The Grindhouse Rules

I saw Grindhouse last night with one of my adventurous friends, who also went with me to see Les Anges Exterminateurs, and I laughed until my face was stained with tears. It was so over the top that I could not help myself. I laughed during Les Anges as well--because of the over the top sex in place of the violence.

Everything is over the top in the movies. At least Grindhouse was supposed to be. Someone was reading New York, the Sex and Love issue which of course I read (the coolest thing I discovered there was X Tube). The article about the rare species aka New York City virgins reminded me of an idea that is being fed to me in every "literary" book I read, and by other writers that the only way New Yorkers know how to connect is by being physical. This idea disturbs me, but as I am laughing my head off about extreme sex and violence in the movies I have seen, I think about a line from Joni Mitchell's song "People's Parties." "Laughing and crying, you know it's the same release.”

Maybe those tears on my eyes were for the still that it is so easy in this city for people to feel awkward about sex. I am 32 years old, and I am talking to friends who still cannot have frank conversations about sex. Friends who cannot say fuck--what the fuck is that? In Grindhouse, there were fucks on top of motherfucks, and it was annoying because cursing is like a fine liquor--good in small doses. How can you not be able to say fuck, while fucking other people? Because to me getting to know someone’s body before getting to know that person is fucking. It’s not making love until there is love involved. Call me traditional or whatever. I am disturbed by people who can be so hypocritical. The people, who smirk and grin during gratuitous sex scenes on the screen as if they have never had it, cringe at real emotion and love seeing blood everywhere.

Is trying to connect with people in New York City really such a grindhouse drama?

Anais Anais

I saw this Irving Penn photograph of Anais Nin. I was talking with a woman who was remarked about Nin being a polygamist--one husband on each coast of the continental United States. I think it was kind of cool! I mean I am not the sort of person who would want to marry two men, but I can have nothing against a woman who was her age and able to pull it off. It is inspirational.

I told a guy I know so many times that he should read Little Birds that he finally bought it. I am waiting to see if he likes it, I have never tired of turning people onto her.

This image courtesy of http://www.tfaoi.com/aa/1aa/1aa393.htm

Gratitude Tuesday

Persistence

This one gets written small and sweet. Fortune cookie style. Imagine breaking the cookie--preferably chocolate--and seeing this in tiny red writing:

Much gratitude for persistence because sometimes you have to go on when there is nothing to go on with.

I Heart Memes

Theresa whose blog is filled with faerie dust and beauty posted this meme. One of the most unique I have ever seen. I am interested in the results, here goes:

If you read this, if your eyes are passing over this right now, even if we don't speak often, please post a comment with a memory of you and me. It can be anything you want -- good or bad. When you're finished, post this little paragraph on your blog and be surprised (or mortified) about what people remember about you.

Gratitude Tuesday

Observation

I believe in the power of observation. Whether it is inward or outward, there is not another way in the world to learn than to look at what is around you and in you.

Have you ever felt like a failure? As if you could do nothing right even though you were trying harder than you ever could? Did you ever think what am I doing? The common denominator for everything in your life is you. You can change yourself.

I am a chameleon. I got the ability from my mother who is much more stable than me. She knows how to keep me grounded. I am the kind of person who will plan for the worse case scenario because I want to be prepared. My mother told me that I get myself all wound up all the time when there is not even a reason for me to feel that way.

Now when I fall, I let my mouth savor the soft metallic of the scrape wherever, and think I have gotten up, I can move on.

Just an observation about me.

If I was not an observer, I would not be a blogger. I watched what other people were doing and decided to join in. Being a blogger is one of the best things in my life. I see things--observe things like I never did before. Other people like I never did before.

I am richer for it.

I licked observation on a sugar cone today. More observation led me to free ice cream cone day at Ben and Jerry's. I actually hate ice cream cones, but there were no cups so I had to have one to place the fudge brownie ice cream in.

A lot to observe on the periphery of Times Square I might add.

Have you done your taxes? Oh the observation that I have not means I have to get off of this computer and do that!

Objets D'Art

Enough blogging about--here is my completed story in the rough. Please feel free to tell me what you think, and this time please it has sexual content so please do not say I did not preface the piece with that knowledge...if you are not old enough just don't bother...

