After a few years, my mother became ill. Nothing major, just a bit of this and a bit of that and she managed her illness well. My mom had always been heavy, but after she got sick, she really started to balloon up and this was another reason for me to be ashamed of her. What kid wants to have a big fat mother? I mean, who wants to be teased by their school friends when their mom comes to the school and she is a fat?
We ended up moving from the projects after about 2 years of major struggle. We didn’t move into a single family home, but into an apartment. This apartment was ok, better than the projects, but only a few steps from being a project. The best thing about all of this was that I got to have my own room again. As a young girl, privacy was of the utmost. This was my retreat from my little world. I had my own TV, a phone extension and most of all a small love seat in my room. I was big shit by 1987 standards. Things there were cool. I went to another middle school and actually got more enthused about school. My mom laid off of dudes…the only man I saw around our house was my daddy and his presence was not felt that often. Right about the same time we moved to these apartments, my mother baby sister got divorced from her husband and she and her two boys ended up moving to the same complex that we lived in. They would spend a lot of time at each others apartments, but it seemed that my aunt and her bad ass boys spent more time at our house fucking it up really. Well, let me be clear: my aunt was a loud, dirty talking woman and her boys; especially that oldest son of hers was just bad and unruly. In those days, cleaning up your house on a Saturday morning was an event. My mom would wake me every Saturday around 8am; we would have breakfast and after that we would commence to cleaning: make the beds, sweep the floors, clean the kitchen (including cleaning out the fridge), clean the bathroom, change the sheets on every bed in the house, clean the window sills, clean the baseboards that run all around the house and worst of all we had to sweep the carpets cause having a vacuum was luxury that most black folks didn’t have back then. Needless to say, cleaning up on Saturday was hard work and you didn’t want anybody to come and mess up what you had cleaned up. Now back to my cousins…those jokers would come over with their mom and fuck up the house like it was nobody’s business and the killer part is that my mom would never say anything about it. I don’t think it was because she didn’t care…it was because she felt sorry for my aunt. Nevertheless, my ass would have a lot to say about it and my mouth got me in trouble. I hated my cousins and I didn’t like my aunt to much either cause she didn’t control her damn kids…but what could I do as a kid. All I could do was retreat to my room at least I didn’t have to entertain those ugly boys in there.
This time in my life marked an age of exploration for me. This is the year were I let a boy do more than kiss me. No I did not have sex with a boy…lets just say he touched me below my waist. What the hell: they called it finger fucking back then. So yes, I got finger fucked on several occasions by this dude who we will call Oscar. He was cute and he liked me and I let him talk me into doing it. The whole act seemed a little stupid but what the hell…all my friends were doing it. My rape always loomed in the back of my mind, but at this point I just wanted to be normal…but my normalcy didn’t include having sex…being raped kept me from going there with the lil boys I played with during that time. I also played with girls during that time too. Well let’s be more specific. I have a female cousin who is a few years older than I am. She and I were really close growing up. We would spend the night with each other all the time and just watch television and play games or whatever. Then one day in particular, she asked me what I thought girls kissing. My reply was yuck! Girls aren’t supposed to kiss each other. So her response was why not. She then tells me that she saw girls kissing each other in a movie and it was no big deal. She even said that they were kissing each other on their chests. So I’m like “really” well if it was in the movies, I guess its ok. To make a long story short…my cousin and I kissed each other on the mouth and on the chest (which really means on the breasts) and after it was over, I didn’t feel repulsed like I thought I would. No big deal…I went on about my life.
The sponges (Porifera) were long thought to have diverged from other animals early. They lack the complex organization found in most other phyla. Their cells are differentiated, but in most cases not organized into distinct tissues. Sponges typically feed by drawing in water through pores. Archaeocyatha, which have fused skeletons, may represent sponges or a separate phylum. However, a phylogenomic study in 2008 of 150 genes in 21 genera[12] revealed that it is the Ctenophora or comb jellies which are the basal lineage of animals, at least among those 21 phyla. The authors speculate that sponges—or at least those lines of sponges they investigated—are not so primitive, but may instead be secondarily simplified.
Among the other phyla, the Ctenophora and the Cnidaria, which includes sea anemones, corals, and jellyfish, are radially symmetric and have digestive chambers with a single opening, which serves as both the mouth and the anus. Both have distinct tissues, but they are not organized into organs. There are only two main germ layers, the ectoderm and endoderm, with only scattered cells between them. As such, these animals are sometimes called diploblastic. The tiny placozoans are similar, but they do not have a permanent digestive chamber.
The remaining animals form a monophyletic group called the Bilateria. For the most part, they are bilaterally symmetric, and often have a specialized head with feeding and sensory organs. The body is triploblastic, i.e. all three germ layers are well-developed, and tissues form distinct organs. The digestive chamber has two openings, a mouth and an anus, and there is also an internal body cavity called a coelom or pseudocoelom. There are exceptions to each of these characteristics, however – for instance adult echinoderms are radially symmetric, and certain parasitic worms have extremely simplified body structures.
Genetic studies have considerably changed our understanding of the relationships within the Bilateria. Most appear to belong to two major lineages: the deuterostomes and the protostomes, the latter of which includes the Ecdysozoa, Platyzoa, and Lophotrochozoa. In addition, there are a few small groups of bilaterians with relatively similar structure that appear to have diverged before these major groups. These include the Acoelomorpha, Rhombozoa, and Orthonectida. The Myxozoa, single-celled parasites that were originally considered Protozoa, are now believed to have developed from the Medusozoa as well.
For those playin it safe, stayin close to home This New Years Eve,
Join us @ THE BRAVE BULL for our SPECTACULAR NEW YEARS EVE BASH BEST OF ALL….DOOR CHARGE is ONLY $10.00….THE BEST DEAL IN TOWN! (Door charge will be ALL NIGHT LONG)
This will include your automatic entry into our raffle, your opportunity to win some great PRIZES, PARTY FAVORS, All you can eat Finger Foods, Coffee and Donuts @ The End of the Night, and great door items for the first 30 people.
Also, A Short but Entertaining Drag Show Ft. The Brave Bull-Ettes
Hosted by MISS ANJALI
Dance the Night away with THE CENTRAL VALLEY’S BEST DANCE MUSIC
Some people need to get a life and stop complaining about the little things. With human beings starving, wars being fought, and global warming to worry about, I am often amazed that people insist on complaining about inconsequential problems that are more about opinion and taste than anything substantial. I blame HGTV and some bitchy gay boys who insist on everyone being just like they are. Most lesbians I know are so busy with relationship drama, that they don’t seem too bothered by etiquette issues and decorating. Hoorah for the lesbos! Sometimes we get it right.
Don’t get me wrong, one of my best friends is a gay man, but hey, that just proves my point. The gay men make us all a little paranoid. Their standards are simply too high. Who can live with so many responsibilites, and still have time to vote, read, bathe, clean the house, cook, and take care of children and aging parents.
I know what you’re thinking. You are assuming that I am lazy and that’s why I’m discounting the whole, leaving the lights up for awhile issue. You may be partly right, but then, you know I will make my point since I always do. Right? No argument is too small to escape my comment. Now you see firsthand how annoying people like that are. I even annoy myself at times, acknowledging the non-issues of the world that should not be validated, but instead often become fodder for talk show hosts and shock jocks who rule the airwaves.
What’s the harm in cheering up the dreary, cold days of January with some festive lights? January weather is typically much more brutal than December’s, so why not use those lights to warm things up a bit and give us some hope as we stare headfirst into the abyss that is the winter. Why should December be this wonderful month of gift-giving, vacation days, and feasts, leaving nothing for January except bad weather and maybe MLK day off if you’re lucky.
So stop giving your neighbors a hard time for leaving their lights up longer. Maybe they’re the ones with the right idea and you need to focus on something more important. I know what you’re thinking. How can I be so bold as to tell you to get a life, when I am sitting here discussing this inconsequential matter myself.
You make a valid point. But somebody has to take this stuff on. And it might as well be me, as I love to write and don’t do much else once the winter kicks in. You see I hate the cold and love lights. Once all the tinsel and decorations come down, I feel such a letdown that I can barely stand it. NO! I don’t need antidepressants. But some lights would be nice until spring. I’m just saying…why the need to go cold turkey. What’s the rush?
Dr. William Minor was a madman. He murdered a man, not in cold blood, but in a psychotic state. He spent his life in an asylum. He was mad, in every sense of the word, even cutting off his penis to cleanse himself of past sins (such as obsessive masturbation). Dr. Minor was also a genius. His mind, in fact, was credited to writing a bulk of the Oxford English Dictionary.
Had it not been for Minor’s crime and inability to leave the asylum, there may never have been the fll version of the Oxford English Dictionary – perhaps one of the greatest print undertakings of its time (a period spanning the early 1900s to around 1927).
I’ve found myself fantasizing about women lately. The smoothness of their skin, the scent of them, the way they buck their hips forward when a man (or woman for that matter) moves to taste them. Ever the feminist, I am somewhat surprised that I’ve neve had the experience of being in love with another woman.
A part of me thinks the reason Dr. Minor was able to stay so intent on his work helping to define over 400,000 words, is because he was in love with Professor James Murray (the spearhead of the Osford dictonary project). While both Murray and Minor claimed to be straight, I’m not so sure I believe it. And a part of me wonders if it was the guilt over his feelings for Murray that propelled Minor to amputate his penis.
Anne H. had an affair with Ellen that spanned over three years. She ultimately left Ellen because she felt that she wasn’t “allowed” to have other friends and associations within the context of that lesbian relationship. Ellen simply said “I don’t want a girlfreind who wants those things,” speaking Anne’s request for more personal space and friends of both sexes. Anne, it turns out, wound up with a man.
