avon speed dry strawberry S50

tucking into a nice set of drum and bass music as my nails dry. i'm on a mission to not chew my nails which means polish... but the understanding that the polish is probably worse than me nibbling on the ends. dah well. i just took yellow & cheetah spots off to replace with a muted strawberry. i was hoping for something about 2 shades more gaudy but no matter, good enough for a $3 bottle from Avon.
life is good uptown. i'm glad that i'm so close to walk where i need to be and maintain a decent ratio of staying out vs. staying in.
at the risk of sounding unpatriotic, i could not give a shitdick about the olympics. not even a little. that has thus far been grounds for being lambasted by peers and i will say that yes, i'm generally awful for not liking super popular things. at least i recognize that i can be an insufferable old crank and try to balance that out with my legit feelings.
never being one for sporting events, well, yeah, i'm not going to like the olympics. i do like hockey and have been keeping up with it, but still not enough to really constitute following it. so yeahhhhh i'm kinda glad it's all wrapping up so i can stop trying to change the topic when people at work ask me how excited i am about all our medals. sooooo yeaaaaaaaah sorry to give in and not be overtly patriotic.
anywho, my nails are clearly dry since i don't have to chicken peck the keys to avoid pink getting splashed on them so i'm audi 5000.

baby went to am-sterrrr-dam.....

"it's hardly a wake and bake at 2 in the fucking afternoon!"
her eyes stared mutely with blond lashes fluttering in front of me.
"oh well, like once i did it. people were all, "let's wake and bake!" but i was kinda like, ehhhh that's iffy."
"wait... what... what does that have to do with me getting stoned?"
"uh... nothing i guess?"
"no seriously, show me on the clock when it's socially acceptable to get high."
she was painted into a logic corner and her eyes wash over with wet tears that were in the mail.
i'm sensitive... i can't take a joke nor can i cope with someone bullying me in an argument. but i do feel it's my civic duty to call out the overly sensitive to try and instill a sense of backbone. stand up a little! life is tough!! rahrahrah etc...
my mind immediately changed tack.
oh.
right.
when you're attractive, you don't really need much of a coping strategy. in fact, her shimmering blond lashes were often dabbed in precursor tears. like, a lot a lot as she'd succinctly describe something.
so tears form, people are horrified that they've made this morsel of a girl get upset. it's brilliant. all bend and none are realizing what precedence has been set! whereas i've been introduced to Tough Fucking Shit, Ugly Fag enough to have moved past that persona.
i was nodding and staring, lost and enamoured in my diagnosis. she clearly was struggling to maintain the puppy eyes between natural evaporation and the sinking confusion she must have felt.
"uh?"
"oh.... yes wake and bake. you know what? never mind. i'm just going to drink this coffee and ya know, mosey on to the living room.
she trailed after me and framed up her thin outline in the doorway.
"well, leah is making lunch still so i guess i could have some with you?"
"knock yourself out... i'll hit it first."

really? [head tilting to side] REALLY??

