And when we finally got to the "phone stage" -- let me tell you: we talked and we talked and we talked and then we TALKED some more. (We must have logged in close to 100 hours of phone time over the course of our 2 month getting-to-know-each-other period). A strong connection was made. And we both agreed this sort of thing rarely (if ever) happens and we must go with its organic flow. Indeed, I got completely swept up in it and he indicated to me many times that he felt the same way and that in fact this could potentially be the start of a great romance.
Finally I said how about we get together. (My friends encouraged this as they were beginning to note I was essentially having a relationship with "a phone"). And he agreed that we could meet though he was less concerned about it than I was. So I had to nudge a bit. And thus we planned to meet. First over the summer (that didn't work out as he had a work conflict, ok that's legit), then a visit to NYC coming in Friday leaving Sunday (sounds good by me) that got can cancelled due to a family emergency (which while incredibly disappointed, I did actually understand and in fact we grew yet even closer from it). And oddly, despite a great talk, I didn't hear from him. (He kept saying he was gonna come, he was gonna come visit). And finally after one full week of radio silence (turns out, he was dealing with the on-going family emergency and embarrassed to reach out to me as a result of it), I reached out to him. Yes, we had another solid conversation -- full of more direct communication; I felt proud of the exchanges, think he did too and my friends actually applauded the effort and thought that this thing as a remote as it seemed -- based on the distance and how long it was taking to connect live -- might actually have some legs to move forward.
Then the idea (his idea) was to (uh-huh) reschedule. He begged me to get out my calendar and to set aside some dates for a visit. (Nota Bene: By this point I had to make him squirm just a little). And of course I had grown a bit weary and a tad impatient from this push/pull of the plan-making and said hmmm maybe we should take a break from this "meeting thing". (After all, I did get some cold feet from the previous series of cancellations but he pressed on and confidently insisted on it saying that he almost showed up to surprise me!). He then asserted, "I have to see you. Clear your schedule for a weekend that works for you; I'm coming to NYC -- you're stuck with me. It'll be fun". So I checked with my inner circle think tank and we approved this was good-to-go and that I had gone this far, made the investment -- that it was still worth checking out and having an in-person meeting. Thus a new date was established for 2 weeks away and the weekend schedule (ahem) cleared. And I high five-ed myself and my IBF (tee hee); I was very much looking forward to sharing that first meal with him and to toasting our good fortune with a Stella Artois, a Ketel One Martini or a glass of Iron Horse Chardonnay -- in fact I couldn't wait. I was euphoric; it actually felt like Christmas in October!
Cut to: Friday, his expected arrival, the same time of day for his ETA as the previous cancellation and guess what? He C-A-N-C-E-L-L-E-D by text! (Read: this is NOT a typo). My jaw literally dropped. Crestfallen, I felt like the bully at the grammar school playground had punched me hard in the stomach and knocked the wind out of me. I was all at once speechless and aghast. He said he was having problems with his ex. (There were custody issues that are painful and hard and nothing I would wish on my worst enemy). And that he would come Saturday INSTEAD of Friday. So of course I am waiting, waiting (and continuing to try to be supportive of his complex situation) and waiting (I did reach out a few times but to no avail) fully ready to re-meet this person that I had immersed myself in emotionally, mentally and intellectually.
AND to BOOT, I did not hear from him -- NADA; in fact, I N-E-V-E-R heard from him. And as of this writing I STILL haven't heard from him. Abysmal, unacceptable -- all those things, right? After all the various dark clouds of upset, brain fog and confusion passed, the anger and disgust started to set-in big time and it grew exponentially. And then something happened, a visceral click occurred: I snapped out of the make-believe and into the real -- for me, he had officially crossed a line. Such lines I am learning are personal and are drawn in the sand at different times for different people. And my line had arrived so I wasn't going to question it, but instead seize the momentum of this epiphany. And I gathered my senses, picked up my BlackBerry and my courage and did (finally) text him -- to inform him that we are done here and that I wished him the very best. (Upon reflection, I should have just simply written in Gossip-Girl-textspeak: "WTF!").