Shasha was relatively that—was his name Martin?—could not have been more anxious than she was.
She rolled a finger on her hangnail, chewed just sufficiently enough that she knew exactly when to stop.
So that she would nor draw blood.
Even though the spot was a bruised red color.
One more tug with her teeth and she would be a vampire.
For the entire week that the figure model had been there all she had done was study the tattoo on the inside of his forearm..
It was a symbol she knew in Morocco that was on doors to keep evil spirits away.
She could not help but wonder what he wanted to keep away.
Maybe autovampires, she made herself smile before she remembered she was now the one in a vulnerable position.
Because now—martin her professor called his name –was walking around to see what the class had come up with.
Her professor had suggested that everyone focus on the part of him that was most striking to them.
“To capture his essence,” she had gesticulated wildly. “To capture his soul.”
The closer that martin came to her canvas, the more she felt herself pull at that hangnail.
Until finally she took in the taste of blood like a drug.
Closed her eyes.
Opened them.
Saw Martin in front of her.
“No one else even noticed the tattoo. Or anything that was on me.
Shasha looked into his eyes.
She wasn’t so shy with a guy if she had something to say.
“Are you Moroccan?”
”No,” he smiled.
Up close he wasn’t even that stunning, but his smile and personal demeanor engaged her.
In his back pocket was a novel in Portuguese.
He was actually Brazilian.
She understood bits and pieces from listening to Astrud Gilberto.
But it did not help her now.
When Martin walked away, she felt the sense of loss she was more than accustomed to.
Folded her things up.
Walked out of the classroom.
Martin was standing there.
“Are you playing hard to get?” he asked awkwardly.
Shasha frowned.
“Typical,’ was her clever comeback even if he was too stupid to know.
He followed her down the hall.
She shrugged.
Looked up into his eyes without flinching.
“Typical of really good looking guys to think the world revolves around them”
Typical of really smart girls to stereotype any man who is interested in them,” he said to her back.
Like shards of ice darted between her shoulder blades.
When she turned to look at him, the only thing that stilled her tongue was the look of injury on his face that mirrored hers.
Her turned her head to the side as she adjusted her sketchbook.
Her glasses fell forward slightly so she had to adjust them.
“So what do you have to say? What is your interest in me?”
”You’re putting me on the spot so I am destined to fail.”
Shasha knew she was being a bitch to him, but she could no more stop herself from doing it than anything else.
“I know I am being a bitch,” she said softly. “What do you want from me?”
“Are you doing that on purpose? It is nearly irresistible of you…”
She pushed the door to the stairwell.
Felt him close behind her.
She hadn’t been thinking, and walked into the deserted stairwell with him.
When she saw his arm, the hamsa on his inner forearm was not protecting either of them from evil.
At first his lips were just on the nape of her neck.
She sensed he would not do anything with them that she did not want him to do, as she took his arm.
Put her lips against the good luck symbol that she had drawn and colored so brilliantly in class.
One girl had drawn his penis so that it looked like what Georgia O’Keeffe did with vaginas.
“Does it have to be more than this?” she whispered, realized she was raising her hand to her mouth to chew the hangnail.
She whispered so low, she was not even sure he heard her.
“No, it doesn’t have to be anymore than you want it to be.”
Shasha kissed the hamsa, warm, lightly haired and veins beneath her mouth.
It was impossible to resist letting the tip of her tongue run along its path.
Once her tongue hit off of his tattoo, she realized she was not worshipping his tattoo like she had been doing the entire week in class.
She had entered him finally.
What she had been seeking all along.
Her lips trembled at this realization.
What should happen next?
Instead of following the heart pounding behind her breast, Shasha followed her mouth.
When Martin grabbed her left breast, he grabbed her so close to her heart it made it easy for her to romanticize was happening.
She was equally imaginative and romantic.
His hand moved from her breast to cover her eyes without lifting from her body so her skin flamed in the crescent shaped path he took.
Even the soles of her feet as if hot coals beneath them gave her goose bumps.
She felt the same texture at the nape of her neck, wondered if it prickled under his lips when he kissed her there?
His hand moved again without lifting from her body to her right hip, seizing her to him.
Her breath was awkward; it was odd to breathe still on fire the coolness of the wall soothed her.
Their lips came together and when he moved his mouth from hers, she licked her lips to continue to feel the warmth that remained before it was completely gone.
