Engaged In A Dream

Dreams. It’s funny how the subconscious takes over to help you out in both the dream world and the conscious one. Have you ever loathed your life so much, wait backtrack, not loathed your life, loathed where you are in life, that you honestly have no clue how to better it? You feel you have exhausted the few options you had? Then you have to turn around and tell yourself, stop it, followed by the old cliché that there are people out there worse off then you? That’s pretty much where I am. This dream woke me up, consciously as well as subconsciously. Anyone that knows me will tell you that this is not the first time my subconscious has taken over to bring back the artist in me. Enough chitchat, let us get to the meat of the story then dissection will promptly follow.

I am awoken by his kiss. I open my sleepy eyes and find him inches from my face smiling at me. I smile back, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. It is the little things that I love and this is one of those little things. He kisses the tip of my nose and that small gesture speaks volumes of his love for me. Shelby and I have known one another since high school; both lived other lives of marriage and kids and somehow ended up here together a perfect match. I half close my eyes and notice him pull something from under the covers.

He kisses my ear and looks into my half closed eyes and asks: “Will you marry me?” A flood of wonderful emotions, some of which I have never felt, fall over me creating this feeling I can only describe as a blanket feeling, warm and comforting. The best I have felt in a very long time as I watch him open the little navy blue velvet box.

I look back into his hazel eyes, smile a sleepy content smile and say:

“Yes.” He tightens his arms about me and we kiss; a disgusting morning breath soaked, fuzzy teeth covered kiss, and I love it. He somehow slips the ring on my finger as I continue to gaze at him. I am in awe at how much he loves me and I him. I cannot wait to call Carrie and let her know our news.

I blink and find myself in some overpriced store with a girlfriend, who is attempting to talk me into registering our wedding. I am very uncomfortable in here. I listen as she goes on and on about all the expensive bowls and such crap and I focus on a set a dishes that my eyes land on. They are the exact set my Ex Mother-In-Law owns. I find myself asking: “Is this somehow significant?”

I conclude it is not when my friend interrupts my thoughts.

“Hello! Are you even paying attention to me?”

“Yes, sorry what did you say?”

“I was saying how great this would look on my wall. I have a birthday coming up, hint-hint.” I look at her, the item she is pointing at, then all the insignificant material items surrounding she and I. I begin to feel closed in. Shelby and I already have enough things to fill a house. All we need is each other and the kids. The kids, his and mine; this brings another smile to my face.

“ OMG Alicia, you HAVE to have this!” She turns to me with some item that I have no idea what it could be.

I look down at the very unusual ring on my finger and state: “ Actually, Shelby and I already have everything we need. I think I would prefer if anyone that wants to get us a gift give to a charity of their choice.” I am VERY pleased that this thought has occurred to me and believe Shelby will agree wholeheartedly.

My friend follows my gaze to the ring. She non-to gently grabs my hand to have a closer inspection of my ring.

“What is this anyway? It’s kind of ugly, but of course you pull it off beautifully.”

I retrieve my hand and wonder why she and I are friends as I reply: “It’s hand blown glass that wraps around to perfectly fit my finger with some beautiful stone set inside.”

A feeling of perfect contentment that my life is finally on the right path pours over and through me along with countless other emotions seemingly giving me my own personal Kinetic energy that I want to share with everyone, including my negative friend. As I turn to tell her this, my violently vibrating phone rips me from my dream.

Dissection time! This dream is odd and beautiful all the way around, from what it is about and who is in it, to my thoughts and actions. Shelby was a very dear friend of mine many moons ago. He, Carrie, and I were inseparable for a time in the latter part of the Nineties. Then, he met someone, fell in love, married, and drifted from Carrie and I. That’s life, it happens. He is happily married with three children. I find it odd, yet strangely comforting that my subconscious chose him for the lead here. Carrie is real. She is, has been, and will continue to be my best friend. We are exact opposites in almost every way yet somehow it works. We balance each other, Yen and Yang. The subconscious has ways of bringing to light situations that I didn’t know bothered me. Case in point, though I have been married, I have never been proposed to. I didn’t know that I longed for that missing event. Longed to know what it felt like to have someone love you enough to muster up the courage to ask you to be with him or her forever. The fact that I had never, and most likely will never experience this was brought to my attention via a dream. My subconscious once again has come to my rescue.