I wonder, was Anne even bisexual? Or was Ellen a temp bandaide to the years of abuse Anne’s father had put her through as a child? Was she, in fact, straight?
Sexuality is such a confusing thing. At least, for me it is. I have heard that many “hardcore gays” don’t believe there is a such thing as bisexuality. Part of me believes that. Most of me doesn’t.
The fact is that I’ve always been attracted to both sexes. The grace and natural beauty of a woman is something that could never be compared to the hardness of a man’s body. The strip clubs I’ve been to have made me yearn to touch a woman in the most intimate of ways. And I’ve often found myself jealous of men – their ease at being able to be with a woman.
It’s not easy for a “straight” or “bi curious” woman to meet other women. Lesbians scoff at us, saying they don’t want to be anyone’s experiment. I don’t blame them for that. I can see how they would feel that way. At the same time, men have only one reaction when you tell them you think you are bisexual. Yep: (you guessed it) THREESOME!
I heard somewhere that one in three women confess to having fantasies about being with other women. Where are these women?
I once had a threesome. Make that a foursome. It was with a boyfriend and his younger brother. But more importantly, it was with his longtime “homegirl” (that’s how they referred to one another – something I felt was a little off putting but let slide by the mere virtue of her enormous tits). We went down on her, side to side. We took turns licking her and touching her. I loved kissing her and sucking on her nipples. I les. I haven’t been able to put her out of my mind for years.
Lately, I’ve begun talking to a woman whom I’m very interested in. However, I don’t know if it will ever “go there” because I’m entirely too self conscious to take it a step further with her. We have never met in person – only having met through personal ads. (She placed it, I responded). She is a goddess, I can see, through the pictures she’s shared with me. But my inate confidence that is natural for me with men (who seem to be so much easier and less complicated when it comes to getting them aroued) is entirely missing when it comes to this woman.
My thighs are too fat. My stomach hangs too low (a side effect from childbirth). My face now has wrinkles. And I’m surely, just overall, too fat, to be with her.
I know it’s ridiculous.
I have been posting on a site called Lesbian Memoirs. There, I have met some of the nicest women you could possibly think to meet. These women have embraced me and my uncertain sexuality. These women feel like family to me. They are encouraging and they never judge. They are what I always thought lesbians would be.
I have been assured, by this woman, that she’s more interested in a mental connection than a physical one and that she is, indeed, interested in me in a sexual way. But something inside of me tells me different.
Is it that the women I’ve known are naturally catty? Or is it something else? I’m not sure.
I’ve never had many female friends and I’ve alwasys felt competition over men around them. I grew up with no sisters and a strained relationship with m mother. Sometimes, I wonder if that’s waht this is all about – having nothing to do with what is feeling like an overwhelming desire to eat pussy these days.
Women don’t have penis’s to cut off. Maybe, if I did, I’d better understand where Dr. Minor was coming from. Afterall, it’s hard for me not to feel a kinship with a crazy, word-loving mad man. He and I are not that different, after all…
A lesbian is suing Netflix amid concerns that the company did not do enough to ensure user data would remain anonymous once released and made available to the public.
Wired reports that the mother of two is suing the movie rental company alleging Netflix made it possible for her to be “outed” by disclosing insufficiently anonymous information about nearly half-a-million customers. The information was disclosed as part of the company’s bid to find a more reliable recommendation system for customers.
When Netflix released the 100 million movie ratings, along with the date of the rating the company assigned a unique ID number to the subscriber, and the movie information. However, according to Wired, two Texas University students quickly identified a number of Netflix subscribers by comparing their “anonymous” reviews in the data to ones posted on IMDb.
According to the suit, the woman believes that were her sexual orientation made public, it would negatively affect her ability to pursue her livelihood and support her family as well as hinder her and her children’s ability to live peaceful lives.
Filed in a federal court in California on Thursday, the suit alleges that Netflix violated fair-trade laws and a federal privacy law protecting video rental records. The anonymous woman is demanding $2,500 in damages for each of more than 2 million Netflix customers.
I have a treat for you! Heres a link to a new website for you to check out! Its called Urban L Magazine and is geared towards th urban lesbian. This site is AWESOME! Make sure you check it out and show the site some love!
William Burroughs’ last diary entry [1997] – What is love? Most natural painkiller. What there is.
Good one.
I’ve been writing again and actually not finding enough time to do it, which is actually a good sign.
Interviewer: What about the rest of us? What’s going to save the rest of us?
Gibson: Acceptance.
Good one.
None of it is news, absolutely not, but it is always reassuring to feel validated, affirmed. Gibson said he got the feeling that Burroughs had come to terms with killing his wife in a blackout in Mexico, that, “at the end of his life, he was OK.”
Redemption.
I really thought I was OK today, but I got home, sat down … whacked my head … I am purely fucking enraged on a permanent basis, it seems – seething freaking undercurrents, I’m resentful. That BLOODY old woman’s disapproval is all it is. So … let it wash over one, they say. It ain’t that easy, I have been rather well bloody and truly conditioned. I emailed two places I would like to work. I did a gentle and unproductive job-hunt online too. Any work plus what I’m doing now would be good.
I miss her, I miss her, I MISS her.
We’re making good moves towards involving me more in her life and all of a goddamn sudden the brakes are on from my side and it’s not my motherfucking fault.
I do have loads and loads of faith in the future, for a change, because my lover’s in it. That should help in the interim and who knows, perhaps it is. I never know whether I’d be better under different circs, different medication, different whateverthefuck, I’m so horribly used to monitoring my headspace and it’s frustrating as hell. Conflict feels like a torture chamber. I never know what’s normal and what’s me being over-sensitive or whatever.
Why is it that people are so afraid to offend people anymore? I grew up learning that people and organizations will have its disagreements, that that nothing was wrong with that. Perhaps I was mistaken.
This new wave of boredom and suffocation of free thought is attacking the communications industry. This ‘American’ market has gotten so uptight, that if someone even mutters something that could be taken the wrong way (cough, articulate, cough), there is a monster uproar. Here are a few issues I believe deserve the most attention:
Race:
Probably the longest battle fought when it comes to being political correct. A black or Hispanic person walks into a room, and all of a sudden the white crowd starts stumbling over their words. Even worse, companies and other organizations disapprove of anything targeting ethnic groups (even when it is ‘okay’ to do so).
Calm down. Race is only a big deal when you make it one. Our society’s fear of attacking it only makes it a bigger taboo. What ever happened to celebrating differences? That’s cool too, you know.
To think that if creative shops did all-white ads, all-black ads, all-Latino ads, they would be put under fire as being racist? Really? If the shop came out and said that it hated the other races, then that “ASSumption” would be realized. If not, give them the benefit of the doubt. Besides, diversity is so in right now, those businesses that refused to work with others would be either pigeonholed, or phased out economically.
But wouldn’t be sweet if that didn’t even matter??
Body Composition (Skinny vs. the Fat Kids):
Ah, cue fashion industry. I realize that this issue dealt with mainly the overall health of young women; who idolized these super skinny and super unhealthy images of models. So I am just going to say these couple things-
As long as you’re healthy:
-being skinny is OKAY
-being full is OKAY
-being big is OKAY
If you love yourself, who the hell cares what other people think?
But will organizations come right out and say that? Of course not. Being ‘forward’ and ‘direct’ is so brash. Let’s go with “real beauty campaigns” and the “real woman”
I want to see Dunkin’ Donuts come out with a group of 7 300-pound men going to town on Boston Cremers with the subtitle, “Wednesday.”
Yes.
Sexual Orientation:
According to this report about sexual orientation, four percent of the U.S. voting population self-identified themselves as something other than heterosexual.
Why aren’t there any gay/lesbian ads out there? Why the stark difference between the straight landscape, and the gay/lesbian underground?
Whether you agree with it or not, it is a market that deserves attention (the arab population in the U.S. is a little over 1%, yet they get a bunch of attention).
Put your big pants on America. If you want to be the leader of the Free World, do not stray away from issues at home.
And communicators, why are we SO afraid to push the envelope? Back in the hayday of advertising and marketing, we were setting the trends! Now we’re lucky if we can keep up.
” Tana I want you to go back to a time before all of this happened. When you were a little girl and you felt loved. Can you do that for me? What do you see?” The woman with the blue suit asked me as she pushed her glasses up to her face. “Tana? What do you see?” With a long sigh I start to explain what would be considered a laundry list. No details just bullets of what happened. ” My Mommy and Daddy fighting. I see broken glass frames and my Mommy crying. Then the police come and take me away.” It was simple, she asked what it was like before THIS had happened and that IS what happened. I never told her about the baths or the late night visits to my room… I couldn’t.”(excerpt from my book)
::: This is extremely personal and at times may be too much for someone to read. I hope more so than upsetting you, you can feel closer to my experiences in life. Pass judgment if you wish. Had you of never been told this you would never know this. Remember the next time your on a bus, train or walking down the street – everyone has a past..::
It’s almost 6:30am and I find myself rustling through papers. I am looking for documents I need for finishing my book. At times reading through my psychological from when I was a child becomes too much. Its one thing to know what you think about yourself and the events you encountered, but to have a stranger with a PHD write about you makes me sick.
“Tana suffers from extensive sexual abuse trauma. It seems as if Tana is able to speak of the sexual encounters without reacting. She is unresponsive to her emotions.” 1998 Clinical Report
They have no idea how easy it has become. I am so desensitized from it and the world. I find myself watching the news sometimes and not once wincing at the horror I see on TV. What have I become? Is this my dark passenger? I deal with loss and grief in the most inhumane ways, as I have been told. I seem bitter and cold. Recently I lost a dear friend of mine – yet I could not find tears. This is not because I was not sad but because I know people will leave me. They always do at some point.
