WELL SMACK MY ASS AND CALL ME "BUTTERCUP"!
You often hear people talk about certain moments in their life where they felt that it was just themself and another, and the rest of the world stood still. I've had this moment before, and as with most people, it's usually in some smooshy lovey-dovey moment. However, after today I realize it can happen when you're just way too intrigued with something. I really need to pay more attention. What am I talking about? It started today when I was at Target at lunch....
My whole purpose of going to Target was to buy cat food and Christmas Cards. I grab both items and start to head to the front of the store. On my way I had to walk by the toy section. That was where I met Buttercup. Buttercup is a 3-foot tall animatronic pony, or so it said. It was standing in plastic grass behind a mock fence. I was intrigued. I look around and saw that no one was around. I pet Buttercup. Nothing. I pet Buttercup again. Still no movement.
I look down at the sign. I respond to sound!
"Are you dead, pony?"
Nothing.
Okay, this is ridiculous. You can't put an animatronic pony on display and it doesn't work! I grab its head and turn it to me. I let go and its head flies back to its original position. Shit! Come on Buttercup, work with me! I look down at the sign again. Brush my mane and I move! I look on the fence and see a brush. I take the brush and start to brush Buttercup's mane. Still no movement. I brush harder. Nothing. Harder! Nothing. I am now brushing the mane so hard that Buttercup is kind of wobbling.
I sigh and put the brush back. Fucking Buttercup. I pet the pony again and it's still not moving. I'm getting pissed now. Something's got to make it move! I push its side and it remains motionless. I push its neck. Nothing. Then I smacked its ass.
"Come on Buttercup!"
I smack it again. And again. Nothing!!! Then I hear it.
"I told you Mommy! I told you!"
I look up and see a mother pushing her 6-year old daughter in a cart. The girl is pointing at me and I realize she has busted me smacking Buttercup's ass. I just stand there looking guilty. The mother gives me an odd look and turns the corner.
"The sensors!" shouts the girl as she disappears. "You have to pet the sensors!"
I look down at the sign, which I see continues around the other side of the fence. Sure enough! There are four sensors and all are specifically shown on the diagram. I pet the first sensor and Buttercup comes to life! I'm so excited!!!
I follow the diagram and pet all the sensors. Buttercup is moving about, turning its head at me, shifting its stance.... I clap my hands with glee! I pick up the brush and start brushing her mane again. I then hear laughter. I turn around and see that other customers are watching me, and one woman has burst out laughing. I all of a sudden realize what I must look like. I start laughing too.
"Times sure have changed since I was a kid," I say and the woman keeps laughing and shakes her head. I put the brush back on the fence, lower my head and leave my pony in the dust.
I'm going to see Santa this week. I think I know what I'm asking for.
My whole purpose of going to Target was to buy cat food and Christmas Cards. I grab both items and start to head to the front of the store. On my way I had to walk by the toy section. That was where I met Buttercup. Buttercup is a 3-foot tall animatronic pony, or so it said. It was standing in plastic grass behind a mock fence. I was intrigued. I look around and saw that no one was around. I pet Buttercup. Nothing. I pet Buttercup again. Still no movement.
I look down at the sign. I respond to sound!
"Are you dead, pony?"
Nothing.
Okay, this is ridiculous. You can't put an animatronic pony on display and it doesn't work! I grab its head and turn it to me. I let go and its head flies back to its original position. Shit! Come on Buttercup, work with me! I look down at the sign again. Brush my mane and I move! I look on the fence and see a brush. I take the brush and start to brush Buttercup's mane. Still no movement. I brush harder. Nothing. Harder! Nothing. I am now brushing the mane so hard that Buttercup is kind of wobbling.
I sigh and put the brush back. Fucking Buttercup. I pet the pony again and it's still not moving. I'm getting pissed now. Something's got to make it move! I push its side and it remains motionless. I push its neck. Nothing. Then I smacked its ass.
"Come on Buttercup!"
I smack it again. And again. Nothing!!! Then I hear it.
"I told you Mommy! I told you!"
I look up and see a mother pushing her 6-year old daughter in a cart. The girl is pointing at me and I realize she has busted me smacking Buttercup's ass. I just stand there looking guilty. The mother gives me an odd look and turns the corner.
"The sensors!" shouts the girl as she disappears. "You have to pet the sensors!"
I look down at the sign, which I see continues around the other side of the fence. Sure enough! There are four sensors and all are specifically shown on the diagram. I pet the first sensor and Buttercup comes to life! I'm so excited!!!