And so you would say the man is scared, the man is a jerk and the man is I dunno pathetic? But looking at this openly, maturely and clearly: He is actually none of those things. He canceled (third cancel) because he got into a tight jam with his ex-wife which created an aggressive ripple effect and thus I got caught in the tidal wave, whipped around and forced to ride the turbulence -- just call me the collateral damage in this game of finding love. The thing is I know the guy cares for me in his heart. (And strikingly: I was having an almost full-blown relationship of sorts with a man I hadn't EVEN so much as held hands with or kissed! In fact, I BROKE UP with someone that I NEVER even DATED to begin with -- an ABSOLUTE first!). In my gut, I know he ultimately wants to do right by me. But somehow wanting to do right by me and only trying to make it happen just isn't enough -- ya gotta SHOW UP dude -- as Woody Allen says: "80% of success is indeed showing up". And when he (IBF aiming to be RBF) finally does summon the courage appear and to man-up if you will, I am sure I will more than likely be onto my next boyfriend and I know for sure he won't just be virtual or imaginary but 100 percent genuine -- for real!
The 1941 Ford woody wagon was covered with vintage surf stickers. In order to retun it to it's "original" state, Dad scraped them off in my absence. Bummer. Or as he would say in his Long Island accent, bumma.
The car is mine, but it's not. My 89 year-old father purchased it on eBay. He is very knowledgable about things like that. When I saw it, I was thrilled, except for the flesh-colored paint job. It's growing on me. Like any good pop would do, he dumped the car into some kind of legal entity to reduce estate taxes. My sister and I own that company, and both of us want the woody. Not to be unfair, another one was purchased. Black. Not quite so original, it is being semi-restored. It will be georgeous, but the shiny ebony is so not me. It is unclear which one of us will get which.
I'm sure there will be no great love for me putting on significant mileage. Everyone knows that I am going on a road trip. They think I'm taking my beat-up pickup. The car is in the barn of the empty summer house. I'll have to tell the caretaker that I will be surprising them in Florida. I need the battery charged and the tank filled.
IBF will help me sneak it out. He can be the diversion.
The car is mine, but it's not. My 89 year-old father purchased it on eBay. He is very knowledgable about things like that. When I saw it, I was thrilled, except for the flesh-colored paint job. It's growing on me. Like any good pop would do, he dumped the car into some kind of legal entity to reduce estate taxes. My sister and I own that company, and both of us want the woody. Not to be unfair, another one was purchased. Black. Not quite so original, it is being semi-restored. It will be georgeous, but the shiny ebony is so not me. It is unclear which one of us will get which.
I'm sure there will be no great love for me putting on significant mileage. Everyone knows that I am going on a road trip. They think I'm taking my beat-up pickup. The car is in the barn of the empty summer house. I'll have to tell the caretaker that I will be surprising them in Florida. I need the battery charged and the tank filled.
IBF will help me sneak it out. He can be the diversion.
Last night the lightbulb in my bedside lamp burned out with a pop. Having drunk coffee until 8 p.m., I was a bit wired. Because I never drink coffee (Irish Breakfast with the four leaf strenghth rating for me, but to my horror was out of), and I made a full pot for Christmas morning, I just didn't notice that I drank the whole pot while dealing with crumpled wrapping paper, triaging gifts that needed to be exchanged. Plus I spent hours cyberstalking.
So I just moved to the other side of the bed. I thought this was symbolic of my new drive to shake things up. I realized, though, that it is the married side. For 12 years I slept on that side, waking to my husband's snoring and finishing the night on the sofa. Hmmmmm... Freudian desire to have a partner once again?
No, my imaginary boyfriend sleeps on my usual side. He spoons me to sleep.
So I just moved to the other side of the bed. I thought this was symbolic of my new drive to shake things up. I realized, though, that it is the married side. For 12 years I slept on that side, waking to my husband's snoring and finishing the night on the sofa. Hmmmmm... Freudian desire to have a partner once again?
No, my imaginary boyfriend sleeps on my usual side. He spoons me to sleep.
Ten carats
An iron-clad pre-nup
I get to keep my house
That's it.
An iron-clad pre-nup
I get to keep my house
That's it.
He asked if there was room to turn around by the house. I said probably not, wanting to be out of sight in case he kissed me. When he kissed me. He drove a big back BMW SUV of some kind. I had to look it up. It is an X-3. It has a 300 hp engine. My son's car does, too.
We talked about cars, the things that brought us together. Again, I recall snippets here and there. He's been racing since he was 10. He beat big time drivers in Karts. I thought about Dad's cars, now sold. I teared up, but caught it quickly enough that I think he didn't notice.