I consider myself to be two-faced. Before you or anyone else takes this out of context let me elaborate the reason I picked the term two-faced. On the outside I have a beautiful polished mask that allures people. They see what I want them to see. The girl who has her shit together. But under it is a darken and damaged soul. Growing up I was always popular. I had a great deal of friends in school. I loved everyone! I was apart of sports and clubs and loved it. It was a front of what was going on. No one knew I left school everyday 15 minutes early just to make it to the doctor. For six months in 6th grade and 7th grade I would leave and go to therapy at 2:45 everyday. The teachers knew however my fellow classmates did not.
While in the sessions I would talk about school and how my “home” life was going. Home life meaning my foster parents house. That is another amazing fabrication that not many people know. Luckily for me the town I lived in was so small that I was blessed enough to never have to leave schools when I was placed into a different home.
It’s funny how the one person you need most has been around the corner all along. I lived 10 minutes from the place I once called my hell. After I was taken away from my mother I went and stayed with family. My family was no longer able to care for me due to recent events in their lives. I stayed with a various group of families. One foster mother stating that she could not have me in her home because I refused to sleep without my door being locked. Another said that when I did fall asleep the screaming in my dreams woke her up at all hours of the night.
They say the best is saved for last! This is true but before you get to the last you must have a horrible one. The next home I was placed in was with a woman and a man who had a baby girl they adopted and a teen age girl. The teen age girl shall be called Princess, since she was a self-proclaimed one. Princess would always try to get me to be her bitch. Asking me to do this and that. Get her this drink and find her this shoe. I refused. The foster-mother would beat me and send me to bed without food. On the weekends I was forced to wake up at 5am and feed the dogs. Rain or shine I would be out there. How could it be I could go from being molested every night of my life and escape that hell only to find this one. While there, my mother would write me. The evil woman I was forced to call Miss Emily would read them out loud and skip parts of the letter saying it would upset me. I was hurt. I wanted to know what my mother said. My mother never touched me and hurt me but its true her words stabbed me like 1,000 needles. It was her illness and I was able to see past that.
Emily continued to take my letters for weeks. One day after I came home from therapy I said I would kill myself if she did not let me have my letters. She called 911 they took me away. I was sent to a hospital only to be pushed into a drug induced state of euphoria. I could not speak most of the time. The drugs were so strong I just slept. The day turned into a week and then two. Until it was time for me to return back to hell. Before returning to Emily’s house we had a visit with the therapy center. They wanted to do a family meeting. I was asked why I wanted to die. I told the doctors about what had gone on. Emily and Princess let their true colors show. The therapist expressed her concerns for me staying in that home. She at one point told the foster-mother she needed to report the abuse. The foster-mother made threats to the therapist. DEFACS could not find a placement for me at the time so I was sent to private therapy center.
While there I experienced which to me now would be considered funny, but at the time horribly scary. My roommate was an open lesbian with the hots for me. I would wake up from drug induced sleep with someone breathing over me. Let me just say this is no fun. I would yell for a staff member. She would come in the room and the bitch was already in her bed! I looked crazy! I spoke to my case worker many times that week begging for her to find me a home. She said she found one but I could not go there until the next day. Later that day a staff member came and told me a gentleman was here to get me. His name was Paul. He was older with gray hair. He was in his early 50’s. He spoke with a soft voice. “Hi Tana, I am Paul. You will be staying with my wife and myself tonight. Lets grab your bags.”
While in the car he drove and held his index finger over his lips like he was in deep thought. I was terrified. I had not been alone in a room never-the-less a car with a man in forever. I was too afraid. He seem harmless but everyone seems harmless. An hour or so later we pulled into a neighborhood with houses two and three stories high. We pulled into the drive way of a brick house. “We’re here!” He said. “Let’s grab your bags and get you some food.” I walked in a a woman about 5′2 stood at the door with her arms open and said ” Hello Tana! I am Jan.” She had the most amazingly calming eyes and voice. She looked like a saint. ” I want you to meet my sister and brother-in-law. They are in town with us now. Put your things down and lets eat!”
While at dinner they asked me what I liked and told silly jokes. This felt like a family. Is this what normal was? Later I was introduced to their niece who was struggling with cancer. She was now living with them. It was her sister’s child. “Tana I am sorry to say I can only offer my couch but its a bed if you would like.” I smiled. “Thank you. It will be fine.” Later that night as I was getting read to take a shower Jan told me she had left some things in the bathroom for me. I walked in and saw a yellow towel folded to perfecting with a tooth-brush and tooth paste waiting on me. “Tana feel free to use anything in the bathroom and if there is something you need let me know! I am sorry to say I don’t have any more combs or brushed but I will get you one in the morning.”
I did not sleep. I laid there wishing that the following day I would soon find a family like this. A family that could love me. A place where I could sleep and my bedroom door not have to be locked. “Tana, Tana its time to get up!” I must have at some point drifted off from the medication. I was on a set list of pills to take. One for my depression and one for my insomnia. “Here lets grab you some juice so you can take your meds! Is Apple Juice ok? ” I nodded and smiled. She truly was what someone would want in a mother. She was humble and caring. After taking my meds we got my bags together and went to her car. My heart waved good-bye to what seemed like heaven.
On the way to the DEFACS office she stopped at CVS and got me a comb and brush. “Tana, do you see anything else you might like?” I smiled and said no thanks. “How about some food?” We pulled up to the Chick-fil-A parking lot and went to the drive through. I ordered and began to eat while we drove. We were almost to DEFACS before I thought I would fix my drink and the stubborn straw! I hate their cups to this day! Damn Styrofoam! I busted the bottom of the cup. It started to leak in her car. I was horrified. She laughed and opened the window. I poured it out and began to nervously say how sorry I was. She took my hand and squeezed it and said “It’s fine Tana it’s just a car.” (while thinking of this I am starting to cry.) I could not believe it. I was not going to be beat or punished for making a mistake. Her hands were soft and a bit cold, but it warmed my heart.
As we pulled up to DEFACS I saw my case worker and said goodbye to Jan. She told Danette I was a very sweet girl, very charming and funny. She gave me a hug and kissed my head and said “I hope I get to see you again…”
My next home was a complete disaster. I was hit and slapped and treated horribly. If you remember what I said before there is always the bad before the good. After what would be considered my second attempt to commit suicide I was placed in the hospital for a month. I was drugged everyday to sleep and to eat. I was watched to make sure I ate. I had to wait an hour before going to the bathroom after every meal. My life was stored in a medical chart. The month was over and it was time for me to leave. I was happy and yet sad. I was watching the news that day and Aaliyah ( 2001) had died. I kept thinking what an amazing singer she was and how horrible it was. As the girls around me cried I sat there and waited to leave. “Tana your parents are here for you!” A nurse yelled. My heart started to beat fast. MY PARENTS! What? I got up and turned around….
There he stood. His white button down and his gray hair. “Hey Tana! How would you like to come and live with me and Jan?” At that time I felt as if my heart was about to burst. I was going to have a home. A beautiful home and a family to love me! This was fate! I had endured a horrible childhood to find a family to love me. I can now sleep without the fear of being hurt. I had found happiness… for now.
Jan and Paul are still in my life. I call them Grandma and Grandpa. We have been a family almost ten years now. They are the reason I am able to write this. If it was not for them I would not be here. This is for you <3
- To this day I can not sleep without my doors being locked. I check them before I go to bed. Though I was never hurt again as a child I still to this day can not find a way to sleep without my doors being locked. Even my room door.
:: I hope you liked this. I wanted to give a little insight into who I am and why I respond to things the way I do. I am not shy or ashamed of my life. I will shed more into my life and my book later on. This is more so a sample of what my book will be like. I don’t want to make it to rated R. I would rather you wait till I finish my book and pick it up. ::
Mitrice Richardson in People Magazine, top right; finally, the pressure got to Sheriff Baca, but it may be too late (Courtesy: thecwexperience)
The proof is in the messy little car she drove during her final days.
I say that because Mitrice was living out of her car, though she was not homeless and had more than enough money in the bank. She had not slept in five days when she made that fateful trip to Malibu. Her friends, when asked about it, did not find this a perplexing development; they had known her to do this before and had thought nothing of it. But it was evidence of Mitrice’s deteriorating condition. Her journals were found there, which gave psychologists a clear view of her state of mind up to that time. And again, the findings reflect badly on the Malibu Agoura-Lost Hills Sheriff’s Department’s version of events during that night.
The mental health professionals who read the journals at the request of police say Richardson may have been suffering from severe bipolar disorder, [Detective Chuck] Knolls said.
Police uncovered four or five journals — small bound books as well as spiral notebooks — in the car she drove Sept. 16 to Geoffrey’s in Malibu, where she behaved bizarrely, spoke in gibberish and ordered a steak dinner and cocktail.
When she said she couldn’t pay her $89.21 tab, staff at the restaurant called the Sheriff’s Department. “She sounds really crazy,” a staffer said during the call, a tape of which is posted on the website findmitrice.info.
Okay, for those who don’t know all the psychological terms, here is an explanation.
A bipolar episode is marked either by deep depression or by alternating episodes of mania (very high levels of energy–and crankiness and oversensitivity) and deep depression. In more extreme cases, the sufferer may also experience hallucinations and delusions.
What’s even more confusing is that these episodes are also marked by periods of ‘normal’ behavior, like a valley between two mountains, in which the individual may seem rational and functioning, but they are not. They certainly are not rational. Taken altogether, the condition is called “rapid cycling.”
Remember that the sheriff’s deputies were so adamant that Mitrice appeared normal when she was released, and that when one of the jailers spoke to her, she was rational and talked about briefly about music? That Mitrice could take care of herself and more tellingly, that she was an adult and responsible for herself? Mitrice could have just had a bout of mania in the restaurant, and when she was at the jail, she could have had one of her valley-like periods of normality.