As I stated before this is not the first time my subconscious has saved me from myself. It is no surprise that it (subconscious) allowed me to experience something I didn’t know I wanted. I love that in the dream the love was pure and untainted. I love that I am a good person and not materialistic and this dream helped to bring me back to that realization. I know nor care nothing about the value of cars. I care what they do to the environment and if I can get from point A to point B without breaking down; In the car that is- not me, myself, having a breakdown. Oh shit, did I just have a break through? Nah- just a brain fart. Yes I want a comfortable home, but not to spend all my time buying to make it so. I am a sentimental type gal. Focus on the Mental! I jest, sort of. As I was saying, the ring is so exactly something I would want, something personal, out of the norm and thoughtful. Better than diamonds any day! The negative friend was someone made up by my subconscious. I do not know this person. I like how I handle her though, and then the idea to give to a charity instead of buying us something; well I think that is what I liked best about myself. The glass ring, a little Cinderella of me maybe.

I believe there is nothing wrong with the hopeful romantic taking back control over the cynic. I hope this is so. In the end, all I know is that I am writing again. Though this may be complete and total shit, it has me writing again! Writer’s block gone for the moment and I feel great! Wait can you get writer’s block if you never wrote on a consistent basis? Does this make you not a writer? Fuck it, art is what you make of it and today I claim the title of Writer. Deal with it and try to spread some positive energy today. We live in a World where people empathize more with the negatives in life, let’s change that. Please for the sake of all our conscious and subconscious minds!

Amen.

Currently listening to: Mushaboom by Feist

Paper Thin

I have hurt a beautiful soul

I wonder what it's like to be a beautiful soul;

For I am a beast of burden

Hiding my emotions within this origami heart

Fragile paper that easily rips - I beg you

Stay folded!

Maybe in time I will unfold

Not a clean sheet, the same- with the old creases

Barely visible

I will open showing the available space for many new folds

Or maybe my origami heart will rip at all the old creases

And I will fall

In pieces

To the ground

Maybe I'll just leave them where they lie

Amen

~me

Currently listening to: Birds Without Wings by David Gray

And if not now, when?

Today. Today I will overcome. I will forget that I was fired from my last craptastic job for bunk reasons. I will forget that I have been unemployed for the last ten months. I will forget that I lost my unemployment case to the employer on a technicality.

That is all in the past. Today I will go out there and find SOMETHING, ANYTHING as my income source. Today I will not physic myself out. I will not feel sorry for myself nor wallow in self loathing.

I shall save that for tomorrow.

I have a plan. That is the first step.

The Plan: Find a part time job and go to school full time. Finally finish my BA, and fit time in with the kiddos. Damn the Catch 22! Amen.

~me

Currently listening to: How Soon is Now? by The Smiths

Oops. I have been very neglectful of my blog. Apologies blog.

Boys and Girls today's Rant: Whoa is Me.

I moved to Austin March 20, 2006. My birthday. This was the second attempt to take up residency in the Texas State Capital. This one stuck.

I relocated to Awesome Austin to pursue my dreams of going back to school and learning the art of becoming a DP. I went to school for a year and still have found no DP to apprentice under. I shall not give up though.

When I moved here in 2006 I was married with two kids. Now, the hubby and I have split (we work much better in the friend realm than the spousal one) and the kiddos reside with me.

Everyone tells you to follow your heart and chase after your dreams. I have no choice for I am not meant to live a normal life. I hate this about myself. I have tried over the years to be the happy wife and mother that has the house and dogs. I found that I am only so domestic. I am more of a free spirit minus the free love. I am very closed off when it comes to the opposite sex. I believe this is why so many of my friends love to tell everyone my sexual preference leans toward my same sex. People may believe what they want, I care not.

Enough of this me rant, on to the crushing of my dreams today!! Amen.

~Your friendly closeted lesbian

Currently listening to: Stephin Merritt's One April Day

Necessary Digits

Dear Alicia,

Here is your horoscope 

for Wednesday, June 25:

You're never too old to learn and today brings new information your way about your own interests or motivations that may surprise you quite a bit. It should be positive, so run with it!

I am a firm believer in the statement 'You never stop learning'. I am the poster child (or rather a-dult) for this statement. I just wish the lessons taught to me (on a daily basis, several times a day) were more of an intellectually based content instead of the more common sense entailed. This past weekend I learned many such lessons.  I get great joy from becoming more knowledgeable in the ways of this world and how to go about surviving within it (and surviving the beings that reside within it), I'm just disappointed that these life lessons don't aid in my pursuit for a higher IQ. Instead, I am most certain the number of my IQ is in a recessive type state, not a progressive one.

