Filed under: personal
All of the small things about you have lost meaning for me.
There are certainly enough hours in the day. And Lord knows, there have certainly been enough days. Getting treated like moldy bread by you made me numb to things long ago. It’s a wonder that I can actually look at you without that queasiness creeping into the right side of my gut. A feeling like some vile bodily fluid building up at the back of my mouth.
And, sometimes, I think it’s a damn shame that we ever met.
Because every day, I let it happen again, and again, and again. By someone who means less than you meant to me. By someone whose kiss I’ll never feel, who will never drawl out my name like you, by someone who touches me then flinches away…very unlike the coy grab of the inside of my arm by my elbow.
Damnit. I wish that I could make this all stop. I wish I weren’t so focused on things like this.
Today someone told me that they didn’t know why I let her treat me like crap. Told me that I should push her, because unitl she realized that no one will ever be like me to her ever again in her life, I will never be satisfied. I thought about it, but I probably never will. Because hating her is even easier than hating you.
Trying to hate you is still really hard. I still have to make a conscious effort to ignore you when you call, to be frigid when you touch me. When you ask me how my day is going, and then instantly segue into what i can do for you, you make it so easy.
The forbidden nature of us, when we were us, makes me sad about how much time and energy i spent. It didn’t really end up being something that was worth our time. Thinking about it, i feel a somniferous aura drift over me, like a thick fog over a backwoods lake.
I think I may try to get some sleep now, but I think I just thought I would thank you. For letting everyone bring out the part of me I dislike the most. But also, for making it easier for me to know when I’m being an idiot.
The air flowed over her body, like a wave of cool ocean water is released onto warm sandy coastline. That fan had been on for some time now, but had she noticed it before? It was so hard to pay attention to anything outside of her own emotional toil. It was even harder to pay attention to what was happening to her body.
She knew the love that was being imparted to her. It had a familiar stench to it, reminded her of lovers long gone. To be fair, Marchéline really did love her. From the glistening sweat that had broken out all over her body as a result of the arduous fervor with which she licked, kissed, tugged, scratched and caressed, to the numerous amorous whisperings that she uttered. “Est-ce bien comme ça?” “Mon dieu, je pouvais mort en raison de ton beauté.” It was beyond clear.
It didn’t really make sense, then, that these tears would be running down her face in a torrent of some emotion that she couldn’t be exactly sure of. From that first kiss, as the two women lay naked in her bed, Elise had been weeping. A certain amount of credit ought be attributed here, for Marchéline was not deterred in the slightest by her crying, carrying on in spite of the twin rivers that streaked down her face.
Through the gentle but purposed removal of her clothes by a glowingly exuberant lover, Elise sobbed. At the first meeting of quivering lips to sloping neck, punctuated by the matching of kisses to the deep throbbing of her heartbeat through her neck. During the vigorously laborious oral gratification of her seemingly delighted nipples. As a determined tongue slid down the cavern created by her heaving bosom. When that same moistened organ made its way through independently slick lips that protected that source of intimate heat between Elise’s legs. Once that was followed by first one, then two, then three fingers, each of which explored her core as though in search of some long-forgotten truth. In response to the kneading of flesh between those same digits, and the gentle stroking of that inexplicably fascinating area at the small of a woman’s back by Marchéline’s luxuriously cold nose. Those salty manifestations of deep-seeded emotions poured out from her eyes in a torrent at every pull, tug, kiss and caress.
As the intensity of the erotic dance between the two women grew more elaborate and more intense, Elise began to focus on the bare walls of the room, in a futile attempt to calm herself and stop her tears and in a naive hope that the impassivity of the decor would bring some kind of understanding. Why was she so possessed? Why could she not control herself? And why could she not enjoy this more? Deep within her, she felt an undulation of passion that so desperately wanted to express itself.
But something was blocking her, something was keeping that held that part of her down, as would an enormous weight.
Marchéline‘s heartbeat was imitating the rapid beating of hummingbird wings. She positioned her body between Elise’s legs, and, as she tongued the streams of tears from her face, began to cavort her body against her lover’s. They lay chest to chest, stomach to stomach, mons to labia. The pacific bucking of one to the other produced a nearly electric reaction in Elise, and she stopped. Ceased to move, to hold, to cry. Looking up at Marchéline‘s spent face, she said, “Je suis désolé. Je t’aime. Avec tout mon coeur.”
What resulted was greater than elation, greater than ecstasy, greater than any sort of bliss imaginable. The two women, in that moment, became one.
The question remains, why was Elise so sad for so long? Was it her inability to get over her lover’s gender, an attempt to avoid the obvious femininity of Marchéline? Or was it an engendered repulsion, resulting from an inability to find that part of Marchéline that screamed female, and a fear laced to the idea that it was a man that did these things to her?
