05|30|2008
It is past my bedtime. Surely, I should be sleeping by now; I normally am. But with the combination of coffee ice cream & chocolate covered, peanut butter filled pretzels, I cannot stop my mind from whirling. I’ve been lying in bed for an hour or so, trying to get my thoughts to slow down just enough so that I can keep track of them.
Just as I was starting to drift off into some sort of peace, I heard very loud banging in the wall beside me. It wasn’t consistent — only happens every several seconds — but it was enough to keep me awake, guessing & agitated. It sounded as though someone was either rapping on the wall, or slamming a door in anger. I silently counted the bangs, saying to myself, Okay… if it bangs one more time, I’ll get up to see what it is. Alright… the next time I hear it, I’ll get up. Okay, if it gets so loud that it startles Sofie (my trusty shih tzu) I will certainly get up to investigate.
The noise wouldn’t stop & I was starting to get past my irritation & into the curiosity phase; what IS that? I pressed my ear to the wall (have I ever mentioned how curious & slightly nosy I am? I inherited it completely from my mother, for the record), hoping to make out something amongst the noise of the banging & Lover’s snoring. I heard yelling (or was it shrieking?) on the other end. Were my neighbors watching a game? No, it’s far too late for that. Maybe they were playing a video game. A domestic dispute, possibly? & then the banging started again, over & over. I listened closer…
It took me several seconds, but I finally realized what the banging was: it was a headboard hitting the wall in deep & powerful smacks. & the shrieking was none other than the pleasureful sounds of my neighbors getting it on — making love, if you will. Shamefully, I was more than interested to keep listening. Not in a dirty, nosy way (although, I have to admit… maybe just a little) but to hear just how other people get down. I have always been intrigued my the science of sex & this was really quite fascinating! Or maybe I am just terribly sheltered.
After a while, I scared my own self, thinking: My God, Ev’Yan! What a pervert you are! Geez. Lay down & go to bed, for Heaven’s sake! Then, I went from feeling guilty, to feeling aroused. My little mind then started to scheme ideas: Ooo, wouldn’t it be nice to have a lovely little competition with the neighbors? I bet Lover & I could be louder, rowdier & steamier. I bet we could win if we tried. I bet we could make it so good they would start back up again, getting off to our lovemaking sounds. I should wake Lover & proposition him into a sack session fit for an indiscreet diary writing. He might like it; a spontaneous romp in the covers. I don’t think he would wake up too grumpy at me. Yes, yes. I should wake him.
So tempting, so naughty. But unfortunately, between my sugar high & Lover persistently sawing logs, I couldn’t find it in me. I really wanted to do something; it seemed a waste not to try (I cannot explain why, it is just this way) but I couldn’t. Thus, here I sit like a lonely begonia, waiting for the caffeine crash & hoping to find some solace in entertainment on the internet, while Lover groans, sighs & stirs upstairs.
Sadly, I have yet to find any decent entertainment to keep me steady; except this late night perversion, of course, which helped my energy levels only slightly. But annoyingly, I cannot stop hearing the passion-filled shrieks & thrusting thumping. I’m not sure if it is my own wishful thinking or if maybe they still might be going at it. Whichever is truthful, one thing’s for sure: I need to take my gutter-mind & my potty thoughts to bed.
05|29|2008
T-shirt from American Apparel; boyfriend jeans from Target; shoes from Ross; necklace from Forever21 & bracelet is vintage, I believe.
As much as I like to dress girlie & ladylike (that high-waisted skirt is the epitome of girlishness) I find that I would much rather be clad in “boyfriend” attire. I feel like it suits my personality best. Not just because it’s simple, but because it can be dressed up or down. My wardrobe is filled with boyfriend cardigans, baggy slacks & clean-cut tees. I love to mix & match: boyish cut jeans with a girlie blouse, or a rough necked shirt with tights, short-shorts & accessories.
I love the concept of the androgynous look; I feel empowered that masculine pieces challenge my femininity, especially with sporting such a short haircut. Not to mention, it’s terribly comfortable!
05|28|2008
Last night, while writing in an old notebook, I happened to stumble across a list I had made of all the things I would like to see accomplished before I leave this earth. I began to read it & was surprised at the simplicity of the list. I was expecting it to be glamorous & ambitious; maybe a little bourgeois as they say (I typically have high standards for myself). But it wasn’t any of the above. It was humble & significant. Surprisingly enough, I have seemingly completed more of this list than I ever thought, which made me feel very proud & important; that maybe I am fulfilling all of the wonderful things I have wanted for my life, no matter how modest. Here is an excerpt of this list. The ones that are bolded are the ones that have been completed.
- travel to Paris, France; have coffee in a cup & saucer, sitting down in a small cafe.
- tell someone what I really think of them. (I don’t remember what became of this.)
- hear someone tell me “You’ve made a difference in my life.” (Everyday I hear this from the mouth of my husband.)
- have a successful, love-filled relationship. (Compared to what was before, my marriage is the epitome of this description.)
- make love with [real] multiple orgasms.
- cry out of sheer & complete happiness.
- say something nice to a stranger. (I can’t remember what was said.)
- give money, food, clothing to a homeless person.
- be introduced as “fianceé.”
- & be proposed to, of course.
- take a road trip.
- change a tire.
- have more than $1,000 in my account.
- travel to Canada.
- wear an outfit without a bra. (This is now religiously done.)
- buy lingerie & wear it.
- move out of my hometown.
- paint a picture; abstract.
- go topless at a nude beach.
- kiss my grandfather.
- knit a scarf.
- get married, with all the traditions. (This wasn’t rightfully done with all the traditions, but I was married.)
- see an ex-boyfriend, & brag about my happiness.
- do a striptease.
- appreciate seafood — then become 70% vegetarian. (This wasn’t rightfully done either; I never managed to stomach seafood & I am now 100% vegetarian.)
- see the 3 pyramids of Giza.
- take a dance class.
- talk to my mother about sex. (Probably one of the most endearing, meaningful moments of my life.)
- learn to play the jaw-harp.
- wear a floor-length gown.
- get a professional massage.
- read “The Awakening” by Kate Chopin. (I am nearly finished with this book.)
- go to a bar; order a cosmopolitan.
- receive a bouquet of orchids &/or gerber daisies. (My husband is so wonderful. I’ve received both arrangements several times since we’ve been married.)
- shake hands with someone important/someone famous.
Nearly completing this effortless list is something I am most proud of.
05|27|2008
Sweater & headband from Target; shorts are old; tights from H&M; shoes are thrifted; bracelet (which doubles as a necklace) is my own creation. Also, this was yesterday’s outfit. I am in grubbies today.
Oh, what a very long weekend it was, filled with nonsensical activities & lazy days. I adored it.
I had high hopes that the rainy weather would carry out at least until Monday (yesterday) but it didn’t last very long; the rain stopped as abruptly as it came. Although… the clouds & the biting breeze is still lingering even as of today. Nevertheless, Lover & I basked in the gloomy glory of our very long weekend & I am still trying my best to recover. After spending so much ample time with my husband, I am missing him today, now that we’ve both returned to reality, working, errand running, doing all the boring things grown ups tend to do. & here is where I let out a big & heavy sigh.
This weekend was spent close to home & doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company. On Saturday (which Lover dubbed “May Man Madness”) we watched a UFC fight & Lord, have mercy, that is some exciting mess to watch! I couldn’t believe how involved I was getting. Almost — dare I say? — emotionally involved. When someone got hit, I felt bad for him. When blood was gushing out of eyeballs, foreheads & skulls, I was cringing at his misfortune, but at the same time, squealing & shouting at the sheer barbarian-ness of this physical sport.
My goodness, some of these guys got worked; I mean, really messed up. & all the while, Lover & I were sitting practically front row & center, taking in all the action. We got ourselves amped up for this pay-per-view premiere (Lover was a wee bit more pumped than I was, I think) & bought so much junk food that we now don’t know what to do with it. We vegged out on In-&-Out grilled cheeses, with french fries & gobs of ketchup. We chugged soda & belched. Lover insisted that this event could not be without dip. So we bought 2 kinds: sour cream dip with potato chips, & a spicy cheese dip for Doritoes. It was then I insisted that this event could not be without candy. So we bought peanut butter M&Ms & I bought a rather large bag of Starbursts. We ate like greedy little kids, but we were acting like testosterone driven men. By the next morning, both of us were hurting, our stomachs queasy from all the excitement & gluttonous indulgence of the previous night.
It hurts my pride a little to say that I had so much fun that night. It hurts because I really do the best I can to be so very ladylike, & to think that I was belching, yelling (“Oooo yeah, man! He’s down! He’s down! Oh shit. Ahhhh! Did you see that? Did you SEE that?! What the fuck! Wooooo!!!”) pigging out like I’ve lost my mind & staying up even later to watch yet another display of manly packed action (Lover wasn’t ready to call it quits until we finished watching The Transporter 2, just to end the night right) … well, I feel almost ashamed of myself. But oh, it was so much fun.
But it wasn’t all May Man Madness, thankfully, or else we’d both be in junk food comas. We did a little shopping yesterday for our house — we bought 2 very fragrant candles — & attempted to go to Ikea, where we got lost, driving around in circles for an hour, before pulling over & asking someone for directions. By the time we arrived, we were starving (we hadn’t eaten anything but breakfast, due to our running around) & were halfway delirious. We saved ourselves from impulse buying this very comfy lounge chaise & an office chair, & after staying there for less than an hour, we eventually left empty handed & feeling faint.