I follow the diagram and pet all the sensors. Buttercup is moving about, turning its head at me, shifting its stance.... I clap my hands with glee! I pick up the brush and start brushing her mane again. I then hear laughter. I turn around and see that other customers are watching me, and one woman has burst out laughing. I all of a sudden realize what I must look like. I start laughing too.
"Times sure have changed since I was a kid," I say and the woman keeps laughing and shakes her head. I put the brush back on the fence, lower my head and leave my pony in the dust.
I'm going to see Santa this week. I think I know what I'm asking for.
WOULD YOU LIKE SOME DUFFIN WITH THAT STUFFIN'?
Thanksgiving has come and gone, but the memories still linger. I'm quite taken aback by the whole day, as I am kind of a Scrooge of Thanksgiving. I think it started with the typical family fights that my family endured on Thanksgiving. I couldn't stand it. It was too much stress. Then came my five years as a vegetarian and I would have to ask what was in everything and make some mutant version of a side dish. I would sit there apologizing to the turkey in my mind as I thought of the slaughter of the Native Americans. Yes, the wonders of a passionate semi-liberal married to a PETA enthusiast at the time.
Once I started to eat meat and let go of the retahded (Boston has implanted itself into my soul) political aspect of it all, I just didn't give a shit about Thanksgiving. It was just a day where gluttony prevailed and I could take it or leave it. I was as happy being alone as I was either sitting with my family or friends. I'm NOT a fan of Thanksgiving. Or at least I wasn't.
This year was different. I'm not sure what made it different though. Maybe it's that I've grown up. Maybe it's that I've let go. Maybe it's that along with myself, the rest of my family has done both too. This year it was so chill and fun! It was honestly the best Thanksgiving I've ever had, and I couldn't stop laughing.
Now something you must understand with Thanksgiving in the South is that they deep-fry their turkeys here. Yes, I kid you not. They're all about throwing shit into oil here. I was telling Bobby about how at the State Fair this year they were showing news clips of all the deep-fried everything. Deep-fried Coke. Deep-fried cookie dough. Deep-fried Snickers, Oreos, cheesecake...everything. They would show these 300 pound people balancing out a picnic table with three cups of various deep fried goodies, saying how awesome deep fried everything was.
"Mmmmmm-mmmmmm. I love the deep fried everything. I'd like to deep-fry my baby just to make her sweeter. Sweetie, I think we should renew our vows in a vat of boiling oil. I bet your hoo-hah would taste even better."
"You sure are right Bubba," would respond the wife. "I think we should deep fry your hot dog. Fuck the bun! I just need me a bite of the fried goodness with a chaser of deep fried cheesecake! I'm your hot loving oil baby forever!"
Then they'd make out.
Okay, so it didn't go like that exactly, but you get the gist.
So yes, we deep-fry our turkeys here. Yes, it's not good for you. Yes, I hate deep-fried anything. But I have to admit that the turkey is moist from it. Plus it doesn't stay long in your system since you shit it out within 30 minutes. That oil sure makes any Thanksgiving guilt literally pass right through you!
The preparation of dinner seemed to go smoother than any other year. My mom, sister and I laughed and talked as we prepared the dinner. I fucked up our sweet potato puffs, but turned it into what ended up being an awesome casserole. My brother-in-law was handling the deep-fried turkey in the driveway (I guess because it's so flammable, the driveway is where the poor guy gets cooked). Their "friend" had borrowed the basket the turkey rests in while it cooks, and conveniently never returned any calls. So my sister had to jimmy-rig a device that would allow the turkey to be dunked in the oil and pulled back out to check the temperature. This jimmy-rigging ended up being a coat hanger shoved in the turkey's ass, held up with a mop handle.
A few hours into the turkeyness, they went to check the temperature and dropped the meat thermometer into the boiling vat of oil. I was inside and my niece came running in, attempting to climb the counter, followed by my mom laughing and shouting something about mercury. I learned the thermometer had gone swimming and we all stood in the driveway staring at our Southern turkey contemplating whether or not they put mercury in meat thermometers.
The waiting was even great! I went out back and hung out with my niece who sat before a box of toys, wearing sunglasses, eating marshmallows. I was eating marshmallows too. She made me "cheers" to our marshmallows and then asked if I'd be in her parade. She was going to be a ballerina, and I'd be the line leader. "Well do we dance or just eat marshmallows?" I asked.