I couldn't stand it any more. I told him to look at me. I asked if he had any interest whatsoever in getting to know me. I think he heard the any interest part. Yes, he said decisively, almost sternly, before I could finish talking. And then he didn't touch me. At all. Not a brush on the arm, or a hug, or heaven forbid any more. It wasn't awkward any more, but did it have to be, well, so nothing?
I need to run away right away. On the road. In my woody wagon. Now.
Now if only I could find my IBF again.
We talked about cars, the things that brought us together. Again, I recall snippets here and there. He's been racing since he was 10. He beat big time drivers in Karts. I thought about Dad's cars, now sold. I teared up, but caught it quickly enough that I think he didn't notice.
I couldn't stand it any more. I told him to look at me. I asked if he had any interest whatsoever in getting to know me. I think he heard the any interest part. Yes, he said decisively, almost sternly, before I could finish talking. And then he didn't touch me. At all. Not a brush on the arm, or a hug, or heaven forbid any more. It wasn't awkward any more, but did it have to be, well, so nothing?
I need to run away right away. On the road. In my woody wagon. Now.
Now if only I could find my IBF again.
For coffee. In the daylight. My fantasies of wild, sweaty sex were dashed. I just wanted to have sex one more time before I died. I can't remember who the actual last one was, the one before my IBF, that is. I don't want it to be that way.
Like in any other conversation, there were things that stood out. His mother was still ruining it for everyone. His brother was a mess. He was the go-between, a position no son should be in. He moved out of the house he shared with his girlfriend while she was out. No notice. He is friends with all his exes. They were beautiful. He is accomplished. At what I do not yet know. He is an enigma, and I am only hearing excerpts of his life.
I couldn't read his body language. On the plane down I read an entire issue of Cosmo. Boy has it changed. In one of its tamest articles, there was discussion of the meaning of the way the man turns to, or away, from you, revealing his true feelings. He did neither.
He drove me home. The long way. I thought it was to have more time to talk, but I somehow think that it was to check out our winter home, to see if it measured up. He looked for it from the other side of the lake, from at least two vantage points. I didn't want him in for fear that my step-mother's, well, unusual way of organizing random crap on every horizontal surface would make him judge me as that kind of per on with that kind of taste.
Like in any other conversation, there were things that stood out. His mother was still ruining it for everyone. His brother was a mess. He was the go-between, a position no son should be in. He moved out of the house he shared with his girlfriend while she was out. No notice. He is friends with all his exes. They were beautiful. He is accomplished. At what I do not yet know. He is an enigma, and I am only hearing excerpts of his life.
I couldn't read his body language. On the plane down I read an entire issue of Cosmo. Boy has it changed. In one of its tamest articles, there was discussion of the meaning of the way the man turns to, or away, from you, revealing his true feelings. He did neither.
He drove me home. The long way. I thought it was to have more time to talk, but I somehow think that it was to check out our winter home, to see if it measured up. He looked for it from the other side of the lake, from at least two vantage points. I didn't want him in for fear that my step-mother's, well, unusual way of organizing random crap on every horizontal surface would make him judge me as that kind of per on with that kind of taste.
My almost-real imaginary boyfriend has sucked my heart out of my chest. After months of texting (lots), sexting (some), and talking (hardly any), we finally meet, for all intents and purposes, for the first time.
I can hardly remember what he looks like. He referred to himself as tall one time, so I guess he is. I asked him by text what color his eyes are. Inexplicably, he avoided the subject. Blue or green,I hypothesized. Later he would text me that they are mostly blue. I know he is fair, a redhead I think. He wears white.
I told him that I would be in Florida for one day only, on a Wednesday, to cancel his plans. The Friday before, he called me (unusual) and said that he had an emergency board meeting that was totally out of his control. He asked me what time I was leaving. 7:25, I said. In the evening on Thursday.
I didn't hear from him after that until he texted Wednesday night that he would be in around eight. I waited. It will be eleven. I waited, then I showered. I shaved my legs again and rubbed grapefruit lotion all over my body. I waited. This is NOT okay, I texted. He called.
Family drama, to which I was somewhat privy. I felt an urgency in his voice, and I believed that he really wanted to get together. Instead, I wrapped my beautiful lingerie back in its hot pink tissue paper and cried. He is still an imaginary boyfriend, perhaps never to be real.
I can hardly remember what he looks like. He referred to himself as tall one time, so I guess he is. I asked him by text what color his eyes are. Inexplicably, he avoided the subject. Blue or green,I hypothesized. Later he would text me that they are mostly blue. I know he is fair, a redhead I think. He wears white.