recently i've had the luxury of mixing up the gay men in my life. i love the boys in waterloo, but as always i enjoy a solid infusion of something just a little different.
since i'm incapable of actually being happy with what i have, i often harken to the what ifs when things remain the same for too long.
as well, i feel like i can sound off more because the bulk of waterloo boys [daddy jr. not included] couldn't give a shitass about what i enjoy writing let alone reading it. that insulation presents a wonderful forum for being somewhat rude and also kill some time while my friend bounces his boyfriend off his cock on a bunk bed. [listening as it gets more frenetic]
a new homo in my life is the quintessential twinky. lithe, hairless, and honestly? an exceptionally natty dresser. bonding over libra qualities is always helpful but i can't help but think about how yes, he's hot and just perfect, but not something i hold up as hot in my personal tastes. isn't that fucking lame? i piss myself off sometimes. enough quid pro quos, let's continue.
deep down, i'm a bear at heart. if i had been a dude, i would be unshaven [more because i'm fucking lazy] and also just a bit of a werewolf. as a gay broad who watches more gay guy porn than any other genre it's just what floats my messed up little boat.
in hanging out with my dear friend from highschool in toronto, i've had the good fortune to meet a lot of gay men who are anything but a custard cup of twinky. twinky body types such as skinny and slight, but hairy with scratchy facial hair and unrepentant chest hair accumulations. talk of men never seems to be in the vein of boring [to ME] and my ah-ha moment was over the summer at a birthday party where i was a tag along. one guy was musing about looking for mr-right-now-to-bend-my-ankles-over-my-ears. he said, "god, i just want some werewolf to split his ass apart." wow. no, not about the ass splitting, more the idea of "hey remember when you weren't embarrassed to bring up liking older/hairier guys to your gay guy friends? implicitly, i just dropped mentioning it to avoid the awkward conversation of trying to explain that i like sucking on tits yet jerk off to meaty gang bang scenes.
i find some of these toronto lads [no, not just because they're fro the big cit-ay] aren't so... eeeerrrrrrrrrr clueless. they're aware that dykes exist, general working knowledge that they have sex and that there's some kind of motherfucking DYNAMIC at play.
keeping audience with two beautiful waterloo twinkies a couple of months ago, the topic was brought up about sex. there was a sympathetic glance to me when they were talking about anal sex. "well, not like you'd know anything about THAT stuff!"
[awkward swizzling of wine glass]
"uh, yeah i do."
"oh no honey, we're talking about actually DOING it, not hearing about it from gay men."
[elongated sip of wine]
"ahh... that's nice wine. no chump, i've had butt sex before."
[metaphorical feathers being ruffled and flying all over the place]
"WHY?! Why would you even bother!!?"
"You know the idea of you've tried the rest, now try the best?"
[blank look and me realizing i only make sense to myself sometimes]
"look, in a nutshell, i've done it a bunch of times."
"i just don't get why two women would do that."
"don't get it or don't know how we'd do it?"
[in unison] "both."
i will talk to you about fucking and sucking and rutting all day long, but i have an interesting quality of never really getting into details unless i know the person. because i can be so open and trusting, i've learned that i often tell too much and wither if i find out that i'm mocked about it after. how does one talk about getting reamed to an audience who recently discovered that two women can have dominate/submissive roles? [see below] you just don't. you skip it and soak up the attention of side glances for the rest of the evening.
which dovetails nicely into another tale of two twinkies. the same duo were talking about trying to find a boyfriend who was in sync with their tastes of being a top or bottom. again, the sad little "aw"gaze that indicated that i couldn't understand.
"wait, WHAT? do you think two women can't find that type of dichotomy?"
they seemed kinda stunned. usually i can be calm, but rage and humour often cut into my tact receptor. "what the FUCK do you think we do? sit in bed and argue about who gets to be the little spoon when cuddling that night?!?"
"oh... no, just... it's not like you can have a top or a bottom with two women."
you know that part in Fantasia where the devil rises up into a fury? that's kinda a LITTLE bit of my reaction.
"WHAT. THE. FUCK!!! are you RETARDED?! do i need to go through the ways women fuck and suck?"
"Ew, god no."
"NO! I think maybe i do!"
"But *really*, you've actually been in a dominate/submissive set up?"
"Are we talking about a whip and 'call me sir or i'll whip your pussy' kind of dom/sub or are we talking about who's in charge vs. who's taking it?"
[one dry heaves after "pussy" and"spanking" come up at the same time]
"The LATTER option."
I'm just beyond stunned at that point. when i think of how i've grown in relationships, developed into knowing what i want and like... how fun it is to not be restricted and just go with the flow.... i simply went blind with anger. for someone like me who rarely if ever relates to traditional lesbians, i got surprisingly dyke-centric at a moments notice when i felt like i wasn't a person that these guys could actually see as a human. ok that's harsh, but more the idea of you can imagine, gay men, straight people but i'm some enigma that you've relegated to some notion that i just frotage and mewl after kissing like lost kittens in the night. i often find myself muting what i'm actually thinking in these conversations to just avoid causing a q&a session when i really feel that in terms of what's out there i'm still kinda vanilla, but according to some folks i know, come across as some kink-o fanatic-o.
i composed myself, stood up and walked to the fridge to get a glass of wine. they were still waiting for me to respond.
"you want to know what i am with roles? I'm a loving top and an arrogant bottom."
there was some thinking and the topic was changed.
the best part is, when i mention this tale to jr. bears/otters they burst out laughing. can i get a what what to those boys out there?! at least i get a lot of milage out of my indignant trauma?