"Eat marshmallows," she responded and we both laughed and cheered our marshmallows again.
I love her.
The laughter continued throughout dinner, and my mom's boyfriend who joined us shortly before eating, got to experience the Duffin women in all their buzzed wine glory. Laughter, stories, and runs to the bathroom to blow ass.
Even the cleanup rocked! My sister accidentally turned on the mixer when she was cleaning. Mashed potatoes shot all over the kitchen as we ducked and laughed. I did this last year, and we've deemed it an accidental tradition. Mom, it's your turn next year you know.
After dinner as I sat on the toilet laughing, purging my body of the deep friedness of the South, I found that I couldn't stop smiling. As the sound of badness erupted into the bathroom, I continued to laugh. I love my family. I love my friends, though most aren't near. Life is good even when in limbo.
I think I can get used to this whole Thanksgiving thing.
Once I started to eat meat and let go of the retahded (Boston has implanted itself into my soul) political aspect of it all, I just didn't give a shit about Thanksgiving. It was just a day where gluttony prevailed and I could take it or leave it. I was as happy being alone as I was either sitting with my family or friends. I'm NOT a fan of Thanksgiving. Or at least I wasn't.
This year was different. I'm not sure what made it different though. Maybe it's that I've grown up. Maybe it's that I've let go. Maybe it's that along with myself, the rest of my family has done both too. This year it was so chill and fun! It was honestly the best Thanksgiving I've ever had, and I couldn't stop laughing.
Now something you must understand with Thanksgiving in the South is that they deep-fry their turkeys here. Yes, I kid you not. They're all about throwing shit into oil here. I was telling Bobby about how at the State Fair this year they were showing news clips of all the deep-fried everything. Deep-fried Coke. Deep-fried cookie dough. Deep-fried Snickers, Oreos, cheesecake...everything. They would show these 300 pound people balancing out a picnic table with three cups of various deep fried goodies, saying how awesome deep fried everything was.
"Mmmmmm-mmmmmm. I love the deep fried everything. I'd like to deep-fry my baby just to make her sweeter. Sweetie, I think we should renew our vows in a vat of boiling oil. I bet your hoo-hah would taste even better."
"You sure are right Bubba," would respond the wife. "I think we should deep fry your hot dog. Fuck the bun! I just need me a bite of the fried goodness with a chaser of deep fried cheesecake! I'm your hot loving oil baby forever!"
Then they'd make out.
Okay, so it didn't go like that exactly, but you get the gist.
So yes, we deep-fry our turkeys here. Yes, it's not good for you. Yes, I hate deep-fried anything. But I have to admit that the turkey is moist from it. Plus it doesn't stay long in your system since you shit it out within 30 minutes. That oil sure makes any Thanksgiving guilt literally pass right through you!
The preparation of dinner seemed to go smoother than any other year. My mom, sister and I laughed and talked as we prepared the dinner. I fucked up our sweet potato puffs, but turned it into what ended up being an awesome casserole. My brother-in-law was handling the deep-fried turkey in the driveway (I guess because it's so flammable, the driveway is where the poor guy gets cooked). Their "friend" had borrowed the basket the turkey rests in while it cooks, and conveniently never returned any calls. So my sister had to jimmy-rig a device that would allow the turkey to be dunked in the oil and pulled back out to check the temperature. This jimmy-rigging ended up being a coat hanger shoved in the turkey's ass, held up with a mop handle.
A few hours into the turkeyness, they went to check the temperature and dropped the meat thermometer into the boiling vat of oil. I was inside and my niece came running in, attempting to climb the counter, followed by my mom laughing and shouting something about mercury. I learned the thermometer had gone swimming and we all stood in the driveway staring at our Southern turkey contemplating whether or not they put mercury in meat thermometers.
The waiting was even great! I went out back and hung out with my niece who sat before a box of toys, wearing sunglasses, eating marshmallows. I was eating marshmallows too. She made me "cheers" to our marshmallows and then asked if I'd be in her parade. She was going to be a ballerina, and I'd be the line leader. "Well do we dance or just eat marshmallows?" I asked.
"Eat marshmallows," she responded and we both laughed and cheered our marshmallows again.
I love her.
The laughter continued throughout dinner, and my mom's boyfriend who joined us shortly before eating, got to experience the Duffin women in all their buzzed wine glory. Laughter, stories, and runs to the bathroom to blow ass.