I told him that I would be in Florida for one day only, on a Wednesday, to cancel his plans. The Friday before, he called me (unusual) and said that he had an emergency board meeting that was totally out of his control. He asked me what time I was leaving. 7:25, I said. In the evening on Thursday.
I didn't hear from him after that until he texted Wednesday night that he would be in around eight. I waited. It will be eleven. I waited, then I showered. I shaved my legs again and rubbed grapefruit lotion all over my body. I waited. This is NOT okay, I texted. He called.
Family drama, to which I was somewhat privy. I felt an urgency in his voice, and I believed that he really wanted to get together. Instead, I wrapped my beautiful lingerie back in its hot pink tissue paper and cried. He is still an imaginary boyfriend, perhaps never to be real.
First I said I would go after my son got into college. At that time, he would be fully baked and my responsibilities as a parent were pretty much over. His fall grades sucked, and now I have to decide if he should go to community college, scrounge up an unpaid internship, become a sailor or run away with the circus. Maybe I can just tell him to push the buttons on the Common Application for as many colleges as his school will supply transcripts, give him my credit card for application fees, and let the chips fall as they may. Yes, I'll do that.
Now, where to go. I thought I'd head down the East Coast on old Route 1, but I couldn't get excited about it. Then I thought of Pilgramage around Natchez, but that would be in the spring. All of a sudden, the Deep South electrified me. Alabama, Mississippi, those creepy swamps in Louisiana. And I must say, I imagine myself dancing at Tipitina's, eating meat and three with the big blond gals holding up southern society, slamming a beer down at a biker bar, spinning stories with the wise black women under the dripping Spanish moss. I am so terrified of my inability to shed my inhibitions. I need to take my IBF with me.
So I started digging around on the web. I need maps. There are so many interactive this and customizable that. It makes my head spin. I really want to use one that I can put in my blog, but I don't want one of those hideous travel journals with the aging paper theme embellished with compasses and binoculars, perhaps with headlines like "My Travel Journal" or "Postcards from Sunny East Jabip", and those red pushpins. I need to take this research slowly.
Maybe I can find a site about off-the-beaten path, roadside attractions,or scenic drives. Too, too many to comprehend.
Maybe some guidebooks from Amazon. Too many for Madagascar, Butan, Alaska and the Aleutian Islands. I'm sure they are very nice to visit, but where's the good old US of A? Should I try triple A? AARP? Criminy, I think not.
I'm going to wing it.
Now, where to go. I thought I'd head down the East Coast on old Route 1, but I couldn't get excited about it. Then I thought of Pilgramage around Natchez, but that would be in the spring. All of a sudden, the Deep South electrified me. Alabama, Mississippi, those creepy swamps in Louisiana. And I must say, I imagine myself dancing at Tipitina's, eating meat and three with the big blond gals holding up southern society, slamming a beer down at a biker bar, spinning stories with the wise black women under the dripping Spanish moss. I am so terrified of my inability to shed my inhibitions. I need to take my IBF with me.
So I started digging around on the web. I need maps. There are so many interactive this and customizable that. It makes my head spin. I really want to use one that I can put in my blog, but I don't want one of those hideous travel journals with the aging paper theme embellished with compasses and binoculars, perhaps with headlines like "My Travel Journal" or "Postcards from Sunny East Jabip", and those red pushpins. I need to take this research slowly.
Maybe I can find a site about off-the-beaten path, roadside attractions,or scenic drives. Too, too many to comprehend.
Maybe some guidebooks from Amazon. Too many for Madagascar, Butan, Alaska and the Aleutian Islands. I'm sure they are very nice to visit, but where's the good old US of A? Should I try triple A? AARP? Criminy, I think not.
I'm going to wing it.
Every girl should have an imaginary boyfriend. He can perform household chores ("Oh, Brad just cleaned the gutters. Isn't he a doll?). He can give great back rubs ("Oooooh Brad, that feels sooooo good. A bit more on the right side, please"). He buys me perfect presents ("Oh Brad, what a thoughtful antique silver dressing table set. And my engraved monogram too!"). And he's great in bed.
The best things about imaginary boyfriends is that they give you hope and confidence. They fill that lonely place you don't want to see. They make family gatherings okay ("Yes, Aunt Mildred, I think he's going to pop the question!).
Imaginary boyfriends will go with you wherever the heck you want to go. I'm taking mine and hitting the road.