february wtf did you come from?

so i'm all moved in uptown... it feels really good. i mean, it's still all so fucking new and different but i'm glad i made the change. definately have a lot less space to live in, but i had too much shit anyway. speaking of which, i had an embarassing ammount of stuff built up from taking on pretty much 3 moves and never really sorting anything just moving boxes with me. yipes, there was a lot of shit. like, i'm banned from clothing beyond cool sweaters. i had duplicates of duplicates. oy gott! guess it's part and parcel of my lunacy. so yeah, no more clothes that's for damn sure because i just don't have the f'ing space for it!
the new roommate is going on vaccation in a mere few weeks. at this point i'm getting a friend to move in and cover some of the rent. of course i'm on tentative watch right now expecting it to fall through. but that's the nature of the game, i just rarely think that things will work out.
even now, two paragraphs up i talked about being hopeful and just assume the bottom'll fall out and i'll be in a bitch. in talking about this with someone i really can't recall being super happy/content. it's like i've always been an eeyore dragging my ass around with a perpetual rain cloud. while i experience things that are happy, it's never really like UP UP UP happy and certainly not something that lasts... not mania cycles tho. i'm either bleh or occasionally receede into super meh. is that medically sound?
anyway, just pounding out a few thoughts since i'm woefully negligent with this blog.
wish list:
- to eat more salads
- to really get into the groove of being uptown and embrace the change
- start up a hardcore gay porno company & write hardcore scenes at coffee shops with my headphones on "...and that's when the orgy started" would be on a notepad all the time to copy & paste into scripts

tight.

new cartoon i'm absolutely batshit over: Archer. only 4 episodes out but they're phenomenal.






feeling a little run down from the move... i'm too autistic sometimes to cope with simple shit like moving. still getting settled in... i need a set of dresser drawers for my room... sadly my swingin' bachelor clothes rack just doesn't fit. frig. OH NO, NOT A TRIP TO IKEA!!!! yeah, that's how i roll.

mostly avon makeup... i think?

TO THE FUCKWIT THAT KEEPS POSTING TO THIS, STOP BEING A FUCKWIT. THANKS. sandbagging it today

Hands shoving down my shoulders. Some heated demands, some soothing. My head ripped around trying to see what I was facing as the zip of fluorescent light chains passed me by. I felt my legs kick, trying to work double-time for my arms curled up and in agony. I’m not supposed to be here, I’m supposed to push the gurney. I’m supposed to be taking charge and soothing a violent patient… this isn’t really happening.

Screaming now because I can’t process this scene. Cut it loose and howl. That deep-seeded hurt that rips the voice out of their throats. No one speaks until the Big Boy slams me down hard with a definitive STOP.

Now I’m crying. I hurt. I can smell hospital. I can hear the click of the wheels under me. The smell bed linen makes when you breathe in. the sharp wafting smell radiating off my arms. Burned skin collapsing into itself as we move along. My mouth is open moaning and shuck it in. it’s a chemical taste and I want to throw up. I want to fight and run off the gurney. Fast and far and away from this scene that I’m being escorted to. It’s an emergency. Why am I not standing up to help?

I’m suffocating in the competing stinks of emergency room and the chemicals smoldering into me. I’m making myself choke from trying to breathe and not wanting to actually catch a scent. From the side I hear a metal clink that I recognize from years of putting people into restraints. Padded leather with wide rectangles to easily tie someone down. For therapeutic purposes only. To get a waist restraint would make me throw up for sure…. I can’t possibly deserve this.