The weekend started off great. I picked up my son (I know, I know, I probably fall within the category of people that should not breed; however, my kids are turning out to be impeccable humane beings, in spite of having me for a mother. I think they learn what NOT to do by my example.), we rented movies and had a very calm and peaceful evening together. We ate some dinner then enjoyed one another's company as we laughed our way through all the movies. I believe he has now seen The Simpson's Movie a grand total of 8 times, and laughs harder and hard with each viewing. Saturday, Nevan (my son) was returned to his father unscathed. The kids go to Dad's for the summer you see. I proceed to go to work for the evening. I'm at work when I receive a text from a friend about a party that night, and that I should come and bring some 'hotties'. The only hotties I know are all taken, and I text this information back to The Invitor.  I finish up with work and proceed to the party, but first a pit stop at a bar downtown for drinks with a friend. As I meet up with Madam T (not to be confused with Lady T, two entirely different people you see), I realize she falls into the 'hottie' category as does her friend Miss X. I inform Madam T and Miss X about the party. They state they would love to accompany me. We leave the bar and after many wrong turns and phone calls between The Invitor, Madam T, and myself, I graciously pass my phone to Madam T (who is in another car) so that she may speak with The Invitor for directions so that we I and my 2 "hotties' may get to the party before it ends, or worst they float the keg! Did I forget to mention that I am directionally challenged? Now please do not get the wrong impression, though I turn right when I should have turned left, I never really get lost.  I always seem to end up at the correct destination, it just takes me a little longer than most people, so you must be patient me with, but I digress. We arrive at the party and proceed to engage ourselves in very stimulating conversations, so much so that I don't notice when Madam T and Miss X bid me farewell and head home. I should have followed suit, instead I don't get home until 5:00 am, even though I had only planned on staying out until 2:00am. There was a lot going on at this party- what with networking, beer drinking, and art in the form of tagging a wall & a lovely girl's shirt. Then I had to save the lovely girl by sowing the button back on her pants. I couldn't leave this damsel in distress, even if it meant I would only get 3 hours of sleep before I had to go to work. A girl needs to be able to keep her modesty, so I had to save her and everyone else at the party from the embarrassment we all would have experienced at having to stare at her perfectly tight, bare posterior the rest of the evening, er morning, for you see the lovely girl informed me she was in fact not wearing any undergarments. I did everyone a courtesy there and know that they all thank me for my quick thinking and Ninja skills with a needle and thread. I know the lovely lady was grateful for she kept grabbing me around my waist and placing her head upon my bosom, grabbing my hand and kissing it, and stroked my thigh as we sat, all whilst contiguously thanking me. What a lovely girl, so well mannered and polite!! I bid farewell to everyone and leave for home. Sunday morning. Work- this is where the life lessons for the weekend would kick into hyperspeed. 