Oh, man.
Heads are rolling with this revelation, especially since the Richardsons and their supporters have repeatedly maintained that Mitrice should have been sent along to the County mental health facility for psychiatric observation. Instead, the deputies were not doing their jobs. They did not do everything by the book. They were lax and disinterested when it came to a human life; heedless and arrogant when they should have remembered that the staff and manager at Geoffrey’s said that Mitrice seemed unbalanced and odd, especially when she said she was from outer space. The deputies were probably convinced that this black woman had put one over on the restaurant to get a free Kobe steak dinner, when it was much, much more serious than that. And they didn’t give a good goddamn to look deeper.
No doubt, the sheriff’s deputies’ version of events, like their official report, is going to need further revision-and more excuses–to back them up. But this time, the authorities are standing on really shaky ground.
There’s been a steadily increasing drumbeat of disapproval of and media spotlight on the Malibu Sheriff’s Department’s actions since Mitrice disappeared. For instance, there is an online petition to have Mitrice’s disappearance probed by the Justice Department, although the LAPD have insisted that the FBI’s presence in the case was not warranted. So far, over 3,500 signatures have been garnered, with 5,000 needed. On November 23, the Los Angeles Times weighed in with a very pointed editorial about the lack of compassion, foresight, and common sense evinced by the deputies involved in this case.
The Sheriff’s Department can’t be a taxi service, and the people it arrests have to be responsible for their own welfare once they’re released. Yet the department shouldn’t ignore the difficulties imposed on those it hauls off for booking. Policymakers should explore ways to ensure that people booked after hours with no way to get home, like Richardson, have options — for example, a shuttle to a public transportation hub or easy access to their car. In limited cases, such as when witnesses see signs of mental illness, it may even be wise to hold suspects until morning. A few extra hours of inconvenience is a reasonable trade-off for avoiding tragedy.
The City of Malibu pledged to meet the Los Angeles City Council’s reward of $10,000 towards information leading to the recovery of the young woman. Residents of the upscale community slowly became aware of the incident as Mitrice’s supporters, sometimes led by her father, canvassed the area with leaflets and conducted their own searches. Some began to show their concern in print in their local weekly newspapers, and in contributions. Every other week, Michael Richardson was in the news, conducting interviews with local media, marshaling his motorcycle club to ride on Mitrice’s behalf, having a prayer session with family and supporters in Los Angeles. Mitrice’s photograph appeared on the cover of People Magazine with an accompanying story, as part of a focus on missing children and young adults. Her parents have formally asked for U.S. Representative Maxine Waters to take a look at the case. Activist Jasmyne Cannick asked blacks to “nut up or shut up” about learning the fate of Mitrice Richardson, that she was our equivalent of Jaycee Dugard, and to get involved. It was on.
As a result, the now-embattled County Sheriff Lee ‘by the book’ Baca finally met with Mitrice’s father last Friday, December 11, and opened a homicide investigation on Mitrice Richardson, says the Orange County Register, though there is no proof that Mitrice is dead or alive.
Los Angeles Sheriff Lee Baca decided to open a homicide investigation after meeting with Richardson’s father on Friday, spokesman Steve Whitmore said. That clears the way for the department to bring its “top-flight investigators” into the case, he said.
Whitmore said there has not been any new information that leads investigators to believe that Richardson was the victim of a homicide.
“It’s not that we believe the person’s dead,” he said. “We just want to get to the bottom of this.”
The Los Angeles Police Department has taken charge of the missing-person case, with its homicide detectives already leading the investigation. The Sheriff’s Department has assisted with the search, and Whitmore said it now plans to make some of its best detectives available to the investigative team.
Yeah, right–you want to get to the bottom of this. It may be a bit late for that. Had they put their resources immediately into the search instead of footdragging and breastbeating about their honor as cops, Mitrice might have been found alive.
What else did the journals reveal?
Mitrice Richardson, smiling for the camera; near the end, she wrote about her pain in journals and notebooks (Courtesy: OC Register)
In interviews with Knolls and Michael Richardson, a portrait emerges of an intensely spirited young woman grappling with a variety of issues — her sexual orientation, her career aspirations, her feelings about her family.
According to her father, she wanted to be a club promoter. In addition to her day job as an executive assistant at a freight company, she worked part time as a go-go dancer at Debra’s @ The Beach at Club Ripples, a gay and lesbian nightclub in Long Beach that features women dancers on Friday nights.
And though she had a long relationship with a woman who lives in San Francisco, Richardson had recently become captivated by another woman who rebuffed her interest, according to her father.
“This was the biggest slap in the face,” her father said. He quoted her writing: ” ‘It’s tough to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.’ ”
Richardson said he only now realizes that she was also bedeviled by a mental disorder.
In the five days leading up to her arrest, she apparently had not slept, instead phoning, texting, making entries on her MySpace and Facebook pages and writing in her journals around the clock.
“It’s hard to find a spot when she rested,” Knolls said of the sequence of events.
Mitrice had lovely handwriting, according to her father, but even this trait from time to time disintegrated into scrawls. Michael Richardson reported that he was still finding her notebooks at her former home with her grandmother. The young woman scribbled where she could find bound paper, trying to make sense of her life.
So where could Mitrice be?
Detective Knolls admits that the most likely scenario is that Mitrice suffered death by misadventure, that is, “she may have succumbed to the elements.” Furthermore, he, like some others in the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department, thinks that the terrain around the station where Mitrice was last seen alive should be searched to the east and west.
Then get there, and do it right.
Another possibility is that Mitrice may have committed suicide out in the open, with no food or water to sustain her or had an accident from which she did not recover. Failing that, the least likely scenario is that Mitrice may have been rescued by someone with whom she is now having a relationship. Her father believes that she is alive. Until Mitrice breaks up with this individual, the scenario goes, she may not wish to reconnect with the old life–her family and friends. As much as I would like to think that this latter may be the case, if Mitrice had been found by a mountain lion or a sexual predator, weakened, perhaps injured, and weary, she would not have been left alive.
Her poor scattered bones are out there, somewhere. Bring them back so that her people could have some closure. The LAPD have asked that Mitrice’s parents provide DNA samples to the Department of Justice to make identification possible. Detective Steven Eguchi, the other detective assigned to the case said, “This is standard operating procedure. It is not out of the ordinary [...].”
If Mitrice Richardson had been blonde and white, this case wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary.
Im so excited! I recieved a tweet form B.Scott this afternoon after sending him the post on how great he looked at the event with Debbie Allen! This is exciting! I feel like a kid again! Lol! WOOOOHOOO ! B.Scott!I am a very happy love muffin! Double kisses! Buy bye! Lol
We are getting ready for our Christmas activities.
Our carol service is on Sunday 20th December at 4.30pm as usual.
On Christmas Eve we are joining with our friends at Wilbraham St Ninian’s for their Midnight service starting at 11.30pm.
On Christmas Day we join our hosts as we all go to Chorlton Central Church (where Rev Ruth Dillon is also the minister) for a 10.45am Christmas Day service.
On Sunday 27th December we welcome the Rev Mia Andersen our newly retired pastor from MCC Copenhagen as our guest preacher. Mia and her partner Laurence are with us for Christmas and are excited about being in the UK for the festive season. We will go for a meal together after worship on 27th – sign up in church if you wish to come.
On Monday 28th we are going to go for a walk in Lyme Park in Cheshire – again sign up if you wish to come.
Finally, there are two musical events which might interest you.
On 8th January the vocal group The Sixteen are at the Bridgewater Hall Celebrating Handel. They will perform some of Handel’s most popular works including the four coronation anthems. Tickets are £19. Do let me know if you wish to come.
In January and February Les Miserables will be playing at the Palace Theatre in Manchester. I don’t know how much seats are, but let me know if you are interested in coming.
Love,
Andy
Andy Braunston
Pastor
Metropolitan Community Church of Manchester www.mccmanchester.co.uk
Tantra massage is a great way for gays to connect sexually with no health risks. Joseph Kramer developed the Taoist erotic massage for this exact reason when Aids first hit the USA.Soon it was found that this type of tantra massage lead to deep sexual healing and also resulted in powerful orgasms. Sometimes the orgasms did not result in ejaculation and continues for minutes.
Sometimes the man or woman receiving the massage entered trance states beyond breath or thoughts. This allowed a merging of sexuality and spirituality on a profound level.The basis of this massage is to breath from the belly with no gap between the in and the out breath.
All the effort in the breath is on the in breath. One totally relaxes on the out breath. It is important to have the mouth open on the out breath and to make some sounds. Ahh is a good sound to try if you need to start sounding.The making of sexual sounds allows the energy that builds up in the genitals to move though out the body. By making sounds the energy moves up to the head and out into the room.
Most guys have a tendency to masturbate with shallow breathing and to make little sounds. This really blocks the energy moving in the body and the depth of ones experiences. Genial massage is an important part of the tantra massage technique for gays. Another addition is to include prostate stimulation to really ramp up the energy.
One finishes the massage with the big draw technique that I cover below in my free newsletter.
Whether you met her online and she lives a thousand miles away, or if you were in a relationship together and one of you had to move, maintaining a long distance lesbian relationship can be challenging. This article will offer you advice on how to keep the love alive in a long distance lesbian relationship. The best way to ensure a long distance relationship is going to work is if you have a strong foundation to begin with. If your relationship is rocky to begin with, staying together while miles apart is going to be much harder.