Even the cleanup rocked! My sister accidentally turned on the mixer when she was cleaning. Mashed potatoes shot all over the kitchen as we ducked and laughed. I did this last year, and we've deemed it an accidental tradition. Mom, it's your turn next year you know.
After dinner as I sat on the toilet laughing, purging my body of the deep friedness of the South, I found that I couldn't stop smiling. As the sound of badness erupted into the bathroom, I continued to laugh. I love my family. I love my friends, though most aren't near. Life is good even when in limbo.
I think I can get used to this whole Thanksgiving thing.
ROCK & RASPBERRIES
Oh my god. There is so much I want to say, but I'm so very tired. This will not be my normal blog. It's random and has no rhyme or reason to it. It's more the old school Heather Chronicles where I touch upon a few topics, but with less storytelling. It's been a crazy, busy month between my dad visiting, a punk rock transcription project...fuck! I just realized I've been sitting here with my foot on the transcription pedal. Anyways, a busy month between visits, projects, and an amazing trip to Boston.
THAT SHOW
So I've been working on a transcription project for my friend that I'm all Secret Squirrel about. I'll just say it has something to do with music, which is a lifeline for me. Throughout transcribing this project, I've recalled a lot of my past, a lot of my present, and contemplated my future. It's touched me in a way I've been quite surprised about. Throughout all the interviews I've transcribed, the same question was asked, "How does it feel to see a band you really, really love?" I heard all sorts of answers. Some were awesome, some matter of fact, and some seemed as if to avoid the question entirely. So as I was typing out this project for my friend, I of course started thinking how I would answer this question, and after over a week to stew upon it, came up with this....
To see a band that I really love feels like the first time someone you love, tells you that they love you. The music and the lights at the show dizzy you, just like the spark of those words. In that moment that you hear those words, "I love you", your heart jumps and there's that rush of utter happiness. You feel connected to something greater than what you previously knew and know they will stand by your side. They are going to be there when you are happy. They are going to be there when you're sobbing on the floor. Their music won't leave you even when they are long gone. Just like those words, "I love you" might not always be there, that feeling of that first moment will. And in that moment you feel you can conquer the world.
And it's true. So readers, tell ME (which I will likely pass on to my friend) what it feels like when you go see a band you really, really love? Comments please!
BOSTON
Oh man. Boston. It was my first trip there ever, and all I can say is that I fell madly in love with the city and left with a full heart, amazing new friends, and strengthened previous relationships with old friends. It's purely indescribable. It's been a long time since I felt that way from one of my trips. And you know me…every vacation is a potential new living situation. And now I'm seriously looking into moving there. I'm talking apartment searches, schooling, jobs, etc. The city and its outskirts have a vibe that I've always imagined, yet never really experienced. There are certain things that remind me of home, but in a very different manner. And to be honest, a very refreshing manner. And I saw the ocean! Holy shit, I saw the ocean!!! I ate pineapple and yogurt and watched the waves. It was the most beautiful of feelings.
Some of you know the details of my trip there, but it's something I don't want to really write about for some odd reason. Lisa and I did the Freedom Trail one day and went to the New England Holocaust Memorial, which left us both crying. I will never forget a brief recollection inscribed in one of the glass towers recalling the story of a young girl who one day found a raspberry and was so excited! She put it in her pocket waiting to share with her friend her newfound treasure. She spoke of a world where the simplicity of that raspberry was such a huge thing. Now, I all of a sudden realize how ridiculous I sound comparing this trip to what I read, but I'm trying to relate to the sense of the simpleness of something meaning such a huge thing. This trip, while as overdramatic and tacky as I may sound, was like that to me. It was a simple vacation, but I have not felt that alive in a while. I don't know if was the vibrance of the city and its pockets of beautiful outskirts, the culture, the history, the people...what it was. All I know is that I anticipated each new day there and left full. I could blab it all, but instead I feel the need to pack it up and put it in my pocket and savor it all for myself. Num-num-num-num-num.
Though I have to say this...Bostonians! Lay off the beans! The train? The bus? Those are not places to fart, my friends! I am the passer of gas, and even I will pucker up for public transpiration!
And if any of you are feeling frisky and in need of a change, come join "Project Retahded." It's my recruiting efforts for friends to come to Boston. I might already have one entire family and one friend on board!