Woke up Sunday morning and though my mind was somewhat up and running, I couldn't quite seem to get my eyes to follow suit. I was a bit dehydrated and the evidence was drawn on my eyeballs in the form of angry red atlas lines showing the road I traveled the night before- Alcohol (excellent song by Gogol Bordello). I show up to work somehow at my scheduled time. I clock in and then immediately hit up the coffee shop 3 stores down (not to be confused with 3 doors down). This magical dark liquid did wonders for getting me going, but did nothing for my dehydration problem. This was the thought running through my mind when a co worker jolted me from my thoughts with a VERY loud sound. My co worker apologizes for the disturbing sound and it is at that moment I notice the bread I was slicing was soaking in a red substance. It took me a moment to realize the red substance was my life's essence. I look at the knife before I look at my hand. Blood is pouring out, not a little drip, I am talking a steady stream of blood. I head over to the sink and see that I have indeed  sliced my left pinkie.......deep. I feel a pain deep within my finger, a place I have never experienced any sensation prior to this. The Mighty Boss Man and his wannabe mini me AKA The Manager both say I should be fine. The Mighty Boss Man states that if I deem it necessary I can go and have it checked out and he would foot the bill. I state it's nothing more than a superficial flesh wound. I bandage it up with a little help, put on a glove and proceed with work. Very soon after- I notice the pinkie finger of the glove is filling with blood and dripping down my hand. I can not get the infuriating appendage to stop flowing. It was as if my blood cells preferred to live outside my body and were intent on achieving this goal. The blood cells did not seem to realize we needed each other to live, I on the other hand paid attention in Biology and wrap a rubber band around my pinkie to put a stop the their escape. Do not fret, the rubber band remained only for the duration of time needed to apply a fresh bandage. There is a lot of blood and everyone agrees I should go get my gash (and by gash I speak of my wound, not to be confused with a horrid slang term used to describe a certain female body part) looked at. I get in my car and drive to the friendly neighborhood Urgent Care Clinic. I assumed I would be waiting for some time before I would be seen for there were others in line also waiting to have some ailment checked. This turned out to be a wrong assumption. Apparently if you are bleeding they whisk you right in. The doctor came in and took a look. He informed me that though it was a small wound, it was indeed deep and that pain I mentioned earlier? Well, it turned out to be where I nicked my bone. He asked if I wanted an X-ray to prove this diagnosis to be true. I declined for I did not want to be there for any period of time than absolutely necessary, not to mention The Mighty Boss Man was coming to my rescue by means of a credit card. The doctor then informed me that my wound did indeed require stitches. I then learned I would receive some numbing medication via a needle. I loath needles, the kind that pierce your flesh and rape your skin with and angry stick and the releasing of fluids into you. I shudder at the thought. It was just one needle; however it was inserted into the flesh of my little finger in three different locations. I surprised the doctor by singing through the process. The lyrics of my numbing medication song were something along the lines of 'This sucks, this sucks, no fun a'tall, please stop, please stop before bad names I call!' He then informed me with a smile that he has never experience a singing reaction before. I could bring forth no witty retort for I was starring at my expanding finger. He saw the look on my face and said that fat finger syndrome was normal. Now I realize I am not defined as normal, but this was most definitely NOT normal, even for me. He proceeded to thread the hooked needle that was about to puncture my delicate flesh. I wondered at the process of healing a wound with creating more holes in my finger. I contemplated on how I came in with one angry gash (insert immature giggle), and would leave with one angry sown gash and 7 new punctures, 4 holes where the needle entered and exited and 3 for the numbing meds. He wiped the wound clean and began the sowing of me. I began to sing again, something about the irony of my saving the lovely lady with a thread and needle the night before. I received 2 stitches. The now not-so-superficial wound goes from the middle of my nail length wise to the middle of my nail width wise, shaped like a crescent moon, or as I like to call it the Cheshire Cat's smile, also the same shape as the needle. The doctor finishes up with me and I am released. As I leave all the people that assisted me compliment my singing reaction as well as some people that did not assist me, apparently I sang quite loud. I smile, wave, and thank everyone for their help and compliments. I go back to work to finish my shift. I don't like not having feeling in my finger, though as the feeling slowly returns I change my tune and wish it were still fat and unfeeling. I also wonder why the first place I regain feeling happens to be at the tip of my finger where the wound is- as the rest of my finger remains dead. I would have preferred for the tip to be the last place to regain feeling, but alas I am no doctor. I was all bandaged up so I escaped having to show off my stupidity for at least 24 hours. Though I did have many people ask what happened due to my pinkie being mummified. Doctor's orders were to keep the dressing (ADA mummification) for at least 24 hours. I end my shift and go change my shirt in the bathroom from my work shirt to my TXRD Media shirt, for I was to help with filming the TXDR bout for the live webcast. 

I get to the ACC (Austin Convention Center, not to be confused with Austin Community College), and learn that I'm pretty useless. I can't really help with much of the set up, and I'm loopy from lack of sleep and the pain meds I took. This by far is the worst filming I have ever done. My shots were all over the place. My zoom was to fast, I was panning to fast, and I was getting physically ill. Also, I got nailed twice by a flailing Roller Girl. The second half of the bout I finally got over the sick feeling and my shooting skills came back to me just in time for the last 5 minutes of the bout. I had to remove the mummification at this point due to it got caught and tugged a lil. With my pinkie free I see that a stitch has come loose. Great. I handled it the best way I knew how to for when we were wrapped- we Media folk decide to make an appearance at the after party. We are all only going to stay for one beer. Everyone holds true to this except me. I decide to continue to self medicate due to my pain meds had worn off and get invited to go with some new friends to dance 80's style. I tell myself this is a good idea and proceed to walk to the club with The Eccentric Cuban and an Okie, 2 of my new friends. We get to the club and I proceed to dance the night away. We meet up with the lovely Horror Show from the Holy Rollers. She proves to have the moves not only on the track but also on the dance floor. I was impressed.  We head out to the balcony for a smoke where I am befriended by one half of Devour the World. One half of Devour the World and I are conversing when I notice The Eccentric Cuban pull out a contraption which resembles a pencil sharpener/inhaler. I watch as he puts it to his nose and inhales. The Okie, One Half of Devour the World, myself, and many others around us stand in shocked silence. You see we believe that the Eccentric Cuban is openly snorting illegal substances for all to see. It turns out to be some sort of menthol snuff (tobacco you sniff, not to be confused with snuff films). Everyone takes a turn and when it makes it's way to me I begin to decline admitting I have never snorted. Once I am told in lengthy detail the origin and what it is, I then decide to go for it. It was the equivalent of sticking Vicks in your nose, without the burn. At this point the elusive Mighty Aphrodite appears, and informs us that it is last call. We all head in for shots. The first round are Red Snappers. I then get everyone a shot of Sex with an Alligator. Yum. We then head to the dance floor and dance till close. 