I have applied restraints to people more than I’ve gotten laid. What a horrible ratio. Wrists and ankles: 4 point retstraint. Wrists and ankles and waist: 5 point. Posey jacket. Jumper with a zipper up the back so you can’t get out of it. Lateral shoulder restraint with a sheet with someone in a wheelchair. Arm hold. Sleeper hold. Anything to stop someone from hurting themselves or someone else. Something fast. Something strong in case your partner fucks up and lets go. Something that won’t bruise too much. Something that’ll assert your role and the underlying need to be in control of the situation. Fast as possible. And for the love of god, don’t break any bones or dislocate something out of a socket. The doctors hated treating someone violent. It was just such a damn nuisance.



My first supervisor came from one of the roughest asylums in England. Literally an evolved Bedlam that schooled you on your feet before you got raped or choked to death. And that’s not even for the sake of a dramatic statement, really, it’s what you were up against. My supervisor was hard and silent from years of being a nurse in that environment. She packed up that persona and brought it with her to Canada. The name Mean Jean wasn’t a rhyming scheme it was very real and probably the best thing I could have been attached to in my meek beginning on the ward.



Jean assigned us units to work in for the shift and didn’t take kindly to negotiating or whinging when you didn’t agree with the selection process. She lined up the new orderlies for assignments and let lifers come in at will to sign and chuckle at us quivering or trying to reneg on our unit delegation. A girl standing beside me was picking at her long manicured nails making them click when Jean suddenly lit up. “Oh MY! Let me see those nails!” Her vanity trumped her logic and she stuck a hand out to fan long natural nails. Jean yanked her arm and spun her around into a hold. Her arm was bolted at a 90 degree angle and she screamed as the nail clipper snapped off curls of pink to the ground. ClickClickClickClick. She shrieked looking down but too upset to think and get out of the hold. She was too hung up on her nails falling to the ground. Jean let her go and stuck the clippers into her hand. “Finish the rest of them off. Don’t show up to my ward with nails like that. You’ll do more harm than good.”

The girl mewled as the clippers snapped off what was left and I felt my cheeks go flush with stress that I’d mess up and get centered out for some other idiocy. I hated getting sweaty in my uniform before I had actually done any work. Makes for a damp and clammy 12 hours.

HOT WATER BURN BABY!

i am too autistic to pack and move. now i'm just throwing too much out and avoiding doing what is easily a week's worth of laundry. this will all be so worth it when it's all said and done.

in other news, i cannot stop thinking about a little sausage princess dog. one slutty night of her curled up in my lap snoozing and i'm beyond hooked.

oh fucking gods in the proverbial heavens

going out for a smoke. going to set fire to my room to avoid packing and after, think about starting a new life in a boat that goes up and down the Amazon River. i'll send you a postcard.

monster want

i was always a cartoon/comic/magazine junkie. when i was younger, i had a big thing for Mad magazine and when i was waiting around for the next issue, i often picked up Cracked magazine. i never felt like Cracked was a special needs kid that you felt sorry for, i really did like the cartoons and was entertained.
so, i recall a new magazine nestled in near the Cracked one month WAY WAY WAY back when... it looked like art work that i would find in cracked but only creepy.

when i was a kid i didn't really get turned on by horror movies. even when i was that youthful, it just didn't scare me, just a story that entertained me. errrr i hadn't yet found the ones that DID scare me or the types of horror i like now. the problem was that since i was a budding little psychopath, it just didn't' *hit* me or shake me up. it didn't creep into my mind and stay with me in any way other than ah, that was interesting!.

i wound up picking a copy of this magazine up and what the FUCK!?! it creeped me out. it's only newsprint/black and white... and mostly short comic stories so nothing epic. what i do know is that these stories burned in my mind. i read them many times and would often stop to close my eyes and visually see them play out. even when i put them away for a couple of months, they'd manage to get yanked out and sat open on my bedroom floor for extended stays.