THAT SHOW
So I've been working on a transcription project for my friend that I'm all Secret Squirrel about. I'll just say it has something to do with music, which is a lifeline for me. Throughout transcribing this project, I've recalled a lot of my past, a lot of my present, and contemplated my future. It's touched me in a way I've been quite surprised about. Throughout all the interviews I've transcribed, the same question was asked, "How does it feel to see a band you really, really love?" I heard all sorts of answers. Some were awesome, some matter of fact, and some seemed as if to avoid the question entirely. So as I was typing out this project for my friend, I of course started thinking how I would answer this question, and after over a week to stew upon it, came up with this....
To see a band that I really love feels like the first time someone you love, tells you that they love you. The music and the lights at the show dizzy you, just like the spark of those words. In that moment that you hear those words, "I love you", your heart jumps and there's that rush of utter happiness. You feel connected to something greater than what you previously knew and know they will stand by your side. They are going to be there when you are happy. They are going to be there when you're sobbing on the floor. Their music won't leave you even when they are long gone. Just like those words, "I love you" might not always be there, that feeling of that first moment will. And in that moment you feel you can conquer the world.
And it's true. So readers, tell ME (which I will likely pass on to my friend) what it feels like when you go see a band you really, really love? Comments please!
BOSTON
Oh man. Boston. It was my first trip there ever, and all I can say is that I fell madly in love with the city and left with a full heart, amazing new friends, and strengthened previous relationships with old friends. It's purely indescribable. It's been a long time since I felt that way from one of my trips. And you know me…every vacation is a potential new living situation. And now I'm seriously looking into moving there. I'm talking apartment searches, schooling, jobs, etc. The city and its outskirts have a vibe that I've always imagined, yet never really experienced. There are certain things that remind me of home, but in a very different manner. And to be honest, a very refreshing manner. And I saw the ocean! Holy shit, I saw the ocean!!! I ate pineapple and yogurt and watched the waves. It was the most beautiful of feelings.
Some of you know the details of my trip there, but it's something I don't want to really write about for some odd reason. Lisa and I did the Freedom Trail one day and went to the New England Holocaust Memorial, which left us both crying. I will never forget a brief recollection inscribed in one of the glass towers recalling the story of a young girl who one day found a raspberry and was so excited! She put it in her pocket waiting to share with her friend her newfound treasure. She spoke of a world where the simplicity of that raspberry was such a huge thing. Now, I all of a sudden realize how ridiculous I sound comparing this trip to what I read, but I'm trying to relate to the sense of the simpleness of something meaning such a huge thing. This trip, while as overdramatic and tacky as I may sound, was like that to me. It was a simple vacation, but I have not felt that alive in a while. I don't know if was the vibrance of the city and its pockets of beautiful outskirts, the culture, the history, the people...what it was. All I know is that I anticipated each new day there and left full. I could blab it all, but instead I feel the need to pack it up and put it in my pocket and savor it all for myself. Num-num-num-num-num.
Though I have to say this...Bostonians! Lay off the beans! The train? The bus? Those are not places to fart, my friends! I am the passer of gas, and even I will pucker up for public transpiration!
And if any of you are feeling frisky and in need of a change, come join "Project Retahded." It's my recruiting efforts for friends to come to Boston. I might already have one entire family and one friend on board!
TYRANNOSAURUS SEX
Tonight I was transcribing this one interview and this girl mentions a club that used to be in Charlotte called the Pterodactyl. When I heard this word I thought, "Oh shit. How do you spell this?" So I Google how it sounds, though I know a dinosaur name always has a "y" in it or it seems. I type in "teradactile". Google corrects me and says, "Do you mean 'terradactyl'?" Sure. I click the link. The first thing that comes up is a definition from the Urban Dictionary.
1. teradactyl
The sexual act of performing fellatio and simultaneously jerking off two penii. This motion resembles that of a teradactyl in flight. Related to skiing, but arms are raised, and mouth is open.
Becky is such a slut, I saw her giving Alex and Joe a terradactyl.
WHAT? Wait a minute... WHAT? No way. I read it again. Yep, I read it right the first time. Holy shit! Becky IS a slut! Who does this? Okay, on porn, sure. Seen it. But is this happening so much they've created this slang term for it?
"That's disgusting. I would never!" And as the words escaped me I felt old and prudish.
I emailed my friend immediately to express my horror in feeling old for thinking this. She was grossed out too and said, "I wouldn't feel old. I would feel pure and chaste."