I wake up Monday morning to find that prior to my not so superficial wounding, I did not realize how essential my pinkie is. Packing, picking up items, drinking, gesturing, typing- lil finger not upon the right I will never again doubt your worthiness, that you and your twin upon my right are just as vital as the other 8 digits. All of my fingers serve a purpose and none work harder than the others- it's a team effort, well maybe I do over work my middle finger a wee bit, none the less, the others have proven to be just as hard a worker as my middle fingers. They graciously bow down at just the right moment all in unison to give the middle finger the spot light. I have gained so much knowledge in the past 2 and a half days!! Now I could list off all I have learned for your viewing pleasure, and in hopes that you too may learn and become more knowledgeable, but I believe you to have already gained these lessons as you came across them in the story. The two main lessons I learned are as follows: That all 10 digits are beautiful individuals, but you can not beat how they work as a team, and the real lesson.........drink responsibly. Amen.

Currently listening to: Of Montreal-Wrath Pinned to the Mist and Other Games

A Jungle Expedition- ALI Style

I went on a jungle expedition Sunday night where I came across an aggro gorilla. The jungle's location: Red River, Headhunters to be exact. The gorilla: the bartender. It was a friend's Birthday and we went to the after party for the Derby match we had just filmed. The night started out innocently enough, but soon took a left somewhere on our road of contentment and headed straight for 'Oh Shitsville'. It's a place I try not to visit anymore, yet every once in a while I end up back there. I blame the shots. I was doing just fine on beer, but damn that fire water! Just when I think I've grown and matured in my drinking, I once again find myself going after the biggest gorilla in the jungle. He had it coming though. I don't pick on the innocent, just the Asses that like to take out their emotional dilemmas and hangups on my friends, myself, or innocent by-standers.