a couple of months ago i got a complete bug up my twat about this mag. i could see the covers/the stories, but for the life of me didn't know what the name was. i googled Cracked and Horror to no avail...or maybe i just didn't look hard enough? i pinned down the name of it after i begged friends on the intrawebz to help me out. sure enough, thar she blow:


There's one missing from the image... which is one that i want along with the Jason cover the most. I was scratching my head wondering why i only bought a few of these... but after a little reading saw that only 5 issues came out. Mort Todd who was working at Cracked slipped this mag into the printing press without any approval. After one came out with critical praise he managed to churn out 4 more, but it went bust after he left Cracked.



the one story that is seared into my mind is from the Frankenstein cover that entices you to buy the magazine with the promise of reading about Deadly Slime... actual title of the story: "Cellar Jelly". while i reiterate over and over that little traumatized me in terms of fiction, THIS STORY SCARED THE EVER LOVING SHIT OUT OF ME. i never looked at preserves the same way again. ever. EVER! the graphic panels of horror in it is still with me and the words "clack clack" are tangible in my mind now as i see a viscous-coated skeleton beat a death rattle on a cellar floor.

{shudder}

i really find it delightful to find things that creep me out past or present!

thank the gods there's only a few to pick up... i will save up my pennies to get these and take a ton of pictures of the frames.

anyone else out there remember this mag?!

thanks!

im thankful for: weed, wine, my precarious health, kittens, my unrequited crushes & as always my ability to cheapen life-affirmation statements

magic: the dorkening

2 posts in one night? must be visiting my folks for the weekend.

as seen by my last post, i have a burning hardon for comics. i was never into hobbits and sci fi fiction novels, but do enjoy cartoons, comics and movies that touch on the themes. i guess i gotta have my limits?

so there's a long history with me finding an interest in playing Magic: The Gathering. while i'm numeric dyslexic and the thought of adding or subtracting reverts me into a gap-mouthed toad, still, i thought this might be interesting. i've always liked the art work in the series, moreso in the past 5 years and even more once i was able to look at collections. maybe i could get into this? i like fanciful things that kill each other in savage pageantry! i like collecting things that are painful financial drains! i like games that require me to be sheep-dogged into chill spaces and only have a few people to hang out with!

my old half-roommate Daddy [names changed to protect the bears] came in from a weekend trip raving about playing Magic and spent a solid 20 minutes pitching the concept to me.
"but i hate numbers..."
"no! it's not that bad... and there's evil animal things... WITH SWORDS!!"
"SIGN ME THE FUCK UP!"
my only quid pro quo was a single dyke finger being raised and pointing at his handsome face, "oh i'll learn to play... but you can't out me to any of our friends that i'm going to play dragons and fairy farts with you or else i'll never play this with you. Capice?"
he agreed and we left it at we'll touch base and get this shit on the go eventually.
fast forward a month. Daddy and i were at some social event and we were picking on each other, as usual, and trying to outdo each other for the title of King Shit. He blurted out to a large pack of friends, "oh YEAH, well J wants to play MAGIC!!"
i was Magic outed.
i cant be clear, but i think the debacle unraveled into me screaming like a queeny wag trying to slap him and crying out, "you said you wouldn't tellllllllllll!!"

some hurts never heal and since that outburst, Daddy has faced me cornering him many times swishing wine around in a glass staring at him... and the inevitable, "remember when you blabbed about Magic...?!" all in good fun. kinda. no seriously, it's funny, but more hilarious to pout about it for attention.

still, what's the beef? i think about batman daily more than i do about kitties. that speaks volumes to gauge the dork ratio right there. i am a giant flake that enjoys being immersed into fanciful scenarios but it's super hard for me to find a board game that i will actively sit down and play. i'll watch all night as others play and have fun, just usually can't be focused enough to want to play it all night.

so, let's take stock: i like psychos in tights and capes, i like lapsing into a dream-like state of imagination and i like collecting things and yapping about it with other collectors.