Maybe you’re apart while she’s in school or in the military. Have a plan and discuss what is going to happen at the end of that commitment. If one of you has to move for a job, decide in advance how long you will live apart–one year, six months–compromise and come up with a solution that works for both of you. If you don’t have a definite plan, one of you may feel that the other has the control over your relationship. Bi-national couples are the exception here, of course.
lesbian dating site which enables women of all ages to contact and get to know each other in a safe, secure and friendly environment. Check out the photo personals which have been posted by lesbian and bisexual women in your local area, chat in ‘real time’ with other members who are on line at the same time as you and send messages to, or receive messages from other ladies who are looking for the same things as you are. It only takes a few short minutes to join this exciting lesbian dating site and we guarantee that it is 100% FREE to do so. The profiles at PlanetSappho have been specifically designed to enable you to achieve maximum compatibility when you’re searching for a new partner; whether you’re seeking a genuine relationship, friendship, flirty chat or some fun, casual encounters, you’ll be able to search for other women who are looking for exactly the same as you are. That’s why it’s important to be as open about yourself as you can when you create your profile; the more information your provide about yourself, the more likely you are to be contacted by other members who are just right for you.
Safety and security is paramount at PlanetSappho. And as we offer dating, personals and chat aimed solely at lesbian and bisexual women, we can assure you that you will be entering an all female environment.
Two LGBT community supporters are the latest MAC Cosmetics Viva Glam spokesmodels: Cindy Lauper and Lady GaGa. Every cent of the selling price of products in the Viva Glam line go to the MAC AIDS Fund. Previous spokesmodels include everyone from songstresses Fergie and Eve, burlesque queen Dita von Teese and professional drag extraordinaire RuPaul.
The last couple of weeks I have coped with a lot of hostility, prejudice and ignorance concerning my sexuality. I could sit here and give genetic and biological factors on the reason I am gay but I don’t feel like it. Instead I am just going to give it to you from my heart. It’s kind of where it all comes from anyway.
I actually cried, well okay it wasn’t a full blown cry but I did have a few tears. I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. (no pun intended) It was a combination of a week filled with question after question, joke after joke, dumb ass after dumb ass.
Imagine this for a second. You are laughing, having a beer with friends and playing pool when you have to use the facilities. I walk in the stall and pull one of those toilet seat covers out and it rips in half. I have to giggle a little because I actually considered using it and only sitting on half the seat. Don’t worry I didn’t. I pulled another one out and was sitting there when I heard the door open and a woman’s voice. “Is that your girlfriend out there?” I ignore this because it is not a familiar voice. If it was a person I knew then they would know that was not my girlfriend out there.
“Hey is that your girlfriend?” echoes again.
“Uh, NO” I quietly say because I have no idea who is asking me this crap but I am the only other person in the restroom so I know it is directed towards me.
“Oh, well if it was it would be okay.”
“What?” I reply as I am walking out of the stall towards the sink. The expression on my face in the mirror is one of confusion. I am wondering if I have just entered the twilight zone. I shake my head.
“My Aunt is gay and some times my husband and I play poker with her and her friend. Sometimes when I do good I kiss my husband and they do the same thing sometimes and it freaks me out. I mean I am sorry but, ew, I just can’t look. You know what I mean?” she says with a nervous giggle.
I don’t reply to her. I don’t even know who this woman is. She obviously watched me walk in the restroom. I don’t think she walked in the restroom and looked under the stall and said “OH wow, those Nikes must be gay.” Why is she telling me this and does she really believe it is okay to tell me this randomness?
As she walks out of the stall I am drying my hands. I modestly look at her and give her my best fake smile that really implies “I want to slap your ignorant ass into the next century where perhaps you can find an ounce of comprehension.”
“You don’t look like one of them. You are pretty but I don’t mean it like that.” She says as she stutters. “I mean you know what I mean.”
Everything in me wants to wink at her and say “No, what do you mean sugar britches?” and slap her on the ass but of course I do not. I would love to see her go in to a homophobic coma however that is not how I roll.
“No, not really, I do not know what ‘THEM’ look like and you should kiss your husband when you play well, not good.” I say and walk out the door.
As I walk back to my friends I can’t help but think how she even knows I am gay. When she signed up for pool league was there a clause that stated “Nikki on the team that plays at 8:00 is gay? Please feel free to discuss your family issues and phobias with her while she pees.” I don’t know this woman. I still don’t even know her name. OR do I want to!
Last night I defended my sexuality to a douche bag who is over 60 years OLD, in a bar at closing, hanging out with people in their twenties and a wife at home. Yes, I do realize I should not care what the fat fuck thought but I guess I had enough. When he looked at me and said “it is okay that you choose to be that way. You have a good personality and are pretty so I still like you.” I nearly came untrained. If I would have been in different surroundings I would have stooped to his level and berated him like a red headed step child. I asked him if he chose to be attracted to women. Of course his answer was “no, I love women naturally.” I looked at him silently waiting for him to catch on but he never did. I had to walk off.
I could go into some other stories but I am over them. The moral of this story is simple. We are all different yet we strive for the same things. I firmly believe in the phrase, “Don’t hate, educate.” This is why I am telling this story. It is my attempt to promote greater acceptance, understanding and overall mutual respect. I can assure you if a person is prejudice they have a deeper hate for themselves individually than the stereotype they are belittling. I can handle the hatred because I am essentially the most beautiful person I know. The woman who said those things to me simply has a low IQ and doesn’t get out much. I can forgive that. One day the man who said those things to me will eventually figure out that an erection isn’t personal growth.
In the meantime, stop the hating people. Meet the individual, not the skin color, sexuality or religion. Unless a gay person starts slapping you on the ass and chasing you through the house you are safe. Truth is, we don’t like you just because you are of the same sex. It takes a little more than that. Sorry to burst your bubble.
“Every citizen of this country should have that legal right to be married. Marriage the word actually does mean something because people who see a gay coupling as a lesser thing in society can continue to [think] it’s lesser than marriage when really it’s the exact same thing. The exact same love, the exact same commitment, love of family.” (Portia de Rossi)
Thanks for this quote, Portia – even though I probably won’t ever get married – it’s such a true statement! Halla!
The sleek blue 1983 Lamborghini cut through the night air like a mother-in-law cuts into a sterile son-in-law’s dignity. Alex Scott bought the car from a police auction two years prior and it had once belonged to a former Soviet arms dealer named Nikita Verelenko. At one time Alex had almost started an international incident after mistaking a landmine left in the trunk for a space age walkman. He was indicted on three counts of terrorism after trying to sell it on eBay but it was decided he wasn’t guilty just dim-witted (it now says dim-witted on his police records)
The car had seen better days. One of the doors was even replaced with a dryer door from a local Laundromat but Alex didn’t care, he still claimed he could “make women’s toes curl” in it. Alex’s friend, Rick Turner, was less than convinced. With his long dirty blonde locks blowing in the wind Rick turned to Alex:
“Alex!” Rick had to scream because Alex had retracted the roof of the car (the car didn’t come as a convertible but after Alex had taken a chainsaw and duct tape to it the car had become one)
“What Rick?”
“Do you think we’ll actually find women at this place?”
“Rick, it’s not possible to walk out of here without a girl and if you’re lucky maybe even two or three. My friend went here last week and he said there were only two other men in the whole club. The rest were women.”
“Yeah. That’s all well and good but do you think we can find women here? We’ve never had that much luck before.”
“Speak for yourself. I picked up a girl at a bar just last week.”
“The Ukrainian girl?”
“Yes, the Ukrainian girl. What? You didn’t like her?”
“You mean besides the fact that she robbed you at three in the morning and sped away in your mother’s Miata?”
“She obviously robbed me so she can keep my memory with her at all times. She probably missed my scent.”
“I was unaware that your PIN number carried the scent of your Tom Selleck cologne.”
“Well it does.”
“So, does your mom still think the guy who owns the Fruit Shack has her car?”
“Yeah. I think she’s getting suspicious though being that Alejandro rides his bike everywhere.”
Alex’s Lamborghini pulled up to the bar. His car was the most noticeable in the lot thanks to the gaudy cobra that Alex painted onto the side and a bumper sticker that read “Communists Spread the Love” that he was never able to peel off from the previous owner. The neon lights from the club filled the car with the promise of many girls and little need for pants.
“Cat Calls? That’s the name of the club?” Rick asked.
“Yeah man. Trust me this place is swimming with women. And we’ll be on the lookout for the ones with the least to lose. Women are like baby seals. Lure them into your boat with the promise of a free meal then club them in the back of the head.”
“You didn’t actually bring a club with you did you?” Rick had worry about this sort of stuff ever since Alex’s ‘chloroform rag’ incident hospitalized three waitresses and a Salvation Army worker last Christmas Eve.
“No stupid, I didn’t bring a club. We’re at the club.” Alex responded.
“So what was the club a metaphor for?” Rick asked.
“The club.”
“The club was a metaphor for the club?”
“Now you got it.”
Rick was confused. Anyone would be confused.
The two men walked into the club and sure enough laid their sights upon the sea of women that filled the establishment.
“Look at that!” Alex exclaimed “I haven’t seen this many women in one room since my grandmother’s ‘Murder She Wrote’ role playing party.”
“Yeah. How do we go about this? Do we start talking to them?”
“No, we have to play a role.”
“A role?”
“Yes. Lie a little. Tell them you’re something you’re not. Not many women are going to be impressed by two General Managers at a Blockbuster Video. We need to entice them with something.”
They weren’t really General Managers but in fact Assistant Managers. They took all of their orders from a 17-year-old pyromaniac who suffered from gout. He was promoted ahead of both Alex and Rick because he was never caught stealing foreign films that promised “Brief Nudity.”
Alex then spotted two women sitting at a table alone.
“Those two right over there. They look lonely.” Alex grabbed Rick and began to walk.
“They’re not very good looking.” Rick screamed as he chased Alex down to the dance floor.