So we hit up Headhunters, have some beers and birthday shots and everything is great. Everyone is having a grand ole time.  Mr. Gorilla, whose ass crack was hanging out because he thought it to be 'sexy' (excuse me, please, while I swallow down the bile that has defied gravity and made it's way up my esophagus due to that unpleasant memory) is the cause of the detour on our road of contentment. I thought maybe it was for easy access to fling poo. Gorillas fling poo right? He is about 6'3 and weights - well he's an over muscled Mofo. He grabs the lovely Lady T's (Birthday Girl's)  hand bag or box rather. This hand box has Superman on it, which caught Mr. Gorilla's eye. He begins dancing around with it making a big scene behind the bar. Guess someone was in need of some attention. He was positioning the hand box directly under the only beam of light behind the bar while pointing at himself then at Superman. After this little song and dance number I figure he owes Lady T a shot on the house. He did violate her box -giggle- and making us watch his gorilla-ness in action would most definitely be more tolerable to witness with a beverage in hand.  I do believe he did his gorilla mating call as well. Lady T had the same idea, that is about the free shot, not giving out a mating call, only she was much more civil about it. We were both trying to get Mr. Gorilla's attention-I at one end of the bar, she around the corner. She won. She stated that she should get a free shot and I seconded it. He laughed and moved on to the next customer, abruptly ending the conversation, so ungentlemanly like.  She spoke some more at him, as did I. Then, when nothing else was working, I shouted at him' She thinks you're Gay!' That did it all right, his attention was ours- bring on the drinks, or so I thought. He stopped dead in his tracks, nearly dropping the bottle in his hand, and kept looking from Lady T to me. He turned to me and said ' You REALLY think I'M Gay?' To which I replied ' Well, she thinks it', and Lady T interjects 'SHE said it'! Well there goes our drinks. Dang. He's not worthy of being Gay. He then over dramatizes that Lady T and I are from this moment on cut off.  He is using hand gestures that consist of him pointing (Mr. Gorilla likes to point, so rude)  at both Lady T and I followed by him taking his fingers across his neck in a slicing motion. Such an unjust verdict! Lady T became upset (as is her God given right- HA!) that he cut us off as it is blatantly obvious that she and I are well away from being inebriated enough to be condemned to such a horrid sentence as this. I yelled from across the bar ' I'll handle this'. Side Note: When alcohol is involved never, and I repeat, NEVER let me handle it. That is unless you're prepared for some pain, a good laugh, and a story for years to come. Where was I? Oh, I'll handle this. OK, so I get down off my bar stool and head to where Mr. Gorilla is pouring drinks. I tell him it's Lady T's Birthday and that she needs a shot to compensate for his molesting her box. -giggle again- He starts again with the ' you've been cut off ' gestures. I said ' You didn't let me finish, she is also in need of a Birthday spanking.'  This got his attention, and this is when we landed in 'Oh Shitsville'.  I made it clear that if his hand touches Lady T's beautiful bum, he had to give up the alcohol. He agreed and then hurriedly began taking care of the two other patrons waiting at the bar so that he may start smacking cute buttocks. I went over to fill Lady T in on the plan. She agreed to it. Mr. Gorilla comes over and once again makes a big scene about what he's doing so everyone is looking at him. Someone didn't get enough love as a baby gorilla. He lifts Lady T's skirt takes aim and renders a blow so hard it thunders throughout the noisy bar, turning a couple of heads our way. Lady T winces a little, OK, she is hurting, and her mouth has began to descend toward the bar floor. Lucky for her I caught it with the bar stool where it will remain for the duration of the Birthday beating. Mr. Gorilla didn't even warm up her bum first. No manners indeed. He then proceeded to beat the hell out of Lady T's posterior. She took nine blows before someone said something. I don't remember whom. I know she was done and collected her mouth from upon the stool to state she could take no more. Mr. Gorilla had plans of giving her the amount of blows that matched her age. No one could make it past ten. Trust me. So he goes back behind the bar and begins serving drinks again, I stomp over and say ' You owe her BIG time!' He complies, but not without defensively stating 'you guys wanted me to do it'.  I respond with 'Yeah- ONE smack, that was the deal, NOT the beating you gave.'  I can't stand ego driven people. He was this huge gorilla taking out his frustrations with no mercy on Lady T's bare bum. He did give her a glass half full of Jameson. She deserved more, she couldn't sit down, plus she had to deal with Mr. Gorilla trying to convince her she wanted him. Oh, sorry more bile.  Lady T and I ventured up to the balcony to divulge what had just transpired to our friends that had moved up there. I felt responsible for what took place so I elected myself to be Mr. Gorilla's next arse victim, all in honor of Lady T's bloodied bum. No one tried to talk me out of it, Lady T was all about my impending beating. Not my brightest idea, but I'm a good, no GREAT friend. Don't dish out what you can't take I always say.  I venture back downstairs to take my punishment like a champ, or chimp compared to Mr. Gorilla. I find Mr. Gorilla is busy up on stage grunting and screaming into a microphone. Great, now he's going to be all riled up with his gorilla-ness all hanging out, and I'm going to be his next victim. It was really sinking in what a BAD idea this was. I'm standing there watching him thinking, 'Great I'm about to get my ass beat by an aggro roided out gorilla. What the fuck am I doing?'