Pure and chaste? Okay, so I am unintentionally pure and chaste now, but as a whole? Eh-uh. You see...not only was Becky, the double-fisted handjob giver, a slut, but I used to be too. I've always tried to remain open-minded about that realm and have more than enough stories and experiences to never wonder about what I might have missed out on. I haven't done everything, but I've done a lot. I'm not necessarily proud of it, but it is what it is. I don't whore around anymore, but I also consider myself someone to be difficult to shock.
When I was younger I was never "prudish" or saving myself for love, at least not after I was 16. I wanted to have fun and not give a shit. Nothing shocked me! I was pretty much open to almost anything. I was, and still obviously am, very open about sex. I am the girl who made my mom and coworkers watch gay foot porn that was accidentally delivered to my friend's apartment. I am the girl who was kicked out of an S&M room at a club for laughing and "disturbing the other patrons." I've stumbled around an adult bookstore with my pants inside out after fooling around with my ex-husband. I went on a date once and let the guy show me around an adult video booth place as I maneuvered my way around wadded up tissue. I've been to strip clubs, watched porn (even "environmental" porn) and even shot a banana out of my coo! Yes! You heard me, a ba-na-na! I'm not ashamed! Okay, well that was an accident, but it's a great story actually. But you get the gist? Why am I so grossed out that some multiple partner sex act has become so common that it has it's own definition?
I read on to see the second definition that came with "teradactyl."
2. teradactyl
Teradactyl: a sex manuever in which, right before the male ejaculates, he brings the blanket over his shoulders and flaps his "wings" against the female.
"Frank was insane last night, he brought that girl in his room and gave her a terradactyl!"
This sent me into hysterics. This does not disgust me at all, in fact I can't stop laughing at this. I'm back! Woo-hoo no prude! Seriously though, who does this? Please, tell me if you've ever done this before. I just...I mean....how does this happen in the first place? Is he having frigid, cold sex instead of hot and sweaty sex, so he needs a blanket to wrap around his arms? Then in the midst of trying to warm his ice-cold arms while receiving head, is he attacked by fruit flies? They're surrounding his arms now! Maybe they're cold too and just want in the blanket? Frigid boy can't have dirty flies touching him...just dirty sex! So he swats at them, clinging to his blanket because despite the fact he's being sucked off, his first priority is staying warm! The swatting isn't working now and the number of fruit flies are growing, as is his need to blow AND stay warm. So he flaps his arms. He flaps and he flaps and he flaps, and then he splats?
I really don't get this, but trust me, you...I'm going to be freaking out some poor guy in the future.
"So while I do this, would you mind wearing a blanket? Uh-huh, yeah good like that. Now....can you flap your arms? No, not like some little bird, you sissy! BIG flaps...like an eagle! Good. Very good. Now...uh, can you make some dinosaur noises? No. No. No! THAT is a Tyrannosaurs! Do you think those guys could fly with their little arms? NO! Flapping? Dinosaur? Yes sweetie, a pterodactyl. Now I'm a brontosaurus looking for limb of leaves..."
1. teradactyl
The sexual act of performing fellatio and simultaneously jerking off two penii. This motion resembles that of a teradactyl in flight. Related to skiing, but arms are raised, and mouth is open.
Becky is such a slut, I saw her giving Alex and Joe a terradactyl.
WHAT? Wait a minute... WHAT? No way. I read it again. Yep, I read it right the first time. Holy shit! Becky IS a slut! Who does this? Okay, on porn, sure. Seen it. But is this happening so much they've created this slang term for it?
"That's disgusting. I would never!" And as the words escaped me I felt old and prudish.
I emailed my friend immediately to express my horror in feeling old for thinking this. She was grossed out too and said, "I wouldn't feel old. I would feel pure and chaste."
Pure and chaste? Okay, so I am unintentionally pure and chaste now, but as a whole? Eh-uh. You see...not only was Becky, the double-fisted handjob giver, a slut, but I used to be too. I've always tried to remain open-minded about that realm and have more than enough stories and experiences to never wonder about what I might have missed out on. I haven't done everything, but I've done a lot. I'm not necessarily proud of it, but it is what it is. I don't whore around anymore, but I also consider myself someone to be difficult to shock.