She looked at him through sit eyes to see his soft smile evolve into a kiss.
This time she did not let him pull away.
Even if his mouth moved from hers she held his body close to his.
So he knew that she wanted him with her, close and warm.
She felt a large piece of turned up paint against the small of her back.
There was work being done in the corridor and the scent of paint became rampant.
Not the kind of paint that she loved, but house paint.
Her hands loosened their hold
Even though she was standing with her legs jarred and licking her lips when Martin was not kissing them, she knew she did not have any intention of having sex with him in a college corridor.
Martin suddenly took her hand, her bag and led her down the stairs.
Shasha did not understand, but she did feel awkward back pressed to a peeling wall.
Even I f she was with martin.
“There’s a place that I go after posing for the class, “he said holding her hand which made her unable to think if anything else but the sensation of his hand in hers.
She was not sure what felt warmer when she had her hand around a mug of coffee at the café they ended up at—his hand or his eyes?
He had the sort of eyes that it seemed like he wanted you, but he was just looking at you.
Returning your gaze.
It was hard to marry that notion when her lips still warmed from the kissing they had done in the corridor.
She could not distinguish the difference between his fingers and peeling paint now.
Her foot hit his under the table, and she wondered if he thought it was intentional.
Their eyes met at the same moment, Shasha could not helot but smile.
“What is that book you are reading?”
Shasha looked up from her coffee; her eyes fell on his novel.
“You are all looking at me so I have to focus on something”
”So you were looking at me?”
Martin smiled.
“I was looking at your book like you were looking at me tattoo.”
“Touché,” Shasha smiled on the rim of the coffee mug. “Touché””
She did not question him after that.
Just took his hand in hers hen they were done at the café.
Let him take her downtown somewhere she did not know but close enough to kiss the Brooklyn Bridge .
“Where are we?” she asked standing after awhile in his unlit apartment.
“Where were we is more what I was thinking”
His face was lit by the flashing car lights in the distance from the bridge as he stroked her mouth, throat between her breasts through her t-shirt.
“Everything here is soft unlike on the stairwell at the university.”
A drive of heat between her legs cooled a bit by his body close to hers. She wanted where they were as well.
For her that meant she had to turn off her mind.
Close her eyes.
Eyes closed, she felt his body move from her.
She followed him with her pelvis which as entire hand covered her triangle through a flared skirt.
“Keep your eyes closed. I want you to listen.”
Shasha was obedient, eyes close she heard music in Portuguese.
She tried not to think about the song to much.
She had to turn off her mind to be with martin.
Her mid was sometimes a barrier to her enjoyment.
The only thing she wanted was to be with martin.
He spoke to her in fluent Portuguese which she believed she was learning intuitively.
When he touched her between her now bare breasts and bare rest of her body except for the triangle that still wore his hand, she felt he was telling he thing about her body she would not have otherwise known.
Lying on the floor legs tangled in semi comfort after much trial and error, he brought his hand to his head when she saw his tattoo.
Instantly remembered that she’d used it as a diversion not to stare at the body she was entangled with.
Now it was okay.
For the moment, that body was hers.
She scrambled to her knees; let her breasts move over his chest from above.
Let them swing then crush against him, his chest his stomach, his thighs.
Sweeping him was a maintenance that she enjoyed more that anything she has ever done in her domicile.
When his hand slid past her sweeping breasts, her labia rushed with the lava she felt down there.
She had not looked at his body because she did not want to fantasize about him when she had to regard him as an objet d’art.
Now the artistry was in what their bodies felt together
Her fingers slipped between her legs she was so hot there and would not be able to think otherwise.
Then she realized she could use him.
His moans beneath her were more melodic than the song they were listening to which even though it was the first time she had heard it she realized they were listening to it over and over again.
They could not be bothered as she eased her throbbing along a thick vein along his shaft
Her own moaning joined in with his.
He was not an object, as he grabbed her hips and buttocks in ways that made the vibration there more intense than she was capable of on her own.
Shasha stopped even though she was almost there.
The heat between her legs now throbbed with heaviness there.
Martin’s face was a study in ambiguity—arousal pain and confusion.