Regardless of the why, the story ends well. They loved each other, in a microcosmic sphere consisting of only themselves. Selfish? Maybe. But after the ordeal, it would appear that Marchéline had been trying to organize Elise’s freedom from her fear. It would also appear that she succeeded.
**This started out as a dream I had. Special thanks to Kicy for helping inspire me to turn it into a story.**
Filed under: programs
Found this nifty little tip on EscapeLogic today, as I was consolidating my multiple email boxes. If you have gmail, aren’t that into archiving, and have a crap-ton of unread emails, here’s how to eliminate that annoying problem:
So, you’ve just imported thousands of emails into your GMail account with the POP function? Well you now have thousands of messages marked “Unread” in your inbox. This is annoying. You could go page by page (25 to 100 at a time) marking your messages as “Read,” but here is the “All in one swoop” approach:
-In the search box, enter the following “is:unread” (without the quotes).
-In the “Select:” area, Click “All”
-A new link appears, Click it: “Select all conversations that match this search”
-Click the drop down box “More actions…” and select “Mark as Read.”
-Click OK on the confirmation box that says “This action will affect all messages in the search. Are you sure you want to apply the action?”
That’s it. You’re done.
That’s helpful, man.
OK, so this isn’t quite a formal review, but I just really needed to rave about a few things.
First off, just bough the H-K Soundsticks II. At present, I am listening to “Mindwalking” by Astral Matrix, with the bass all the way up and the Bass Booster EQ setting. It is phenomenal. My walls are shaking just a little bit.
Secondly, I took a little trip today. Went over to South Beach and just kind of rode around on my board (in flip flops, which is an error I don’t plan to make again). My camera is my favorite thing on this earth. Canon Digital Rebel XTi, with an EF 28-135mm lens. Fantastic, and it’s becoming a new favorite pastime to shoot in monochrome, because switching takes like 1.3 seconds.
Thirdly, and this is just my being weird…I have this thing where I need to have something in my hands to get me focused. It used to be a balled-up wad of paper, but I went to Sports Authority a few months ago and got a pack of three Penn Ultra-Blue raquet-balls. I throw them against the wall when I’m stuck on an idea.
Fourthly, I am kind of a bag person. And a shoe/trainer person, but for the sake of this post’s longevity, I’ll just be a bag person. Latest additions include a Triple Five Soul carry-all bag, the sort with a drawstring at the top and a single strap, and a Spy Sentry Bag. The carry-all is a rough black canvas, but the amount of pockets (12 in all, inside AND out) are obscene. I predict that this will be absolutely vital when I go to Europe next year. I have this ridiculous vision of myself walking around with this glazed-yet-cultured look on my face. The Sentry is really a more day-to-day backpack. With a 17-inch MacBook Pro, it’s a bit tricky trying to find a way to carry it around. Classes are starting up again (my senior year) and trekking back and forth to campus with the one-hour commute is already no picnic. I tried this sucker out today, and I was oddly enough rather satisfied. This is another bag with a lot of pockets, including a rather large compartment on the top that is supposed to be for cold beverages (it works perfectly as a camera compartment for the aforementioned monstrosity), and four side pockets, one of which hold an Ethos water bottle PERFECTLY. The inner laptop sleeve is not nearly long enough for my computer, but my Incase Canvas sleeve fits rather well, with no complications. And there is still room for a variety of other items, which today included my notepad, LSAT prep book and sunglass case. It also has really cool military-style patches on it. And the logo is primo.
Fifthly, I just wanted to take a moment to wax about how awesome the Bose TriPort headphones are. I bought these something like a year ago, as a birthday present to myself last year. They are still going strong, and the bass in them is still top-notch. In the course of writing this post, I had to shift from Soundsticks to TriPorts for the benefit of the others in my house, but let me just say, this is NOT a downgrade.
Sixthly (and lastly), I just finished reading Ayn Rand’s Anthem. I have avoided Ayn Rand for most of my life. I have had Atlas Shrugged on my bookshelf forever (an old college book of my mom’s) and I can remember when I first noticed it. I wanted to read it, but my mom told me not to, because the woman who wrote it “was an atheist.” At age 7, already a rather prodigious reader, this was really disconcerting, and so I avoided it. A few years later, I picked up and began to plow through. But I don’t think I recognized how good Rand was until a couple of days ago, when I picked up Anthem. My favorite line is the first: “It is a sin to write this. It is a sin to think words no others think and to put them down upon a paper no others are to see. It is base and evil. It is as if we are speaking alone to no ears but our own. And we know well that there is no transgression blacker that to do or think alone. We have broken the laws.”