The best things about imaginary boyfriends is that they give you hope and confidence. They fill that lonely place you don't want to see. They make family gatherings okay ("Yes, Aunt Mildred, I think he's going to pop the question!).
Imaginary boyfriends will go with you wherever the heck you want to go. I'm taking mine and hitting the road.
I sat with a huge box of Savannah Candy Kitchen's divinity and pralines in front of the television one night. It must have had at least four pounds of unadulterated pure cane sugar wrapped in little cellophane bags. My personal crack stash. I wish it had the old waxed paper packets, though.
I got to thinking about birthday cakes. I sincerely believe that icing is 90 percent sugar and 10 percent polyester. Or is it the other way? Cupcakes are little balls of poly-sugar. Muffins are round cakes of sugar-ester. It boggles my mind. Little sugar soldiers marching in their little polyester uniforms.
As I wait for my imaginary boyfriend to bring me chocolates, I submerse myself in any other sweet thing I can. Polyester be damned.
I got to thinking about birthday cakes. I sincerely believe that icing is 90 percent sugar and 10 percent polyester. Or is it the other way? Cupcakes are little balls of poly-sugar. Muffins are round cakes of sugar-ester. It boggles my mind. Little sugar soldiers marching in their little polyester uniforms.
As I wait for my imaginary boyfriend to bring me chocolates, I submerse myself in any other sweet thing I can. Polyester be damned.
You can tell a lot about a person by what they have in their bedside table. I have my spare glasses (I cannot see without them), a hardcover novel that I've been meaning to read (on top of all those other hardcovers I've been meaning to read), a charger for my iPad (although I don't often use it until the next morning, so it could really be in the kitchen or something), and my Glock 9 millimeter semi-automatic (I bought it during my Laura Croft phase-- come to think of it, I must still have that action figure somewhere). And now I have a tube of Estradiol. Oh, and a flashlight.
I had been meaning to ask my oncologist for the estrogen for some time. I know it does nasty stuff in terms of girl cancer, but I'd been there and now that I live on borrowed time, I want a plump, pink vagina. Just in case. After eight years of celibacy, who'da thunk it?
So I sat in the examining room on the little green vinyl stool after my exam and took a deep breath. Er, I said to the doctor, I'd like to have some estrogen. And like I needed to get permission, I added that I was seeing a 33 year old guy, and well... I'm sure I blushed like crazy, although you'd think that giving birth to a plate glass windows of interns would have cured me of all modesty. I guess it did except for this. And, I wasn't exactly seeing the 33 year old. He lived only in my iPhone and maybe he could be my real imaginary boyfriend someday.
I had been meaning to ask my oncologist for the estrogen for some time. I know it does nasty stuff in terms of girl cancer, but I'd been there and now that I live on borrowed time, I want a plump, pink vagina. Just in case. After eight years of celibacy, who'da thunk it?
So I sat in the examining room on the little green vinyl stool after my exam and took a deep breath. Er, I said to the doctor, I'd like to have some estrogen. And like I needed to get permission, I added that I was seeing a 33 year old guy, and well... I'm sure I blushed like crazy, although you'd think that giving birth to a plate glass windows of interns would have cured me of all modesty. I guess it did except for this. And, I wasn't exactly seeing the 33 year old. He lived only in my iPhone and maybe he could be my real imaginary boyfriend someday.
It was my birthday. 51 years old. My sister and my ex-husband texted me. That was it. So I decided to have my own celebration.
I bought a cake. A really sugary disgusting no-taste supermarket cake. I opened a bottle of good wine, the kind that someone has given you and is so insanely expensive you were saving it for a special occasion but would probably go funky before you drank it, just for myself. And I planned to drink all of it. This is a bit of a risky behavior for me as I hadn't had much to drink in the past decade. Wine with group dinners, and more wine if we wanted to get a little nuts, or if we were on the possessed porch.
My almost-real imaginary boyfriend called. What're you doing? Eating cake. It's my birthday. I didn't know! It's of no consequence. But of course it was. I drew myself a bath and lit the candle that's been sitting there for some unknown future event. And I drank the entire bottle. And I texted. I texted a lot. I'm not sure what the etiquette of this is. I am not of the texting generation.
I was really drunk. I started with the virtual tease, and before I knew it, it was virtual sex. And I liked it.
I eventually fell into bed. I sat bolt upright when some addition came to me, and added that to the communication. I guess I was pretty good at it. You know what? I was sexually aroused and had the physical proof. I'll be damned. And this was before I asked for hormones. I think this is why I am so attached to my almost-real imaginary boyfriend.