When I was younger I was never "prudish" or saving myself for love, at least not after I was 16. I wanted to have fun and not give a shit. Nothing shocked me! I was pretty much open to almost anything. I was, and still obviously am, very open about sex. I am the girl who made my mom and coworkers watch gay foot porn that was accidentally delivered to my friend's apartment. I am the girl who was kicked out of an S&M room at a club for laughing and "disturbing the other patrons." I've stumbled around an adult bookstore with my pants inside out after fooling around with my ex-husband. I went on a date once and let the guy show me around an adult video booth place as I maneuvered my way around wadded up tissue. I've been to strip clubs, watched porn (even "environmental" porn) and even shot a banana out of my coo! Yes! You heard me, a ba-na-na! I'm not ashamed! Okay, well that was an accident, but it's a great story actually. But you get the gist? Why am I so grossed out that some multiple partner sex act has become so common that it has it's own definition?
I read on to see the second definition that came with "teradactyl."
2. teradactyl
Teradactyl: a sex manuever in which, right before the male ejaculates, he brings the blanket over his shoulders and flaps his "wings" against the female.
"Frank was insane last night, he brought that girl in his room and gave her a terradactyl!"
This sent me into hysterics. This does not disgust me at all, in fact I can't stop laughing at this. I'm back! Woo-hoo no prude! Seriously though, who does this? Please, tell me if you've ever done this before. I just...I mean....how does this happen in the first place? Is he having frigid, cold sex instead of hot and sweaty sex, so he needs a blanket to wrap around his arms? Then in the midst of trying to warm his ice-cold arms while receiving head, is he attacked by fruit flies? They're surrounding his arms now! Maybe they're cold too and just want in the blanket? Frigid boy can't have dirty flies touching him...just dirty sex! So he swats at them, clinging to his blanket because despite the fact he's being sucked off, his first priority is staying warm! The swatting isn't working now and the number of fruit flies are growing, as is his need to blow AND stay warm. So he flaps his arms. He flaps and he flaps and he flaps, and then he splats?
I really don't get this, but trust me, you...I'm going to be freaking out some poor guy in the future.
"So while I do this, would you mind wearing a blanket? Uh-huh, yeah good like that. Now....can you flap your arms? No, not like some little bird, you sissy! BIG flaps...like an eagle! Good. Very good. Now...uh, can you make some dinosaur noises? No. No. No! THAT is a Tyrannosaurs! Do you think those guys could fly with their little arms? NO! Flapping? Dinosaur? Yes sweetie, a pterodactyl. Now I'm a brontosaurus looking for limb of leaves..."
THE GRUDGE
No, no. Not the dead girl who scares the fuck out of me in the movie. I'm talking a REAL grudge. Actually, as I think about it there's not a lot of difference is there? Both can eat at you; haunt you for all time.
As I said in my other blog, my father came to town this weekend. A piece of me feels like I have to explain the situation, but those who know me already know most of the history; those who don't need not be bored with the details. To sum it up, my father and I don't get along that great. In fact he drives me nutty in a bad way. I typically need mental recouping after being around him for any amount of time. I have to remind myself that being criticized to death; feeling like an utter failure, doesn't mean he's right. I have to sometimes cry, and always remind myself that I'm an adult and though life has not taken the path I often thought it would, I'm proud of what I've overcome; where I've gone; the adventures I've had.
After leaving the first lunchtime meeting with him, I reunited with the family (sans my mom) this evening. My stomach knotted up as I pulled up to my sister's. Then the evening went on. Thing is minus one comment, and still not asking how I've been, it was quite painless. However, I sat on edge waiting to jump the entire time. As I drove home I realized that this no longer is about him. This is about me.
I had this great counselor I used to see about seven years ago. The majority of therapy usually revolved around my marriage at the time, my religious upbringing, and my father. I remember my counselor saying to me that if he had not made a drastic change in his life at this point, without a life-shaking moment, he likely never would. So far it's proven to be fairly true, but that's not for me to worry about. I know that I will never be the ideal daughter to him. I don't believe in his religion, which is a HUGE issue with him. I'm not married or have kids. I'm constantly wandering about, not settling down and living the life that he thinks a woman my age is supposed to live. I KNOW how he feels about it. What I realized as I drove home tonight is that I have to let go of how he feels and fully embrace the life I've chosen. I've got to stop carrying this grudge I carry about how he's always treated me. By not being absolutely confident in my choices...my life...I'm disabling myself and all I'm doing is proving him right.
Now this isn't about proving anyone right or wrong. It's about feeling good about myself and my life and not letting his opinions sway that. I have nothing but support and love from my friends and the rest of my family, which amounts to a lot. It's funny that only one person can rattle my foundation so much, but I'm letting him. I remember about three years ago seeing another counselor during a very rough period of my life. I stopped seeing her after three months because she kept blaming my parents for everything bad in my life. I do agree that how we are raised highly contributes to who you are, but after three months of listening to this woman blame and blame and blame, I realized that no matter what happened, I'm an adult now. I can choose what I want to do with that. I can either sit around and blame them, or I can say "I don't have to be this kind of person because I have a say in the matter" and make the strides to move forward. I see that when I'm around my father I fall back into blame mode. I feel like a piece of shit and then get pissed at him. I can do this when he's just sitting there!
Tonight I realized I'm done. I have to let go of this shit. My dad is not a bad human being. I do love him. And whatever kind of father he was or is, I don't have to keep being pissed. I choose instead to just know this is how he is, and it doesn't mean he's right. I'm an adult and I love the life I've lived. There are definitely things I'd change, but even those things I'd change would still leave me as the kind person he couldn't understand. I choose to knock this shit off and not let it stomp on my happiness because at this point I'm letting it stomp on my happiness. It's time to be free of this and try to accept the simplest of common ground we can find.
It's time to shake this grudge. I'm tired of being haunted.
***Update****
11/3/07
In letting this go I had a really great day with my family today. Probably one of the best ones I've had with him. Freedom is just a shift in perspective I guess.
As I said in my other blog, my father came to town this weekend. A piece of me feels like I have to explain the situation, but those who know me already know most of the history; those who don't need not be bored with the details. To sum it up, my father and I don't get along that great. In fact he drives me nutty in a bad way. I typically need mental recouping after being around him for any amount of time. I have to remind myself that being criticized to death; feeling like an utter failure, doesn't mean he's right. I have to sometimes cry, and always remind myself that I'm an adult and though life has not taken the path I often thought it would, I'm proud of what I've overcome; where I've gone; the adventures I've had.
After leaving the first lunchtime meeting with him, I reunited with the family (sans my mom) this evening. My stomach knotted up as I pulled up to my sister's. Then the evening went on. Thing is minus one comment, and still not asking how I've been, it was quite painless. However, I sat on edge waiting to jump the entire time. As I drove home I realized that this no longer is about him. This is about me.
I had this great counselor I used to see about seven years ago. The majority of therapy usually revolved around my marriage at the time, my religious upbringing, and my father. I remember my counselor saying to me that if he had not made a drastic change in his life at this point, without a life-shaking moment, he likely never would. So far it's proven to be fairly true, but that's not for me to worry about. I know that I will never be the ideal daughter to him. I don't believe in his religion, which is a HUGE issue with him. I'm not married or have kids. I'm constantly wandering about, not settling down and living the life that he thinks a woman my age is supposed to live. I KNOW how he feels about it. What I realized as I drove home tonight is that I have to let go of how he feels and fully embrace the life I've chosen. I've got to stop carrying this grudge I carry about how he's always treated me. By not being absolutely confident in my choices...my life...I'm disabling myself and all I'm doing is proving him right.
Now this isn't about proving anyone right or wrong. It's about feeling good about myself and my life and not letting his opinions sway that. I have nothing but support and love from my friends and the rest of my family, which amounts to a lot. It's funny that only one person can rattle my foundation so much, but I'm letting him. I remember about three years ago seeing another counselor during a very rough period of my life. I stopped seeing her after three months because she kept blaming my parents for everything bad in my life. I do agree that how we are raised highly contributes to who you are, but after three months of listening to this woman blame and blame and blame, I realized that no matter what happened, I'm an adult now. I can choose what I want to do with that. I can either sit around and blame them, or I can say "I don't have to be this kind of person because I have a say in the matter" and make the strides to move forward. I see that when I'm around my father I fall back into blame mode. I feel like a piece of shit and then get pissed at him. I can do this when he's just sitting there!
Tonight I realized I'm done. I have to let go of this shit. My dad is not a bad human being. I do love him. And whatever kind of father he was or is, I don't have to keep being pissed. I choose instead to just know this is how he is, and it doesn't mean he's right. I'm an adult and I love the life I've lived. There are definitely things I'd change, but even those things I'd change would still leave me as the kind person he couldn't understand. I choose to knock this shit off and not let it stomp on my happiness because at this point I'm letting it stomp on my happiness. It's time to be free of this and try to accept the simplest of common ground we can find.
It's time to shake this grudge. I'm tired of being haunted.
***Update****
11/3/07
In letting this go I had a really great day with my family today. Probably one of the best ones I've had with him. Freedom is just a shift in perspective I guess.