i'm still not officially done with this Magic: The Gathering thesis, but i'll at least take it a couple of rounds.

laugh if you want, but rest assured there are like SO many other things i do/imbibe/think about are much worse than playing cards with dragons on them... so i guess, what's the hold up?

comix!!

a pal graciously picked me up a comic that he liked a while back. it's beat up but the pages are almost fuzzy with that worn texture of newsprint. and there's a ton of ads mashed in between the comic pages that are eyebrow-raising to say the least.
we chatted about how GOOD the story is but the cover is a little less to be desired/kinda hokey. i drew the comparison to porno movie boxes: sassy cover means NOTHING in terms of what's going to get you off. but the reverse could be true... in fact i recall a ton of pornos i would recommend at the smut shack that people walked past and i had to confirm that it was worth the rental.

back to the point: me takey pictures of comic book. it's so fragile that i'm keeping it in a cover so i thought i might as well snap some pics of it to look at without griping about hauling it out of plastic.

cheesy stuff, but i love it. should probably take each image and crop them a bit better, but MEH good enough, yo.

the cover in question... kinda boring but it belies a great story






god i love beast... don't psychoanalyze this too much!!




WAPAAAAOOOW!






rowr






zoom!


old but still love the vibrant blues in this


i want to print this on a tshirt!


oh tony start, what hilarious antics are you up to now




sloots 'n high cut bathingsuits. yus.








THOR BITCH SLAP WAB-BAP!










another one that would look sick on a tshirt




I WILL DIE UNHAPPY NOT KNOWING WHAT THESE SHIRTS LOOKED LIKE


...i think i missed it


meep... they don't cost .50 anymore

"one part for you and one part for me"

here i am, quite the fool. as soon as i talk about you out loud i roll my eyes. bright blue-tinted balls rolling back faster than a shark in a feeding frenzy. i make myself bored listening to the story of the Start and The Reason i feel this way towards you... sick and bored and tired. assinine condemnations that i save for idiot associates and their sad stories. i miss something i didn't have and i miss my sanity.

the time spent thinking is thudding around in my empty conscience and there's that guilt of never lavishing this affection on the ones who wanted it.

there's not that frantic chest clenching angst now, but the reaction is burned into my muscle memory. the crescendo of tightness clamping down on my chest and i smile. i smile and it's a real joy but... but what? what now? move it, keep pushing, try to ignore my lack of sincere irreverance to get over it.

you're still milling around in my empty room of crushes after i've dismissed everyone else. i'd invite you to stay, but what will i feed you? what can i offer that isn't glutenus junk that'd rot a hole in your gut. tacky treats of ill-thought out feelings and nothing of real substance. nothing that'd fill you up the way you deserve. nothing that would keep you coming back so you could avoid the gut rot.

just keep hanging out a bit longer in the side of my vision... you're fodder for a sputtering creative drive. you're kind enough to keep yourself entertained flipping through my scrap book of stories and ignore the snippets of you that slip out to the floor. no mind, i keep them at the back of the book to keep them out of sight... but easy to turn to and envelop myself in your pieces.

you - by das pop

You, you break my heart
You tear me up, in so many parts
One part for you and one for me
That is how it ought to be
You, you know my sins
You know that i will do them again
I do one for you and one for me
That is how it ought to be
You struck me
That is why i'm standin' here
You struck me
You are everything i fear
You struck me
Since you're gone our home has changed
You struck me
I just wanna get out of here
You, you break my heart
You tear me up, in so many parts
One part for you and one for me
That is how it ought to be
You struck me
You struck me
You struck me
You struck me
You, you break my heart
Oh you oh you
Yeah you
You break my heart
Oh you oh you
You break my heart
You tear me up in so many parts
One part for you and one for me
And that is how it ought to be

hrmm...

tonight there was white wine, a lot of cigarettes, a lot of cuteness and THEN i got NIN/Janes Addiction tickets? what fucking vortex of awesome just ripped open and sucked me in?

more cori <3

my two fave pics i took out of the whole set: