Not Boring-- Just Grown Up.

This blog used to be a money-making machine. My daily hit count used to look like the Mafia toll from the '70s. I used to write about things like oral sex and porn. It was as good as 2 AM access TV and your own local Girls Gone Wild infomercials. And then I went through some major life changes, met a guy I actually liked and didn't want to kiss & tell, and went to Italy. The campus dish stopped. You had no idea who these people I was meeting and hanging out with were anymore. Page impressions dropped. I get it. We got older, grew apart, and stopped having things in common. Now I write about things like communication between the sexes and how to handle your past-and-still-present exes and why visiting a gynecologist is mandatory for women (and should be for the men they're having sex with, too). Not exactly what you signed up for. Gone are (most) of the hot sexploits. In with the analyses of character. It's a bitch, isn't it? Things change. It's inevitable. And right now, this blog could more rightly be called "Celibacy In The (Foreign) City."

But hey. I'm still here. I'm still alive; therefore, I still have things to write about. It may not be the perfect oral technique (hint: our clit is there for a reason. That is where the party is. Introduce your tongue to it,) but some of it is still pretty pertinent. Guys, if you want to learn why your girlfriend is mad at you, I've got some advice-- ASK HER. (Also, next time, don't be so blatant checking that other chick out.) There are things you can learn here that no other woman would ever tell you about. It's like hiding behind enemy lines. (Hey, that thought appealed to you and your inner pseudo-warrior, didn't it? I get you better than you may think.) And girls, if you want to know how to build your wardrobe up this summer to mix-and-match as many pieces as possible while maintaining a professional edge for work, I'm your girl. (Khaki light-weight trousers, cuffed at the bottom, with a slight paper-bag waist and worn belted and matching with brown wedges and a slightly edgy tucked-in button-down like this leopard-print one, is a great fashion-forward interview outfit. [I call it "Office Safari." Just don't shoot your boss, no matter how tempting it is. There's not much I can do with day-glow orange.] And that white lace shirt from last post goes great with the khakis as well, or, if you want to tough them up, a interesting and slinky tank-top tucked in does the trick, too. And that leopard button-down makes not only the perfect beach cover-up, too, but also a cute out-and-about outfit when paired with black leggings, sandals, and belted at the waist. Like this girl in the photo proves.)

I'm watching a lot of my friends get ready to graduate, and subsequently freak out about having to prove that they can do something in the field that they want to go into. I'm pretty lucky. I started this blog of my own desire, and over a year and a half earlier than is deemed necessary to graduate. And I genuinely love this writing. It's kind of what I want to do with my life. I found my niche early in life, and it would take a lot to pull me out of it. This is how I think. This is how I write. And for better or worse, this is how I live.

But there's always more that can be done. If you really want to do something, I have this crazy wish that by my birthday on June 10th, I will have 50 followers and have cashed in the $10 check from Google AdSense. I'm at 35 followers (and I love EACH and EVERY one of you!) and over half-way to the dollar amount, so-- tell your friends. Tell your boyfriend. Tell your girlfriend. Tell your coworkers. Tell your mom. (Um, or not.) Spread the word. Check back regularly for new stuff. Between leaving Italy in 31 days, adjusting back to the U.S and American men, moving into my first Big Girl apartment, buying a queen-size bed, and trying to find another job, I'm more than SURE I will have plenty of new material.

We have just under 2 months, people. I'm just asking for a small and personal minor miracle. Not the peace for the Pakistan-Israeli conflict and the end of world hunger. Though those are perfectly acceptable things, too.
...And a man who does not utter the words "We shall see," which, as some long-time (like, since the Beginning of Blogging Time) readers may know, may be one of my most hated phrases above all others, right after "But there's something I need to tell you." I get it-- I know what it means when you say that. It's roughly the trying-to-be-polite equivalent of "Not gonna happen, sister!" THAT would be a major miracle. In fact, Jesus may have to intervene.

XOXO

Smart-ass.

What you should not say to your dentist when, instead of just looking at your x-rays in the folder in his hand, he asks you if you've had your wisdom teeth removed:

"Well, unless it happened during one of those nights I got black-out drunk, no."

I have never actually been black-out drunk (thankfully); I just need to learn when not to be a wise-ass.

Like when sharp implements are in my mouth.

XOXO

I'm Not A Poet, And Most Of The Time, I Know It.

We interrupt this previous prose programming to bring you some poetry, because due to the multiple readings I've been attending for classes and other events, that's what's been coming out of me lately. It only happens about three times a year, and only for a few days, like the guest appearance of a cosmic spirit, so I'm beseeching you to indulge me, briefly, for these are only brief snippets of full, raging, triumphant, un-humble, unfinished works. Ellipses mark where content is missing, for one reason, or the other. Or none. The first two are part of set poems. For all purposes, what I consider "done." The third is a complete and utter mish-mash of sayings and thoughts and advice and songs and lots and lots and lots of random things. It has something for everyone-- childhood memories, sage wisdom, simile and metaphor, decorating advice. It is my Chaos at the moment. Everyone needs a little. I'm entering Finals Week of school. I have a lot.

"...Because night is when I get
--------Real soft,
And in the dark,
If you look at me
--------Real close
----------------Like you do
And don’t blink,
You can see the cosmos in my eyes when I’m talking to you,
Not just one or two
--------Tiny
----------------Insignificant
------------------------Guttering
--------------------------------Stars,
But the whole damn thing,
& I have no words for this feeling,
The death-knell of my trade,
But it’s like
--------Holding your palm
----------------Up to the flame of a lighter
------------------------On the coldest winter day
--------------------------------Right before you light that cigarette..."

"...I want to see when you close your eyes,
Because I know, sometimes it’s just
--------Too much
To look at,
All of it at once, spread out before your eyes,
Like a feast, and you
--------Just ate.
I want to see when your lips open,
And your tongue
--------Darts out,
To lick the same dry lips that you use,
Faithful sinner,
To worship.
I want to see you completely open in front of me,
--------A book to read,
----------------A story over skin,
------------------------A tale that won’t lie.
Give me your mind!
At these moments, when there is literally nothing between us,
But these un-naked thought-things,
These
--------Looks
----------------&
----------------Sounds
------------------------&
------------------------Feels.
I want a light, like a blinding ray of truth,
Because,
I want to see you, as you are,
Not, as you want to be,
With
--------Layers
----------------&
----------------Secrets
------------------------&
------------------------Questions.
I want to see you, in that moment when you give in,
To know what I have,
And what you are,
And what that
--------Makes me."

"...You’ve got to call me to you,
Because sometimes, like a cat, I won’t
--------Listen,

To the meaning behind the command,

Instead, focusing on tone and context,

And not really
--------Getting it.
But still, sweetie,
You’ve got to keep tryin’,
Because what’s worth it in this life,
--------It isn’t free,
And it sure as hell
--------Ain’t easy.
Because I,
I don’t play with the things I say,
--------Like some do.
Getting me to admit
--------Is like moving a mountain.
Are you strong enough for that?
Make me
--------Shock
----------------&
------------------------Awe
At your conviction.
Make me want to burst into song,
You have never heard
--------From this mouth.
So you know, I like to kiss to both sweet songs of
--------“Hello”
----------------&
------------------------“Goodbye.”

So you know, I like to stay up late, and sleep until sometime,
And I am always,
--------Always
Down for some lovin’.
So you know, your room,
--------Windows,
----------------Walls,
------------------------Door,
--------------------------------Desk,
----------------------------------------Bed,
Are in the same exact places mine are at home,
And it knocked me into silence,

Like coming home, only to find someone else living there.
So you know, I only ever ask to come over,
Every third time I want to,

Because there's this thing called

--------Space,

And there's a difference between "want" and "want,"

& I am always trying to find the fine line between the three.
But I will wake up early,
Just to be there and know it
Like I knew it when I was five,
And was the child
Who was never told that she wouldn’t find
--------What she was looking for.
Responsible people never learned how to fly.
I never learned
--------How to jump.
But here I am,
Toeing the edge of this cliff,
--------Anyway.
Hello, my name is Mediocre,
And I am striving for
--------Majestic
For you."

That's more or less it for now. I'm pretty much straight bleeding poetry at the moment like a love-junkie suicidal poet, so I'm skipping class in the morning to stay home and write. Because it's the writerly thing to do, and I really have no choice. Sometimes, when these things are outside of your hands, it's the most beautiful thing in the world. Scary, yet gorgeous.

You writers out there. Agree? What gets it flowing for you? Is it the first snowfall of the year? Fear? Love? Loathing? Inspiration from others? Sheer need and necessity? I'm curious. As always.

XOXO