The next morning, I was so embarrassed. I admit here that I download my texts for posterity. I had to delete them all. Sheepishly, I asked if he would ever speak to me again. Yes, he would. Little did I know how frustrating this flaky interested, not interested stuff would be.
My imaginary boyfriend is much better. He's always interested, always listens, and never leaves me hanging. That's why I'm so attached to him.
I could not, would not, live in so much isolation and boredom anymore. In the neighborhood, we have exactly three places to eat, and that is if you count the one on the golf course a little outside the perimeter.
Our neighborhood consists of large expanses of manicured grazing fields, punctuated by tangles of native trees and brush. One refers to the family homestead as a farm. Some farms have actual gentleman farming going on, but most have a stone horse barn larger and more well-appointed than the home. They are absurdly valuable, yet everyone just lives on their so-denoted farm..
There are about five small homes in the neighborhood. One is a renovated Friends Meeting House. Another is a remnant of a brief period of 1950's exurban flight. One is mine.
One golden summer, we had dinner on the possessed porch at the meeting house almost every night. It was always Susan, Susie, LouLou, Michael (an honorary girl for girls' nights out), and me. Lou and I were both antsy. I asked her to navigate for me in the Peking to Paris Vintage Motor Rally, 32 days of questionable roads, lodging, food and toilets, not to mention the route through the 'stans and Iran. She was game. Everyone told me that she would drop out, but we went to the car preparer every Thursday to learn how to take apart and put together our 1941 Ford convertible.
Then she found she would be a grandma. I should tell you that Lou is a children's illustrator, and paints wildly vivid murals for her clients. She quit.
I tried to find a new navigator. I really wanted another woman as we would be the first pair from the US. I spoke with a man who jingled his ice in the scotch glass as we talked. Besides being kinda creepy, intimating that the rally wasn't all he was interested in, I found out that he was truly wicked to Susie. I put a note on the rally's website. Had two good leads, one a Danish medical student, and the other an English geologist (doesn't get lost). The latter dogged me ceaselessly, in a good way. I finally found a local woman and did an unsuccessful test run on the Mountain Mille. A whole 'nother story for a different day.
I made calls upon calls. Rich guys didn't need me. Poor ones couldn't contribute. Tried young ones, old ones, big ones, small ones (and would have taken Dr. Seuss), to no avail. Introduction after introduction after introduction. I don't even remember the call that would pull my life in a whole different direction.
Our neighborhood consists of large expanses of manicured grazing fields, punctuated by tangles of native trees and brush. One refers to the family homestead as a farm. Some farms have actual gentleman farming going on, but most have a stone horse barn larger and more well-appointed than the home. They are absurdly valuable, yet everyone just lives on their so-denoted farm..
There are about five small homes in the neighborhood. One is a renovated Friends Meeting House. Another is a remnant of a brief period of 1950's exurban flight. One is mine.
One golden summer, we had dinner on the possessed porch at the meeting house almost every night. It was always Susan, Susie, LouLou, Michael (an honorary girl for girls' nights out), and me. Lou and I were both antsy. I asked her to navigate for me in the Peking to Paris Vintage Motor Rally, 32 days of questionable roads, lodging, food and toilets, not to mention the route through the 'stans and Iran. She was game. Everyone told me that she would drop out, but we went to the car preparer every Thursday to learn how to take apart and put together our 1941 Ford convertible.
Then she found she would be a grandma. I should tell you that Lou is a children's illustrator, and paints wildly vivid murals for her clients. She quit.
I tried to find a new navigator. I really wanted another woman as we would be the first pair from the US. I spoke with a man who jingled his ice in the scotch glass as we talked. Besides being kinda creepy, intimating that the rally wasn't all he was interested in, I found out that he was truly wicked to Susie. I put a note on the rally's website. Had two good leads, one a Danish medical student, and the other an English geologist (doesn't get lost). The latter dogged me ceaselessly, in a good way. I finally found a local woman and did an unsuccessful test run on the Mountain Mille. A whole 'nother story for a different day.
I made calls upon calls. Rich guys didn't need me. Poor ones couldn't contribute. Tried young ones, old ones, big ones, small ones (and would have taken Dr. Seuss), to no avail. Introduction after introduction after introduction. I don't even remember the call that would pull my life in a whole different direction.