. He finishes his Ode to Cookie Monster, jumps off stage and goes back behind the bar. I approach him by stating he sucks, and that I need ten blows since it was me that got Lady T's bum beat. Oh, he heartily agreed to beat me arse. I walk over to where my friends are standing with Mr. Gorilla on my heels. I take a couple of deep breaths (yeah like that was going to help out my my poor lil tush), and assumed the position. The beating was divided into five on the right and five on the left. I braced myself for the first blow as the crowd stroked Mr. Gorilla's ego and pumped him up even more. You really can't prepare for something this brutal. The first blow took my breath away. There is no warm up, no start soft and get harder, it's just beat the hell out that ass. I don't know how I made it through the first five, nor how I can keep going on the next cheek. Masochistic much? Me thinks so. I think I have permanent dents, and bone damage. When he finishes with the right cheek I take a moment of silence for the death of my booty, and to prepare before he unleashes on my left cheek. I once again brace myself and he delivers the first blow to my left cheek. I wince in sever pain because he is hitting me even harder then on the right side. I think this is due to my caboose covered by jeans. He delivers the second blow to the left cheek and I am wondering again, why the fuck I  agreed to this. Damn being a good friend. He decides that I'm not positioned correctly and angles me toward him telling me to stick out my ass. He pops me on my thigh, penetrating all the way to my bone. I jump at the pain. He again angles me toward him and again pops my thigh. This time I ball my fist and raise it as I twist toward him. This doesn't phase him. He again pops me on the thigh hitting bone. He didn't hit anywhere near my bum for the last three blows. Ass. Hole. He rubs his hands together beaming with pride and resumes his place behind the bar. I wobble over and ask for my drink. He asks if I still think he's Gay. I smile but say nothing. NO, I now know you're a mean sonofabitch that likes to beat on those smaller, but smarter than you, and that you need to be taken DOWN by a diabolical mastermind! I ducked thinking poo was in the air. He had his hand back there. I realize I only thought that, didn't say it aloud, that he was reaching for his bottle opener, (IN HIS ASS, remind me not to order anything from a bottle there), and that my imagination once again was making my crazy show. He's a total closet case, but I hope he never unleashes himself into the Gay community. They deserve better, we all do. I straighten up not trying to play off my crazy and  I tell him he owes me a drink and he replies with ' Tell me you want to fuck me'. Ewwww. I'm not a monkey, but I wish I had a burning sack of animal feces to throw at his head. I look at him with my 'Are you fucking kidding me?' face.  He sees my face and exclaims ' Lie to me '. I'm not much of a lier, so I say to him ' I want to fuck you..... in the arse, just like you like it '. He either didn't hear me, or chose to ignore the last part. He gave me a glass half full of Jameson, guess that's what he gives to those whom have felt his wrath.  I took my earnings and went back to my friends. I drank most of it, then passed the rest off. Mr. Gorilla keeps chatting with Lady T, asking if she still thinks he's Gay, damn man, who are you trying to convince- we strangers or yourself?  As the rest of us discussed what happened and how he was out of line with how hard he beat us, I got a wee bit riled up again. I decide Lady T and I should have a go at Mr. Gorilla's badonkadonk. Knowing that Lady T and I can't do half the damage he had done to us she looks a little forlorn, I reassure her, he will hit the concrete, I promise. I go back over to Mr. Gorilla and ask if he will allow us a chance to have a go at his fanny. He agrees. I decide it's only fair to warn him so I tell him ' Oh yeah, also, I'm going to take you to the concrete, and I fight dirty'. He tells me no punching in the balls. I inform him that I didn't need to; I won't go near his balls, or his eyes or anything of that nature. We get Mr. Gorilla outside the bar and against the wall. We both get a combined total of about five hits before he punks out when he sees the belt Lady T's hubby passes to her to beat his exposed arse. Mr. Gorilla was done playing whipping boy and turns his attention to one of our friends that said a belt is perfectly fair, and would even up the score. Right at that moment I grab Mr. Gorilla from behind in a choke hold and he hits the concrete, as did I. He catches my right ankle under him as he goes down. I keep him there for a moment or two before he really freaks out. He gets his bearings and proceeds to toss me around like a rag doll, causing my leg support to rid up and rub the skin off my leg, not a brace, but the hose like kind with rubber grips for circulation. I have to wear it every now and then cause I had surgery. Point is it was painful. Back to the story. He was pissed off that he got taken down, and by a female- that's a real blow to his ego, for he is a 6'3 250 lbs of muscled gorilla, and I  a mere 5'6 135 lbs of pure GIRL. I gave him fair warning. Why people don't believe what I say, I'll never understand. I speak truthfully. There is hysterical laughter all around and shouts of joy that I stuck true to my word. I am happy that Lady T's birthday turned out to a good one with a great story to tell for some time. Well now it's two days later and I can barely move. We (Lady T and company) went swimming yesterday, I thought that would help with my stiffness, but alas I forgot that my body feels it TWO days later. I don't know why that is, just how my body has always been. Oh, also thirty minutes before we left the swimming hole Mr. Gorilla showed up.What are the chances?! Of all the places to swim in Austin!! He has a tiny toy breed of dog too- go ahead and laugh it's funny, damn funny. He had to come over and retrieve his tiny pooch because the damn thing wouldn't leave Lady T and Sir's dog alone, who is ten times the size of tiny pooch. Since they kept the beautiful Gezabelle from having the menacing Winston (Mr. Gorilla's tiny pooch) as a snack, Lady T needed some sort of retribution.  As he reaches for Winston with my eyes trying to shoot laser beams, for he is mere inches from me, Lady T informs him that he was our bartender the night before. She then turned around and showed him the damage he caused her lovely derriere. He becomes very uncomfortable, and says 'yeah good times, I have bruises too'. HOORAY FOR CONCRETE AND MY DRUNKEN TAKE DOWN SKILLZ. He walked off and I overheard him talking to a girl about us. I wonder if he remembered to tell her about me taking him to the concrete? Probably not, that's OK; we know it happened, though I'm paying for in now with sore muscles and a bruised thigh bone, along with a butt that's a little deflated and concave. Oh well, it was worth it. I send out a challenge to all ye egotistical, homophobic, over grown gorillas of the world. Before you accept, remember that I fight dirty. -wink- Amen.