Until next time, when I have less energy…
Filed under: Review
So, yesterday, my inner voracious reader got a good workout while i was waiting to get my hair done at the beauty salon. The basic premise of the novel: an ordinary “Beta Male” loses his wife and is left with a newborn baby. Then he discovers that he is a “Death Merchant,” thanks to the guidance of a man who wears mint green suits. With the help of his lesbian sister, insane Chinese and Russian widow neighbors and his off-the-wall employees (a goth chef and online-dating-obsessed ex-cop), he raises his daughter while basically managing to keep the whole “I collect dead people’s souls” thing to himself. I mean, sure, there’s a whole creepy shadow-minions-talking-to-you-from-the-sewers thing that good ol’ Charlie Asher (the protagonist) has to deal with, but all in all, he maintains a relatively even-keel as he’s faced with the end of the world and the possible overthrow of all humanity by, well, Hell.
This book was maniacally comical. I judge a good novel to have humorous content when I find myself laughing so hard that I genuflect. I doubled over about forty times while sitting in the waiting area. And THAT was just based on the first hundred pages or so. Trust me, the last three hundred pages are even more hysterical, I just wasn’t in a position to bend, given that there was a squat Dominican woman attacking my head. Pick this one up, it’s totally worth it.
So, had to get a new computer. Blew chunks as I made that purchase, but swore I would treat the new baby (named Harper, in case anyone cared, the middle name of the author of To Kill A Mockingbird) much better.
That has already begun. I bought a LaCie 500Gb external drive. It’s super-sexy. It’s the F.A. Porche design, so it matches my baby. I’m gonna upload another post with pictures. That I will have taken about thirty seconds before I upload them. (I named my drive Churchill. That made me chuckle some.)
Purpose for the drive: to really back my stuff up. Lemme tell you, it’s annoying to back things up with Mozy (see earlier, bitchier post). As it turns out, I should have found it in me to have a little patience. I put in the restore request a little before midnight, my stuff was ready the next morning by eight. I’m just not patient. So, I’m gonna fiddle with some lil’ progs (right now, I’m giving iBackup a shot) to do back things up on my drive.
Um, also I got a tattoo the other night. Commemoration of adulthood, or something to that effect. I’ll post my pics of that, too.
And, then, I have a website to finish. Who knew iWeb would ever come in so handy for me…?
My MacBook Pro died on Friday, June 22nd, 2007. At 6:04 pm, as I rushed to my French final, I realized that I had left her on top of my friend’s car. He had peeled off moments before. She was run over by his back tire, as well as both right tires of another vehicle. The funeral will be Wednesday at 4pm.
All is well that ends well, I suppose. I bought a new one today. Putting all my crap back on is…frustrating to say the least. Here’s where my opinion comes in. So Mozy is what I have used to do my backup. Um, why do I have to wait for a “Web Restore build confirmation email” to get my files? Why does Mozy have to “find” my shit?? I would really like to have all my bookmarks back in order, my calendars uploaded (this is minor, I also have them on my iPod), et cetera. I’m frustrated at how this is a less-than-ideal scenario for a person who is less-than-patient. I’m going to try to find a new backup system, and I’ll report back on whether it also annoys the crap out of me.
Filed under: product
I bought a camera. Canon EOS SLR Digital Rebel XTi. And then a 28-135mm lens. And a 2GB memory card. So far, I am in love. More in depth analysis when it isn’t 1:30 in the morning.
At present, I am on the bus on the way to school, updating my iPod.I found this software the other day. It’s called Moody. It’s basically a whole new way of creating playlists in iTunes. I am a closet neurotic. I like things (especially computer/tech-related things) to be a certain way. Which is why I don’t really let anyone touch my stuff. Ever. So, naturally, my iTunes library tends to follow the same sort of trend. I have 11,412 songs. If you exclude audiobooks, comedy shows, and videos, that number is about 10,560. Lots of anthologies, and loads of accumulated tracks, the result of the efforts of an audiophile who been in the biz for eight years. Needless to say, figuring out what to listen to is a welcome chore, but still a chore. I have used the iTunes 5-star rating system, but it doesn’t really get the job done. Before I accidentally deleted my playlists on my PC, my 5-star rating playlist was over 1500 songs. Not exactly easy listening. Moody brings things to a new level. It is basically a 16-square grid arranged by color method. The bottom row goes left to right, sad to happy. The left column from bottom to top, calm to intense. It also has a nifty feature that allows you to spend some quality time with your music, skipping to the next track in a playlist as soon as you rate it. Or you can simply play your music how you want, and rate as you go along. Because my collection is so damned immense, it’s going to take forever to get all my music rated. But once I do, it should be pretty amazing. I’ll do my best to not seem so thoroughly impressed by a color-grid. But I can’t hide my excitement…