“They don’t have to be. We’re not going to pick these girls up. We’re just going to hit on them and build up our confidence. It’s like a warm up. Like how competitive eaters throw up before a match so they can get their stomach acids flowing…”
“Or how people soak their hands in warm water so their fingers are loose before playing chess?”
Rick was actually a very accomplished chess player. He had been in three national tournaments and one was even televised. Unfortunately for Rick the tournament that was televised also happened to be the one where he lost in 45 seconds to an11-year-old Albanian chess prodigy named Besian Vlora. There was even a made-for TV-movie about Vlora’s life called “Game of Life: The Besian Vlora Story.” In the film Rick was erroneously thought to be a female by the producers and was played by portly former child actor, and “Facts of Life” star, Mindy Cohn.
“Drop the chess crap, ok? Last time you pulled that shit we got beat up by those weird Checkers fanatics. Just talk about something normal.”
“Like dinosaurs?”
“No. Not dinosaurs. Not anything. Talk about what the girl is wearing. Just keep complimenting her till she sleeps with you. Women feed on compliments…”
“Like a Brontosaurus feeds on greens?”
“Yes… just like that.”
The two men approached the women. Rick was wearing his only-funny-if-you’re-a-nerd-shirt that read “I’m Not a Pawn” which featured a picture of a white Chess pawn disobeying the king. While Alex was wearing his novelty shirt that read “Don’t Worry I’ll Have Your Daughter Back Safely.” No one ever found Alex’s misogynistic shirts funny and he was routinely splashed with pink paint by angry feminists.
“What are you gonna say to them?” Rick whispered.
“Just follow my lead.” Alex approached the women.
“Hey ladies. I don’t know if you two follow the Milwaukee Brewers, but I’m Alex Spiegel.” Alex had used this pickup line four times before and it had never worked. There was one woman who actually did believe he was on the Brewers but she just didn’t care.
“Shut up!” the one woman screamed. “I love the Brewers! My dad is their accountant. What position do you play?”
And this is when the woman inadvertently revealed Alex’s Achilles heel: he knew squat about sports.
“Yes Alex, what position did you play?” Rick asked with a smile on his face.
“Hummuna, Hummuna, Hummuna” Alex panicked. “Guard?” he answered.
The two women just stared at Alex in disgust as if he just told them that he enjoyed Jennifer Aniston films.
“This is why I hate people.” The women then turned away.
Alex and Rick then slunk back to their corner and began to game plan some more.
“That was all your fault!” Alex exclaimed “If you didn’t have that girly long hair they would have totally went for us. Cut your damn hair!”
“Me cut my hair? What about you with that bowl cut? You look like Shirley Maclaine!”
As the two men argued something suddenly caught Alex’s eye.
“Rick! Look at those women over there by the Virginia Slims machine.”
Rick looked over and saw two women that resembled sofas more than people.
“You mean the two fat ones?” Rick asked
“Nope, next to them.” Alex responded.
Alex then turned a little more and saw two women with faces that would repel even the scabbiest Leper.
“O man. The uggos? They look like those big rock things in Mario that try to crush you!” Rick asked
“Nope. Next to them.” Alex answered
Then Rick turned and saw who Alex was talking about. Two women. Two buzzcuts. Two pairs of combat boots.
“No! Them?” Rick scowled.
“Yes, them. C’mon. They meet all of the qualifications.” Alex smiled.
“What qualifications?” Rick asked.
“They’re women…”
“Barely.” Rick interrupted.
“And they’re breathing. There you go. Qualifications met.” Alex smiled.
“Alex, I think we can do better than this.
They can’t do better. Trust me. Narrators are never wrong.
“I know we can do better but let’s just try it out. The uglier the girl the less they say ‘no’ to. And I have a spare car battery in my trunk with one of their names on it.”
“I don’t need to have sex this bad.”
“Really. You haven’t had sex since the Bush Administration.” Alex reminded Rick.
“I know.” Rick looked down.
“The first term.”
“I know.”
“The last time you had sex iPods didn’t even exist yet. Now my 85-year-old grandmother has one. She didn’t even have a television until the 1970’s. Okay. I don’t think you can be picky. If you were on a deserted island dying of starvation and someone offered you a pulled pork sandwich would you look at them and say ‘Oh, no thanks I don’t like pork.’”
“No.”
“Exactly. So treat this girl like you’re starving and someone offered you a pork sandwich. You’re not eating it for the taste. You need it to survive. If you don’t start using those things dangling between your legs soon I’m afraid I’m going to have to give them to someone who will.”
“Fine. Ya know it’s not like you have sex that often either. You’re on the Summer Olympic Schedule, once every four years.”
“I had sex last week ass-for-brains. Remember Laurie Danvers?”
“Laurie Danvers? Isn’t that the girl that caught you outside her bathroom window with a pencil and sketch pad?”
“Yeah. Her dad caught me.”
“And then…?”
“And then told me if he saw me one more time he was gonna shove the pencil and pad down my throat so far it was gonna look like my colon was taking notes.”
The two men approached the women. Alex was hoping that the Susan Summers workout tape he stole from Blockbuster would help him with the ladies. Rick was hoping that the dimly lit bar atmosphere would help him look better. Rick had taken third place in the “World’s Best Looking Silhouette” for all of central Colorado last summer.
“Ladies. Can me and my friend buy you two a drink? Perhaps something of the cheap variety?” Alex asked.
The two women looked up and gave Alex one of those ‘There are four different varieties of ape I would rather have buy me a drink than you’ stares.
“No thanks pip-squeak. I really don’t think you belong here. Although…” the one woman looked right at Rick. “Your pretty friend can buy me a drink any day.”
Rick’s heart stopped for a moment. Then it started up again. Only to stop for another second. He hadn’t been this nervous since he accidently walked in on his ex-marine cousin crying during “Steel Magnolias.”
“Me? You want me to buy you a drink?” Rick shook.
“Sure. It’s better than your little friend over there.” She looked right at Alex who was busy trying to find loose change in the Virginia Slims machine. “My name is Pat by the way.” Pat’s burly physique stretched her clothing so much that it made the picture of James Dean on her shirt look like John Goodman.
“What a coincidence, so is mine.” Rick lied. One of Alex’s nuggets of advice was to lie about everything. His theory was that sex should be like a black-ops mission. You sneak in the middle of the night, try not to make eye contact and slip out before anyone even knew you were there or who you were.
“Are you new in town?” Pat asked as she drank out of a Long Island Ice Tea courtesy of a 20 dollar bill that was dangling out of the back of Alex’s pocket.
“I’ve lived in the area for a few months.”
“You look familiar?” Pat was now studying Rick’s face. “Have I seen you somewhere? T.V. maybe?”
Rick was now having flashbacks of his ill-fated chess match that ended with him crying on national T.V. It actually became a viral video on youtube called “The Crying Geek,” it was set to “Jungle Boogie” by Kool and the Gang.
“No, I’ve never been on T.V. Ever. I’m allergic to cameras.” Rick started to panic.
After a few drinks Pat turned to Rick:
“You want to go back to my place?” she asked.
“Uh, sure. I just need to find Alex.”
“Oh, he’ll be fine. He tried to touch my sister’s leg and she put him in a sleeper hold.”
Rick looked over only to see Alex slumped over in his seat with his head now being used as a cup holder for Pat’s somehow burlier sister, Deedra.
“Yeah sure, we can go to your place.”
This is what Rick had been waiting for ever since he last had sex. Rick hoped this time would go better being that last time he was finished before the girl took her pants off.
As Rick buckled himself into Pat’s car she turned to him:
“I love your hair.” Pat ran her hands through Rick’s wavy hair and started to kiss him on the neck.
“Thanks. My mom says I look like Leif Garret.” Rick smiled.
“I don’t know who that is but if she’s half as good looking as you she must be a lucky girl.” Pat smiled.
“She?” Rick asked.
“Yeah.” Pat smiled. “I’m so glad you came tonight. I hate going to these lesbian bars. They’re usually filled with such butch women. I’m glad I found someone a bit more … dainty.” Pat then began to unbutton Rick’s Wrangler jeans with the Pot Pie stain on the knee.
“Wait a minute.” Rick stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Pat asked.
“Wait! That was a lesbian bar?” Rick was now sweating clean through the seat of Pat’s Hummer.
“Yeah silly. Cat Calls. It used to be known as Cattyshack.”
“You think I’m a lesbian?!?”
“Uh, yeah. Aren’t you?”
Rick’s ill-fated chess match was now the second worst day of his life.
Ok, so in case you havent heard, Family Ties Star Meredith Baxter came out during an interview on the Today Show! Rosie O’donell contacted her later that week with a few encouraging words.
“I called her up and told her she was fantastic and congratulations and she did really well and that I was proud of her,” Rosie tells OK!
The LGBT community supports meredith and is welcoming her with open arms!
Literature can be defined as source of written works language, period and culture; it is an imaginative or creative writing in expressing feeling of the author. It is also different with other science that known on academic because literature deal with our feeling in order to understand hidden meaning in those art works and usually it will create an ambiguous perception between reader. Usually Literature contains of poem, short story, drama that has feminism, love, gay/lesbian value on it, on the other hand it also included some theories like the other science-subject.
I choose “Witch-wife” poem by Edna St.Vincent Millay. Personally I like Edna V Millay poetry; she is deserved as one of America best-love poets. She wrote many poems in traditional sonnet form, on topics such as love, fidelity, erotic desire, and feminist issues in twentieth-century. One of her famous works is “Witch-wife”, this is my favorite poem all the time because it contains passion of love and fascinating when you realize how the poem which written by woman author show much desire of love to a woman also. I will try to find hidden meaning and explore deeper on the poem “Witch-wife” By Edna St.Vincent Millay based on deconstruction theory and show how the deconstruction theory appropriate for gay/lesbian poetry analysis.