Started with a half glass of wine after not hearing from him in twelve hours, and that in a response to my text. Continued into the rest of the bottle as I realized for the first time that I cared, and am in danger of becoming the chaser that I'd not been in so long, and that I am terrified of becoming again. The only thing left in the house is a box of Carr's Table Water crackers and a stick of butter. At least they are cracked pepper. I can't eat another bowl of ice cream, and am also embarrassed that I visit the Turkey Hill up the road on a regular basis for more. Last time I went, driving my beat up pickup, the guy next to me in line kidded that it must be just me and a sad movie. Truer than he knew. Its me watching Hoarders on the DVR, my iPhone on the sofa next to me, and waiting for the schooooop of an incoming message. I was not a drinker before this started. Not at all.
He's so young, and I am appalled at myself. I'm old enough to be a saber-toothed tiger and was not, am not, on the prowl. He found me.
At 33, he is a grown man. I have to remind myself that at his age I was having a baby. I had a business and a house. And a station wagon, my dream, with the flats of pansies in the back, just like my mother had. I felt, no said, that if I could live the life I had forever, I would be the happiest woman in the world. I meant it.
Somehow, though, I think that he's a teenager. It's in my mind, not his. I think of the cellulite on my thighs, fat I never had until I had no hormones. Please, please can I do something about vaginal atrophy. What a thought. Not only am I not using it, but I'm not sure I could if I tried.
He's so young, and I am appalled at myself. I'm old enough to be a saber-toothed tiger and was not, am not, on the prowl. He found me.
At 33, he is a grown man. I have to remind myself that at his age I was having a baby. I had a business and a house. And a station wagon, my dream, with the flats of pansies in the back, just like my mother had. I felt, no said, that if I could live the life I had forever, I would be the happiest woman in the world. I meant it.
Somehow, though, I think that he's a teenager. It's in my mind, not his. I think of the cellulite on my thighs, fat I never had until I had no hormones. Please, please can I do something about vaginal atrophy. What a thought. Not only am I not using it, but I'm not sure I could if I tried.
I have been divorced for 8 years. This apparently does not preclude the gifting of automated vacuum cleaners and NFL-themed polyester products. Now don't get me wrong, I am as big a football fan as anyone, but another sunggie "as seen on TV" is just plain too much to bear. Like most wives, I have been receiving "practical" gifts for every occasion. Pots and pans, makers for waffles and popcorn, the latest steam iron... In fact, I have even been guilty of suggesting such metal devices myself. It just seemed so selfish to ask for a diamond ring, a pearl bracelet, heck, a manicure.
My imaginary boyfriend would always give me romantic gifts that were so perfect that even I wouldn't have thought of them. And I wouldn't be embarrassed by the touching sentiments behind them. In fact I wouldn't mind the touching at all.
When I was going to meet the possibly-real imaginary boyfriend, I lavished expensive lingerie upon myself. One thousand dollars worth,to be exact. I twisted back and forth in front of the full-length mirror, checking for back fat, seeing how the leg openings hit my 51 year-old hips, how my breasts bulged out under my armpits. Oh god, I never used to have cellulite. I chose to concentrate on the fine detail of my new bras and fancy panties.
What color to choose? I bought the red set because the panties have a perfectly-pleated frill on the sides, and miraculously still lay flat under my pants. I bought the midnight blue set because it is wildly elegant. The blue ones have criss-cross detailing between the cups and in the middle of the waistband (a hip band?), exactly at the spot on my lower back where I imagined my IBF would kiss me. I bought an exquisite taupe ensemble, sophisticated as it gets, but found that when I went to Florida it was just too deep. The black ones are perfect, but may be a bit much for a first meeting with the maybe real IBF. He is 33.
My imaginary boyfriend would always give me romantic gifts that were so perfect that even I wouldn't have thought of them. And I wouldn't be embarrassed by the touching sentiments behind them. In fact I wouldn't mind the touching at all.
When I was going to meet the possibly-real imaginary boyfriend, I lavished expensive lingerie upon myself. One thousand dollars worth,to be exact. I twisted back and forth in front of the full-length mirror, checking for back fat, seeing how the leg openings hit my 51 year-old hips, how my breasts bulged out under my armpits. Oh god, I never used to have cellulite. I chose to concentrate on the fine detail of my new bras and fancy panties.