The very thing she had not wanted to do she had done.
Treated him like an object.
However she was heavy with the need for release.
Crawled over him, his eyes crystal clear as he gazed into hers.
Left nothing to the imagination.
The way he sprawled beneath her, it was if he were impaled by his own erection.
She grabbed his shaft to see what would happen.
His breath came like a waterfall.
But he didn’t.
“Go to the dresser by the door—there are condoms in the bottom.
“For all of your living room seductions?” she smiled letting her breasts sway above him before she let her hips sway in a grand exaggeration on her way to the dresser.
Before she was aware of her vulnerable state she felt the heat of her body.
“You had your way with me, now I have my way with you.”
Shasha wondered how he expected her to find anything in his dark apartment, as she placed her hand flat until she felt the after dinner mint sized square that would brig her pleasure.
There was the shimmer of a mirror inside the room she could barely see but could sort out that he was putting the condom he had found beside her questing hand.
When he entered her, her eyes caught on what they were doing like murky pornography.
When he entered her, her body felt the objet d’art she was glad she had not let her fantasies cloud.She gripped the edge of the dresser tightly—squeezed a tiny bit of skin in the drawer that opened and closed in response to their thrusting.
Shasha was relatively that—was his name Martin?—could not have been more anxious than she was.
She rolled a finger on her hangnail, chewed just sufficiently enough that she knew exactly when to stop.
So that she would nor draw blood.
Even though the spot was a bruised red color.
One more tug with her teeth and she would be a vampire.
For the entire week that the figure model had been there all she had done was study the tattoo on the inside of his forearm..
It was a symbol she knew in Morocco that was on doors to keep evil spirits away.
She could not help but wonder what he wanted to keep away.
Maybe autovampires, she made herself smile before she remembered she was now the one in a vulnerable position.
Because now—martin her professor called his name –was walking around to see what the class had come up with.
Her professor had suggested that everyone focus on the part of him that was most striking to them.
“To capture his essence,” she had gesticulated wildly. “To capture his soul.”
The closer that martin came to her canvas, the more she felt herself pull at that hangnail.
Until finally she took in the taste of blood like a drug.
Closed her eyes.
Opened them.
Saw Martin in front of her.
“No one else even noticed the tattoo. Or anything that was on me.
Shasha looked into his eyes.
She wasn’t so shy with a guy if she had something to say.
“Are you Moroccan?”
”No,” he smiled.
Up close he wasn’t even that stunning, but his smile and personal demeanor engaged her.
In his back pocket was a novel in Portuguese.
He was actually Brazilian.
She understood bits and pieces from listening to Astrud Gilberto.
But it did not help her now.
When Martin walked away, she felt the sense of loss she was more than accustomed to.
Folded her things up.
Walked out of the classroom.
Martin was standing there.
“Are you playing hard to get?” he asked awkwardly.
Shasha frowned.
“Typical,’ was her clever comeback even if he was too stupid to know.
He followed her down the hall.
She shrugged.
Looked up into his eyes without flinching.
“Typical of really good looking guys to think the world revolves around them”
Typical of really smart girls to stereotype any man who is interested in them,” he said to her back.
Like shards of ice darted between her shoulder blades.
When she turned to look at him, the only thing that stilled her tongue was the look of injury on his face that mirrored hers.
Her turned her head to the side as she adjusted her sketchbook.
Her glasses fell forward slightly so she had to adjust them.
“So what do you have to say? What is your interest in me?”
”You’re putting me on the spot so I am destined to fail.”
Shasha knew she was being a bitch to him, but she could no more stop herself from doing it than anything else.
“I know I am being a bitch,” she said softly. “What do you want from me?”
“Are you doing that on purpose? It is nearly irresistible of you…”
She pushed the door to the stairwell.
Felt him close behind her.
She hadn’t been thinking, and walked into the deserted stairwell with him.
When she saw his arm, the hamsa on his inner forearm was not protecting either of them from evil.
At first his lips were just on the nape of her neck.
She sensed he would not do anything with them that she did not want him to do, as she took his arm.
Put her lips against the good luck symbol that she had drawn and colored so brilliantly in class.
One girl had drawn his penis so that it looked like what Georgia O’Keeffe did with vaginas.
“Does it have to be more than this?” she whispered, realized she was raising her hand to her mouth to chew the hangnail.