Analysis
Based on Lesbian, this “Witch-wife” poem is used to express feeling and desire love of Edna Millay to a woman who interpret as witch-wife but I will use Deconstruction theory to analysis this poem so another meaning from this poem could appear. “Witch-Wife” is the title of this poem but when we observe it, the title made a clearly refers to woman who is married or have husband (wife) and witch can define as something that magic or evil.
First line in the first stanza “She is neither pink nor pale”, when we look at the line it seems that I read she is neither happy nor sad. Pink color usually identified as something wonderful, happy or lively on the other hand pale refers to something dead and sad. It is contrast combination appears on this line and the next line confirms it She will never be possessed. “And she never will be all mine”. This line is special because it will be repeated later as the last line.
The third line in first stanza “She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,” and the forth line “And her mouth on a valentine.” It seems the author saying the witch-wife has learned all her life through her fantasy world. Her hands is what she does, the witch-wife does imaginary side of her life. Her mouth is defined as what she says on a valentine which something romantic, both of these things having been learned in the realm of the imaginary and romantic. In the first stanza, it begins to be apparent to me that the author knew very well and express any detail of witch-wife in this poem.
The second stanza begins with “She has more hair than she needs” it describes that the witch-wife has very long hair more than she needs and in the next line “In the sun this is woe to me” In the sun deal with our sight sense which eyes. In this line show that the author express her jealously to the witch-wife because when looks on her, she suffer that can’t be the witch-wife.
Third line on the second stanza “And her voice is a string of colored beads,” and “Or steps leading to the sea.” The words her voice in this line revive this character and show how wonderful of the witch-wife. Her beauty (specifically her wisdom) of the witch-wife beyond ordinary like string of colored beads that described by Millay while “or steps leading to the sea” sound wonderful but who is it wants to walk into the sea? This means suicide for us. In this line show that the witch-wife has such powerful magic which her beauty to make us consumed by it and do anything for her even kill ourselves.
The last stanza begins with “She loves me all that she can” from this line we can conclude the author and the witch-wife known each other because the witch-wife loves her very much till her maximum limit. In next line “And her way to my ways resign” seems that both of them choose different path and break their relationship away.
The third line “But she was not made for any man” In the line “But she was not made for any man”, all of the witch wife womanly qualities is not worthy for any man then who is worthy to the witch wife? She may willingly to be love by man but her existence not for man and her realization of this is what makes her the witch-wife. It will make sense if we conclude that the witch wife is special sort of woman who lesbian. The last line on this poem has repeated from the second line “And she never will be all mine” then question appear why this witch wife can’t be someone else possession? Because she is her own possession, and she lives her life in an awareness of that fact, the witch-wife is some part of herself who is homosexual.
Conclusion
Deconstruction theory tends to be much more emotive than structuralism. The meanings words have never can be guaranteed one hundred percent pure because the words contain implicit meaning. It also drives us to think deeper about hidden meaning in poetry and indirectly it help us in using our critical thinking to understand what the author tries to express in their literary works. This theory is appropriate in analyzing gay/lesbian piece of literature. According to me, the deconstruction theory can be used in “Witch-wife” poem by Edna St.Vincent Millay. From lesbian-feminism view this poem express Millay feeling to her lover whom already married but personally I think is about a self-portrait poem and describe part of her homosexual being.
Pheeew! I need to make a huge apology for not responding to peoples comments for weeks. Ah! It’s definitely not that I don’t read them. In fact, I find them all extremely comforting and typically read them the same day they are posted. However, I usually write posts when I am going through a particularly hard time and then would rather leave it for awhile before having to…’relive’(?) it. I dunno, it doesn’t make sense but replying to comments forces me to acknowledge the (typically) pain again and so then I simply don’t. Horrible! I know. I’m going to work on that.
Annnnd, with that I want to make it known that these posts certainly don’t reflect a major part of my personality. I’m not always this sad! In fact, i’m usually the opposite so hopefully I’ll find some way to mix that into the site. Like I mentioned though, this site represents a place for me to come vent my pain and then when I’m happy the last thing I want to do is stop by here because it does represent that pain to me. Now i’m totally rambling so I’ll shush. First though, thank you all! Like I said in one of the comments, I know that I am perfect the way I am. I know that I am not alone. Unfortunately, the constant interaction with my parents makes it difficult to remember that and everytime I receive a comment it snaps me back to reality and knowing that (as conceited as this will sound) i’m brilliant!
*speaking of positive posts, I had a good talk with the social worker at school, one of the assistant principles, and my english teacher on Tuesday which really helped me get through Thanksgiving break without losing it. I would post about it now buuuut I should be studying for my Mandarin quiz. Zai Jian!
While homosexuals are denied the right to marry in the United States (whether you support or not, this is not the place to go into it), this is what they have to deal with in Uganda:
Britain and Canada today led Commonwealth protests against a law proposed by the Ugandan parliament which would introduce the death penalty by hanging for “aggravated homosexuality”.
Gordon Brown expressed Britain’s concerns about the parliamentary bill when he met Yoweri Museveni, the veteran Ugandan president, at the Commonwealth heads of government meeting in Trinidad and Tobago.
The suggested legislation would apply to sex between gay men or lesbian women in which one person has HIV.
The bill also proposes the introduction of a three-year prison sentence for anyone who knows of the existence of a gay man or lesbian woman and fails to inform authorities in Uganda within 24 hours.
Good friends like good help are so hard to find these days. You think you know someone and then BAM, they up and stab you in the back. Who am I talking about? No other person than my former, yes you heard me right, former best friend Pepper, the newly discovered Judas in my camp. She has betrayed me in the worst possible way. SHE HAD A THREESOME!
Before you start asking huh, lemme refresh your memory. In a previous blog post, did I or did I not say we were both aiming for ‘sexual depravity’ of the year award? And did I not mention we do things together? The keyword being ‘TOGETHER!!!’ Well, this Delilah twin had a threesome without me!
Who introduced her to cybersex? That is a rhetorical question but in case you are not getting the gist, the answer is MOI! I introduced her to cybersex. Who introduced her to virtual threesome? Who has been her partner in crime and perversity for donkey years? Who would have ended up being her first lesbian lover? All ME! The two of us together have been the sexual fantasy of every red blooded man we come in contact with. We were supposed to give up our threesome virginity to one carefully selected lucky guy but now, that dream has been forever crushed; Pepper is no more a threesome virgin!
How did this monumental betrayal happen? Let me tell you in her own words – “I went to a club and as I was sitting, swaying to the music, a girl walked up to me and told me her friend likes me. I looked where she was pointing and saw the friend, a cute looking guy. I went over to their table to join them and we found we had a lot in common. Over the next week, we exchanged mails and calls. It was obvious from the very beginning what they wanted but none of us actually voiced it out. Last week, I invited them to my place and soon, one thing led to another and we spent a whole four hours in bed doing sooooo many wonderful things together. It was FUN. The next day they returned and again the day after. Each time we wound up spending hours in bed. Now I’m one step ahead of you” (the last was said to and at me)
Now there are three things that hurt so much:-
1) It was not an impulsive, overcome by desire kinda thing. That I can understand. But it had been leading up to sex for more than a week. It was PREMEDITATED!
2) She did it with them more than once! If after the first time she had called and told me, I could still forgive but no, she did it again and again. This shows UNREPENTANCE!
3) Telling me “I’m now one step ahead of you”. That is unforgivable GLOATING!
How can someone do all that to a person she calls her BFF? Now I understand how Jesus felt; what made Caesar ask ‘Et tu, Brute’; how Samson must have looked upon Delilah’s bitchy face.
It is NOT too early to be listening to Christmas music. It is November, therefore I can listen to “Santa Baby” or “All I Want for Christmas is You” on repeat as many times as I want. So suck it, Tall, I’ll continue to listen to my beloved holiday tunez for the next three days before you deem it “acceptable.”
Friday night I went out to a bar district with some of the interns. I decided to leave a little earlier than the others wanted to, so I said I’d just walk home — the area is only eight or nine blocks from my apartment, and I’d only had a couple beers over the course of the entire evening.
Bad choice.
About three blocks from home, some tall, drunk guy walking the opposite direction stumbled past as he crossed the street.
‘Hey baby, can I have a kiss?’ he asked, leaning down and pointing to his cheek.
‘Um, no, I don’t think so,’ I responded hesitantly.
‘Lesbian!’ he snapped. He then smacked me on the ass and stumbled away.
She sat across from me. She on the couch, I in the rocker. She was nervously giddy, ensconced in more eye makeup than she normally wore, and slightly tipsy from the late night of bowling. I was surprised she even dropped in that late as I don’t live anywhere near anything, am absolutely out of everyone’s way, so my friends never drop in on me. I myself was excited and my mind was racing as to what this unexpected surprise could mean.
Sheila and I had been having intense and unusual conversations lately, more unusual than normal for us, which is saying something as my chosen career of midwifery lent itself quite often to avante garde subjects. We had been talking on the phone for hours every day, me pacing around outside with the baby in the backpack trying to squeeze in another five minutes before the little one really lost it and started wailing. I just never tired of talking to her. She was friend, confidante, kindred spirit, and soon-to-be lover. But I didn’t know this yet. Not quite yet anyway.
I had been feeling the tension in the air for a couple of weeks now. Especially when we were in her subaru together. In close proximity alone. The feeling was foreign to me, but I could have cut it with a knife. I noticed the tension—it was unavoidable—but I knew not what it meant and it had me baffled. I wasn’t intimidated by her, so that couldn’t be it. I wasn’t uncomfortable around her. I had fun with her. I thought maybe this tension meant that she didn’t like me or was uncomfortable with me in some way, and that I was feeling that; or, the tiny inkling thought made its way into my brain: Maybe she’s attracted to me and I’ll have to break it to her that I’m totally straight.