ALI

Currently listening to: The White Stripes - Effect & Cause

Fuckin America: Fantasy Wins Out Over Reality

I have fallen and fallen hard. He's amazing, tall, talented, and intense. I love how my stomach dances when I find him glancing at me. How my heart races when he places his hand on my shoulder as he talks excitedly about music, a friend, what he just ate, everything; his passion for life and for me. I have become his favorite instrument to strum. Oh and did I mention he only exists in my head? He visits me at night when I close my eyes, or when I find my mind wondering during the day. I'm perfectly content with this fictional relationship. I have found that I'm not interested in the reality version of man. Reality men I have no desire to waste my time on. I'm disgusted at how men approach me, and the foul words they vomit from their lips. What ever happened to real conversations, oh yeah, they were replaced with idiotic pick up lines that NEVER work. Reality men stopped trying to get in my head to see how I ticked and started heading straight for my pants. No thank you. Been there done that, didn't work for me. In fact it backfired.  I've been hit on in parks, grocery stores, bookstores, even driving, and of course bars. In my pursuit for relationship happiness, yes I did indeed end up in a few beds. Each time I became a little more hostile toward the poor bastard, and now I loathe the thought of having some ass hole near me let alone inside me. I shudder to think of it. I think I'm on the right path of figuring out why I have all this hostility. At first I thought it might be that I was playing for the wrong team, then I thought to myself, 'Self women hold no interest for me sexually'. I appreciate the beauty of my gender, often commenting on it, just not my cup of tea in my pursuit of sexual happiness. Then to my horror I found I didn't enjoy or even care for sex anymore. I thought something was broken inside. I then realized the problem wasn't the sex itself (well sometimes it was); the problem is me, I have evolved. I want someone to take the time to get to know me, and me him. Wanted: a relationship based on intellect and passion, a chance for some sexual tension. I personally have never experienced sexual tension, I think I would like to. I will never again end up in some one's bed, couch, floor, bathroom (you get the picture), unless I feel they are worthy of me and I of them. Meaningful love, that's what I and I'm sure countless others are after. Don't get me wrong if you have a 'friend' that is there to appease your sexual appetite, good for you. I have moved past this and am bored with it. Well, meaningful fun relationship is what I have going on in fantasy land. I don't think I want to return to Reality men, for at present in my eyes they are such overrated, annoying, whiny, and vile creatures. I'm perfectly happy with the man living in my head. He and I get along famously, are both witty and wise, and I'm glad of that for I don't think in reality I'll ever get over my opinion that men are vile sexual predators, just waiting to puce on their next victim. I know, I know, not ALL men are like that, just the one's interested in me. I hope to one day be pleasantly surprised and come across someone that isn't afraid of me, can stand up to me without all the macho bullshit, and be interested in me for my thoughts and ideas, not for what protrudes above my rub cage, nor for what is between my legs. I know I don't stand-alone in the belief that it seems that everything men do is sexually driven. The proof is everywhere, from bad sitcoms where the hubby does something right and the wife rewards him with sex, to actual rules of the game and books on how to get laid (thanks Neil Strauss). Oh and don't get me started on my gender and the stupid games I've seen them play and how they use sex, not their minds to get what and where they want. I know women can be just as vile, and so much more, which is another reason for me to not switch teams. Sex shouldn't be a Power play, well unless you're roll playing if that's what you're into. Hey, whom am I to judge what you do behind close doors? I admit to being a voyeur. Really, I blame our society that pushes sex on us at an early age on TV, in movies, magazines (sex sells), as it also brainwashes us to believe sex is dirty and we should be ashamed of bodies. Fuckin America- pun intended. Until the day that I am pleasantly surprised, I'll stick with the man living in my head. Fantasy wins out over reality. Rant over. Amen.

ALI

Currently listening to: Ghostland Observatory- Edge of Town