She whispered so low, she was not even sure he heard her.
“No, it doesn’t have to be anymore than you want it to be.”
Shasha kissed the hamsa, warm, lightly haired and veins beneath her mouth.
It was impossible to resist letting the tip of her tongue run along its path.
Once her tongue hit off of his tattoo, she realized she was not worshipping his tattoo like she had been doing the entire week in class.
She had entered him finally.
What she had been seeking all along.
Her lips trembled at this realization.
What should happen next?
Instead of following the heart pounding behind her breast, Shasha followed her mouth.
When Martin grabbed her left breast, he grabbed her so close to her heart it made it easy for her to romanticize was happening.
She was equally imaginative and romantic.
His hand moved from her breast to cover her eyes without lifting from her body so her skin flamed in the crescent shaped path he took.
Even the soles of her feet as if hot coals beneath them gave her goose bumps.
She felt the same texture at the nape of her neck, wondered if it prickled under his lips when he kissed her there?
His hand moved again without lifting from her body to her right hip, seizing her to him.
Her breath was awkward; it was odd to breathe still on fire the coolness of the wall soothed her.
Their lips came together and when he moved his mouth from hers, she licked her lips to continue to feel the warmth that remained before it was completely gone.
She looked at him through sit eyes to see his soft smile evolve into a kiss.
This time she did not let him pull away.
Even if his mouth moved from hers she held his body close to his.
So he knew that she wanted him with her, close and warm.
She felt a large piece of turned up paint against the small of her back.
There was work being done in the corridor and the scent of paint became rampant.
Not the kind of paint that she loved, but house paint.
Her hands loosened their hold
Even though she was standing with her legs jarred and licking her lips when Martin was not kissing them, she knew she did not have any intention of having sex with him in a college corridor.
Martin suddenly took her hand, her bag and led her down the stairs.
Shasha did not understand, but she did feel awkward back pressed to a peeling wall.
Even I f she was with martin.
“There’s a place that I go after posing for the class, “he said holding her hand which made her unable to think if anything else but the sensation of his hand in hers.
She was not sure what felt warmer when she had her hand around a mug of coffee at the café they ended up at—his hand or his eyes?
He had the sort of eyes that it seemed like he wanted you, but he was just looking at you.
Returning your gaze.
It was hard to marry that notion when her lips still warmed from the kissing they had done in the corridor.
She could not distinguish the difference between his fingers and peeling paint now.
Her foot hit his under the table, and she wondered if he thought it was intentional.
Their eyes met at the same moment, Shasha could not helot but smile.
“What is that book you are reading?”
Shasha looked up from her coffee; her eyes fell on his novel.
“You are all looking at me so I have to focus on something”
”So you were looking at me?”
Martin smiled.
“I was looking at your book like you were looking at me tattoo.”
“Touché,” Shasha smiled on the rim of the coffee mug. “Touché””
She did not question him after that.
Just took his hand in hers hen they were done at the café.
Let him take her downtown somewhere she did not know but close enough to kiss the Brooklyn Bridge .
“Where are we?” she asked standing after awhile in his unlit apartment.
“Where were we is more what I was thinking”
His face was lit by the flashing car lights in the distance from the bridge as he stroked her mouth, throat between her breasts through her t-shirt.
“Everything here is soft unlike on the stairwell at the university.”
A drive of heat between her legs cooled a bit by his body close to hers. She wanted where they were as well.
For her that meant she had to turn off her mind.
Close her eyes.
Eyes closed, she felt his body move from her.
She followed him with her pelvis which as entire hand covered her triangle through a flared skirt.
“Keep your eyes closed. I want you to listen.”
Shasha was obedient, eyes close she heard music in Portuguese.
She tried not to think about the song to much.
She had to turn off her mind to be with martin.
Her mid was sometimes a barrier to her enjoyment.
The only thing she wanted was to be with martin.
He spoke to her in fluent Portuguese which she believed she was learning intuitively.
When he touched her between her now bare breasts and bare rest of her body except for the triangle that still wore his hand, she felt he was telling he thing about her body she would not have otherwise known.
Lying on the floor legs tangled in semi comfort after much trial and error, he brought his hand to his head when she saw his tattoo.