Then one night I had the dream. The foursome dream that she, her husband, me, and my husband all went camping together and ended up having a sexual romp in their truck camper. It was a crazy, unfamiliar dream, but when I woke up I was still feeling titillated by it and told my husband about it. He was immediately turned on about it, and we started talking about what if? What if we really did have a foursome? Did he like my friend? Was he attracted to her? Did I like her husband? Could I be with him? Could I be with her? All of these questions hovered in the air as they are when you first begin exploring the concept of open marriage.
That day, during our typical phone conversation I told Sheila about my dream.
She giggled and responded like my husband had responded; excited and curious about the possibility. Then the real awkward subject was broached. Giggle, giggle, would she and I be together in this foursome, giggle, giggle. Then we moved on to safer territory. But the more I pondered my dream and the resulting questions over the next couple of days, the more I realized that it was my friend that I was subconsciously wanting to be with, not her husband.
So here we were about a week later, quietly sitting in my cozy living room looking at each other but sorta speechless with nervous smiles on our faces. Well, I’m shy sometimes, but I can’t take that kind of tense pressure very long. So I said, after some small talk, “You know it wasn’t Charlie I wanted to be with in my dream.” And she said, “Oh? Really?” And sat quietly and waited for me to finish. And I said, “I want to be with you.” There. Out. Said. Oh my god! I can’t believe I just said that. She responded in a positive way, slightly laughingly, not really surprised by what I had said, but nervous nonetheless.
I can’t remember every detail after that. It was 11 years ago. But we ended up making out on the couch. I had never made out with a woman before and I was struck that each of us was waiting for the other to lean in and be the ‘giver’ of the kiss, while we both sorta were passively waiting to receive. And just to kiss someone different than my husband was weird. Little lips. Taste. Smell. Response.
I couldn’t wait to get in her pants. Really. I can’t believe how badly I wanted her. But I wanted her. I didn’t give much thought to my husband sacked out in the bedroom, dead out from drinking too much with his golfing buddies. He did cross my mind, but I knew what I wanted and nothing was stopping me. Plus he and I had talked about the dream and the possibilities that could be created in a foursome scenario. So on the edges of my consciousness, I told myself he would be okay with it. It wasn’t like I was sleeping with a man, after all. She was my best friend.
My hand plunged down and she was so wet it turned me on immensely. It wasn’t long until I had her pants down and was exploring her with my tongue. Again, like the kiss, I was in foreign territory, had never come close to doing anything like this before. I was fumbling and awkward. I opened her lips with my hand and just started licking all around, no rhyme or reason to what I was doing. She tasted musky, like my pussy smelled. She was taken slightly aback at my ferocity. But we were both feverish and moaning and on some sexual roller coaster ride that wasn’t stopping until it was over.
We enjoyed each other immensely that night, pleasing each other in an awkward and new, naive sort of way. I was surprised at how intensely my body responded to her that night, yet there was so much trust and safety between us already, that I felt comfortable being vulnerable, and a whole new way of being Woman was opened up for me. It was over after about an hour. There really hadn’t been much foreplay, unless you consider the fantasizing and tension and sexual innuendoes of the previous two weeks foreplay.
I moved away and got ready for bed.
She followed my lead and left pretty quickly. I wasn’t embarrassed about what we had done, but I was ready to move on and not hang out. My feeling of “being done” sorta caught me off guard because all I had wanted that week had been her. I snuggled in to bed with my hubby and prepared what I was going to say to him in the morning, because we didn’t keep secrets from each other. I thought.
She sat across from me. She on the couch, I in the rocker. She was nervously giddy, ensconced in more eye makeup than she normally wore, and slightly tipsy from the late night of bowling. I was surprised she even dropped in that late as I don’t live anywhere near anything, am absolutely out of everyone’s way, so my friends never drop in on me. I myself was excited and my mind was racing as to what this unexpected surprise could mean.
Sheila and I had been having intense and unusual conversations lately, more unusual than normal for us, which is saying something as my chosen career of midwifery lent itself quite often to avante garde subjects. We had been talking on the phone for hours every day, me pacing around outside with the baby in the backpack trying to squeeze in another five minutes before the little one really lost it and started wailing. I just never tired of talking to her. She was friend, confidante, kindred spirit, and soon-to-be lover. But I didn’t know this yet. Not quite yet anyway.
I had been feeling the tension in the air for a couple of weeks now. Especially when we were in her subaru together. In close proximity alone. The feeling was foreign to me, but I could have cut it with a knife. I noticed the tension—it was unavoidable—but I knew not what it meant and it had me baffled. I wasn’t intimidated by her, so that couldn’t be it. I wasn’t uncomfortable around her. I had fun with her. I thought maybe this tension meant that she didn’t like me or was uncomfortable with me in some way, and that I was feeling that; or, the tiny inkling thought made its way into my brain: Maybe she’s attracted to me and I’ll have to break it to her that I’m totally straight.
Then one night I had the dream. The foursome dream that she, her husband, me, and my husband all went camping together and ended up having a sexual romp in their truck camper. It was a crazy, unfamiliar dream, but when I woke up I was still feeling titillated by it and told my husband about it. He was immediately turned on about it, and we started talking about what if? What if we really did have a foursome? Did he like my friend? Was he attracted to her? Did I like her husband? Could I be with him? Could I be with her? All of these questions hovered in the air as they are when you first begin exploring the concept of open marriage.
That day, during our typical phone conversation I told Sheila about my dream.
She giggled and responded like my husband had responded; excited and curious about the possibility. Then the real awkward subject was broached. Giggle, giggle, would she and I be together in this foursome, giggle, giggle. Then we moved on to safer territory. But the more I pondered my dream and the resulting questions over the next couple of days, the more I realized that it was my friend that I was subconsciously wanting to be with, not her husband.
So here we were about a week later, quietly sitting in my cozy living room looking at each other but sorta speechless with nervous smiles on our faces. Well, I’m shy sometimes, but I can’t take that kind of tense pressure very long. So I said, after some small talk, “You know it wasn’t Charlie I wanted to be with in my dream.” And she said, “Oh? Really?” And sat quietly and waited for me to finish. And I said, “I want to be with you.” There. Out. Said. Oh my god! I can’t believe I just said that. She responded in a positive way, slightly laughingly, not really surprised by what I had said, but nervous nonetheless.
I can’t remember every detail after that. It was 11 years ago. But we ended up making out on the couch. I had never made out with a woman before and I was struck that each of us was waiting for the other to lean in and be the ‘giver’ of the kiss, while we both sorta were passively waiting to receive. And just to kiss someone different than my husband was weird. Little lips. Taste. Smell. Response.
I couldn’t wait to get in her pants. Really. I can’t believe how badly I wanted her. But I wanted her. I didn’t give much thought to my husband sacked out in the bedroom, dead out from drinking too much with his golfing buddies. He did cross my mind, but I knew what I wanted and nothing was stopping me. Plus he and I had talked about the dream and the possibilities that could be created in a foursome scenario. So on the edges of my consciousness, I told myself he would be okay with it. It wasn’t like I was sleeping with a man, after all. She was my best friend.
My hand plunged down her pants and she was so wet it turned me on immensely. It wasn’t long until I had her pants down and was exploring her with my tongue. Again, like the kiss, I was in foreign territory, had never come close to doing anything like this before. I was fumbling and awkward. I opened her lips with my hand and just started licking all around, no rhyme or reason to what I was doing. She tasted musky, like my pussy smelled. She was taken slightly aback at my ferocity. But we were both feverish and moaning and on some sexual roller coaster ride that wasn’t stopping until it was over.
We enjoyed each other immensely that night, pleasing each other in an awkward and new, naive sort of way. I was surprised at how intensely my body responded to her that night, and a whole new way of being Woman was opened up for me. It was over after about an hour. There really hadn’t been much foreplay, unless you consider the fantasizing and tension and sexual innuendoes of the previous two weeks foreplay.
I moved away and got ready for bed.
She followed my lead and left pretty quickly. I wasn’t embarrassed about what we had done, but I was ready to move on and not hang out. My feeling of “being done” sorta caught me off guard because all I had wanted that week had been her. I snuggled in to bed with my hubby and prepared what I was going to say to him in the morning, because we didn’t keep secrets from each other. I thought.
The sponges (Porifera) were long thought to have diverged from other animals early. They lack the complex organization found in most other phyla. Their cells are differentiated, but in most cases not organized into distinct tissues. Sponges typically feed by drawing in water through pores. Archaeocyatha, which have fused skeletons, may represent sponges or a separate phylum. However, a phylogenomic study in 2008 of 150 genes in 21 genera[12] revealed that it is the Ctenophora or comb jellies which are the basal lineage of animals, at least among those 21 phyla. The authors speculate that sponges—or at least those lines of sponges they investigated—are not so primitive, but may instead be secondarily simplified.
“Every citizen of this country should have that legal right to be married. Marriage the word actually does mean something because people who see a gay coupling as a lesser thing in society can continue to [think] it’s lesser than marriage when really it’s the exact same thing. The exact same love, the exact same commitment, love of family.” (Portia de Rossi)
giddy, ensconced in more eye makeup than she normally wore, and slightly tipsy from the late night of bowling. I was surprised she even dropped in that late as I don’t live anywhere near anything, am absolutely out of everyone’s way, so my friends never drop in on me. I myself was excited and my mind was racing as to what this unexpected surprise could mean.
giddy, ensconced in more eye makeup than she normally wore, and slightly tipsy from the late night of bowling. I was surprised she even dropped in that late as I don’t live anywhere near anything, am absolutely out of everyone’s way, so my friends never drop in on me. I myself was excited and my mind was racing as to what this unexpected surprise could mean.