What color to choose? I bought the red set because the panties have a perfectly-pleated frill on the sides, and miraculously still lay flat under my pants. I bought the midnight blue set because it is wildly elegant. The blue ones have criss-cross detailing between the cups and in the middle of the waistband (a hip band?), exactly at the spot on my lower back where I imagined my IBF would kiss me. I bought an exquisite taupe ensemble, sophisticated as it gets, but found that when I went to Florida it was just too deep. The black ones are perfect, but may be a bit much for a first meeting with the maybe real IBF. He is 33.
I received a pile of amazing convos to my request.(please don't tar and feather, pillory, stone, or other method of capital punishment if you didn't want this public-- I will send you a postcard from somewhere on my journey with heartfelt apologies).
Description: I am in no way able to help with your alchemy request- so sorry :(
But I was in hysterics reading your request and would love to have the link to your blog to follow on your journey if you are sharing.
Good luck and safe travels!
Description: I can come up with something for you. I will make a life-sized doll and use an iron-on image of a face. I will find of make some funky clothes for him. This is a cool idea and I would love to help you out.
Description: Me (in the flesh) - sounds like fun - let me go with you - you can pretend that you know me. Hope I gave you a laugh - Merry Christmas!
Completion Date: 1/7/2011
Price: $125.00
Terms of payment: when we hit the first flop house
Estimated cost of shipping: $0.00
Shipping method: via 1941 woody wagon
Description: I can make you a full-sized doll
Please contact me to discuss details!
Thanks!
I regret that I don't have the skills to create Brad, but I just wanted to tell you that is the best dam* Alchemy request I've ever read! Have a great trip!!
Wow, I was just checking on Alchemy....my heart goes out to you. I just broke up with my BF of 25 yrs (only he doesn't know it yet) I'm 43 & starting over. Thought it was kind of ironic that I would click on your bid request. I could probably make mr. imaginary but don't know quite how I would get him to stand or quite make the deadline. (Jan 7th just happens to be my BF's Bday. (Maybe we could share Mr. IBF) Ya know send him back & forth every few months ha, ha. If you happen to make it to Chicago I'm a bartender on the South Side at a sports bar. X's & O's Sports Bar 7801 W. 79th Street, Bridgeview, IL Nothing really special just good eats & friends. I'd love to treat you to a cup of coffee or a shot of Tequila & drowned out our sorrows together :) If not I hope you should find happiness wherever the wind shall take you. Good Luck. Anne
I'm 52 and I can relate! Good Journey and fast healing!
Thank you all for sending me jollies, kudos, I-get-its, and a stiff upper lip.
I posted a request for a traveling companion on Etsy's Alchemy Section.
Imaginary boyfriend full-sized stand up and sit down
I am running away from home (I'm 51) with my imaginary boyfriend in my 1941 Ford woody. Going wherever the heck I feel like.
I would like a traveling companion, one that can stand up and pose for pix in front of historic landmark plaques. However, we will be driving quite a bit, and I'd like him next to me-- thus, the sitting down part. I have no idea how you would articulate him, but that's why you're the artist and I'm not!
Brad should be a rather retro fellow to go with the car. I don't care if he's a real person look-alike. Heck, he could be a heck of traffic stopper in his illustrated glory.
I am not opposed to having IBF join me somewhere down the road, so if the deadline is a problem we can probably work it out.
Oh, and I'd love anyone's recommendations for scenic roads, dive bars, mom's home cookin' joints, BBQ, flop houses, and some friendly conversation.
Imaginary boyfriend and I will be blogging about our journey. And did I mention that a 33 year-old man just broke my heart?
Imaginary boyfriend full-sized stand up and sit down
I am running away from home (I'm 51) with my imaginary boyfriend in my 1941 Ford woody. Going wherever the heck I feel like.
I would like a traveling companion, one that can stand up and pose for pix in front of historic landmark plaques. However, we will be driving quite a bit, and I'd like him next to me-- thus, the sitting down part. I have no idea how you would articulate him, but that's why you're the artist and I'm not!
Brad should be a rather retro fellow to go with the car. I don't care if he's a real person look-alike. Heck, he could be a heck of traffic stopper in his illustrated glory.
I am not opposed to having IBF join me somewhere down the road, so if the deadline is a problem we can probably work it out.
Oh, and I'd love anyone's recommendations for scenic roads, dive bars, mom's home cookin' joints, BBQ, flop houses, and some friendly conversation.
Imaginary boyfriend and I will be blogging about our journey. And did I mention that a 33 year-old man just broke my heart?
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