Instantly remembered that she’d used it as a diversion not to stare at the body she was entangled with.
Now it was okay.
For the moment, that body was hers.
She scrambled to her knees; let her breasts move over his chest from above.
Let them swing then crush against him, his chest his stomach, his thighs.
Sweeping him was a maintenance that she enjoyed more that anything she has ever done in her domicile.
When his hand slid past her sweeping breasts, her labia rushed with the lava she felt down there.
She had not looked at his body because she did not want to fantasize about him when she had to regard him as an objet d’art.
Now the artistry was in what their bodies felt together
Her fingers slipped between her legs she was so hot there and would not be able to think otherwise.
Then she realized she could use him.
His moans beneath her were more melodic than the song they were listening to which even though it was the first time she had heard it she realized they were listening to it over and over again.
They could not be bothered as she eased her throbbing along a thick vein along his shaft
Her own moaning joined in with his.
He was not an object, as he grabbed her hips and buttocks in ways that made the vibration there more intense than she was capable of on her own.
Shasha stopped even though she was almost there.
The heat between her legs now throbbed with heaviness there.
Martin’s face was a study in ambiguity—arousal pain and confusion.
The very thing she had not wanted to do she had done.
Treated him like an object.
However she was heavy with the need for release.
Crawled over him, his eyes crystal clear as he gazed into hers.
Left nothing to the imagination.
The way he sprawled beneath her, it was if he were impaled by his own erection.
She grabbed his shaft to see what would happen.
His breath came like a waterfall.
But he didn’t.
“Go to the dresser by the door—there are condoms in the bottom.
“For all of your living room seductions?” she smiled letting her breasts sway above him before she let her hips sway in a grand exaggeration on her way to the dresser.
Before she was aware of her vulnerable state she felt the heat of her body.
“You had your way with me, now I have my way with you.”
Shasha wondered how he expected her to find anything in his dark apartment, as she placed her hand flat until she felt the after dinner mint sized square that would brig her pleasure.
There was the shimmer of a mirror inside the room she could barely see but could sort out that he was putting the condom he had found beside her questing hand.
When he entered her, her eyes caught on what they were doing like murky pornography.
When he entered her, her body felt the objet d’art she was glad she had not let her fantasies cloud.She gripped the edge of the dresser tightly—squeezed a tiny bit of skin in the drawer that opened and closed in response to their thrusting.
Right now was mostly about him.
Though he caressed her breasts and backside absently but with enough attention that she felt herself move against the edge of the dresser.
Her own stimulation in conjunction with his was unbearable.
His moans were deep within him, she wished his face was part of the murky porno they were in inside the mirror but she could not see him.
She saw only a grotesque grimace on her face and fleetingly his face tight and stern with a suggestion of a smile when he caught her eye.
His eyes were intense even in the dark distance.
Shasha sat on the dresser after.
The light from the tips of their cigarettes like votive candles.
The fist of his tattoo was illuminated, when he lit her cigarette.
Her thought s were murky like the porno scene they had acted out.
Slowly she realized that martin had put the song they were listening to on repeat but they were so involved before she had not noticed.
She laughed to herself softly.
“What?” he questioned.
She looked up into his eyes, they were an anchor.
Maybe into his soul.
“Nothing.”Right now was mostly about him.
Though he caressed her breasts and backside absently but with enough attention that she felt herself move against the edge of the dresser.
Her own stimulation in conjunction with his was unbearable.
His moans were deep within him, she wished his face were part of the murky porno they were in inside the mirror but she could not see him.
She saw only a grotesque grimace on her face and fleetingly his face tight and stern with a suggestion of a smile when he caught her eye.
His eyes were intense even in the dark distance.
Shasha sat on the dresser after.
The light from the tips of their cigarettes like votive candles.
The fist of his tattoo was illuminated, when he lit her cigarette.
Her thoughts were murky like the porno scene they had acted out.
Slowly she realized that Martin had put the song they were listening to on repeat but they were so involved before she had not noticed.
She laughed to herself softly.
“What?” he questioned.
She looked up into his eyes, they were an anchor.
Maybe into his soul.
“Nothing.”

Restless

I have been restless as all hell for the past few days...I stayed up talking all morning Monday right before work and have not been the same since. Don't look at me too closely--oh you cannot see the dark circles under my eyes!

I managed to finish the second half of the story I lost--and found--after the contest was over. I will be posting it tomorrow after I respond to all the lovely comments I got from the Fish Tank...

Story to come, she types with a yawn...

Gratitude Tuesday

New York

Only in my beloved New York, could I--who can newly drink coffee again post Lent--be walking out of Starbuck's, tell a woman that the beads she was wearing were nice and have her give them to me!

I was mad because I had just gotten my coffee and asked for six packets of honey to put into it--a habit that is hard to relinquish post tea--only to have the barista say to me that that is sure a lot of honey! This after he failed to give me my change, and I said okay keep it.

But I digress...

I pointed to the woman's beads and said they were cute. She said thank you, and after I poured half and half into my coffee said to take them. I said no of course! But she insisted. Turns out she had a bunch as part of a New Orleans promotion. I took the beads, and was overwhelmed. I have never visited New Orleans, but it has always had a dear spot in my heart. It was lovely to feel some of the hospitality of the city, and to have a Fat Tuesday so much after the fact.

What city connects other cities like New York does? I am proud to be a native New Yorker because as far as I am concerned it is the capital of the world, which has given me endless experiences like the above.

Thinking Blogger Meme

I have been given a Thinking Blogger award and a ton of accolade from CeeCi who is such an amazing blogger friend and who inspired me from the beginning with her blogs. Please if I have not mentioned her magic here enough click on her name.

I am going to do the meme that comes with this honor, which goes like this:


1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to five blogs that make you think.

2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative silver version if gold doesn't fit your blog).

I was lucky enough to post gold! Needless to say CeeCi is given one--she gave six on her blog too! But she creates such a sense of community, and makes me think about how lucky I am and she even helped me get this red on my blog with her Geeky Streak blog. I am also giving awards to:

Probitionate who got me from the beginning, and continues to inspire me. He is more prolific than most of us will ever be and witty and just a lovely blogger friend. He responded to my confession post and he has been a kindred ever since. I was really scared to write that post, but he made me feel glad I had.

Shanna Germain, whose talent and ambition inspire me to no end. She writes brilliant erotica, and she sets goals for herself. Her blog is full of goals and things to do plus appearances because she is making the rounds with her work. She is in Best American Erotica 2007, and featured here.

Cosima is just amazing. CeeCi even posted when you read her blog it is like entering another world. She has more culture and insight in her little posting finger! Every time I read her, I learn something new and am inspired as an artist more than ever.

Sexualite is after my own heart. She is fearless, intelligent, and for me as a writer and reader, she is just mind candy.

Remittance Girl wrote a story that literally is still with me, and ironically enough, it was about a character named Leonora which was a lovely thing too!

BTW the name of my blog is Leo Solo, is a play on Spanish. Lei is how you say, "I read" in Spanish, it is an exception because usually an "o" is added to the end of the Spanish verb when you drop the suffix. I could not help but think of that, and Leo could make you think I was male which was lovely too, so I was sold on the title.

Clyde

I have been getting updates via Tori Amos e-mail prompts. Via e-mail she will be introducing us to the girls of the American Doll Posse. The first girl is Clyde.

I love this blog, aside from the sensational artwork--de Lempicka and Nesrat--I love what it is saying. I think that the piece about how all art and relationships start as potential. I love that idea. Further in the bit about who we choose to be in a particular moment. I know I have the ability to be a thousand different people in a matter of seconds.

The image above is courtesy of Sony Music. I feel like this right now.

Gratitude Tuesday on a Wednesday

Magic

I believe in magic, not the pulling rabbits out of hats sort, but the kind that is meaningful and makes you think. I walked a blind man through a watery Times Square station today. The magic of people to help one another humbles me. Have you seen CeeCi's Geeky Streak? She helped me put the red in my blog, it's a simple change, but I swear it is magic to me!

BTW Guess what reared its pretty late head to me after the contest was over? I'll post the rest of objets d'art soon enough. I finished it, and so I won in my own way...


Magic courtesy of Getty Images