What a weekend. Again, I must say that I am still trying to recover.
05|23|2008
Black boyfriend cardigan (literally speaking, because it’s from the men’s collection) from Forever21; gray scarf & white t-shirt from Gap; this darling little skirt & tights are from H&M; shoes from Target; jewelry is miscellaneous.
The gray scarf is one of my most prized possessions. Lover gave it to me on one of our first dates together. No matter how grungy or frayed this scarf may become, no matter whether or not gray scarves are still in style, I will always wear this.
Both necklaces are also very near to my heart, but the one I treasure most is the shorter one; the one with the whale & safety pin as the charms. The whale charm was given to me by my father a long, long time ago, on our very first family trip to Monterey Bay. I was 7 years old, I think; maybe 8. The chain broke & I strung it on a [very tarnished] silver chain I received from my grandmother. The safety pin has been apart of this ensemble for quite sometime; matter of fact, it’s probably rusted shut at this point. When people ask me what the safety pin is for, I simply reply: “To keep me safe.”
Might I also add that I am dumbfounded that I have to bundle up this much when we’re nearing June. Imagine that.
05|22|2008
White shirt is from so long ago, I don’t remember where I bought it; wide legged trousers from Target; red shoes are thrifted; scarf (actually a sarong) was my sister’s; red belt was my mother’s; multicolored wooden bracelet was a gift from a my father.
Since my closet is so jammed packed with goodies, I had nearly forgotten about these darling little trousers. They’re practically brand new & oh-so-comfortable.
05|20|2008
I am reading this book at the moment. It’s called “The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex.” I purchased this book because I was feeling helpless & quite fed up with my self-confidence regarding self love & sexuality. I felt like I needed answers; I needed to feel a little less lost & more in touch with my inner woman. I wanted clarity on what it means to be a sexually conscious woman & how to embody that into my daily living. Also, I have always longed to be a Sex Goddess. Not just for my husband, but for myself. Because I deserve it, dammit! So, I did some research online, hoping to find a bit of direction before getting lost in endless aisles of books in the bookstore. To my surprise, all the books I had originally wanted weren’t in Barnes & Noble. I was beginning to feel like I was destined to be a frumpy, clueless about sex housewife; & then I stumbled across The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex & I thought “perfect.”
Now this book… it’s a little amateur for someone like me. Which is so surprising; quite frankly, I can’t believe that I just uttered that out of my mouth. Did I say that out loud? I am far from Bad Girl status! (Or so I thought.) But, this book is no help to me because I already know most of what its talking about. It’s much like Cosmopolitan magazine. Regretfully, I have read — subscribed, even — to this sexually fueled magazine & this book is no different; absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. It talks about the typical sex subjects (seduction, sex toys, orgasms) as well as changing your outer-self (clothes, hair, speech, charisma). It also features very elaborate, hands on activities where you manifest your Bad Girlness right out loud, plain as day. One activity instructs you to lie down, fully nude & begin to touch yourself, sensually, to get to know your body intimately & fall in love with the art of touch, without any shame or embarrassment. I thought it sounded like a lot of fun. “Sign me up!” I practically exclaimed in Barnes & Noble. & that’s all fine & dandy, but it’s not really practical.
For one, I found out that this isn’t the type of book to read at night, in bed, next to your husband. As tempting as it was for me to strip down & “explore my femininity” I couldn’t do that in front of Lover! No, he cannot be included in my journey. He’ll just end up being a free loader! (In that I must say that I love my husband; I really do, but in this particular event, there isn’t any time for distractions. & any man in their right mind would not just lay in bed at 9 o’clock at night, allowing their wife to touch her nude body without trying to interfere. Matter of fact, I’m not sure that if Lover were doing this that it would be difficult for me to not interfere myself. I mean, come on; my own personal Jonathan Rhys Meyers lookalike lying right next to me? & he’s naked? I’m sure a nun would have a bit of trouble with that one.)
Nevertheless, this book is really very interesting, but more for women who shy away from the seemingly overwhelming tasks of masturbation, showing some skin while dressing like a fox, walking the walk, talking the talk, & seducing a man. Now, I am no guru, (I am far, far from it) but I do know a thing or two about those things mentioned. I am not so impotent that I need this little book to school me on the techniques of pleasing a man as well as my inner Bad Girl. But one thing I can’t deny is that this book does provoke some interesting thoughts in my pretty little head. The other night, I read a passage that sounded something like this:
Let me tell you a little bit about Bad Girls: Bad Girls are bad! Bad Girls are sexy! Bad Girls have orgasms & pleasure themselves consistently… & they don’t feel guilty about it! Bad Girl tease, please & electrify men. They make heads turn; they make faces green with envy. Bad Girls think about sex 24/7, 365; on the bus, in the shower, in a meeting, in church. Bad Girls are confident & sure of themselves. Bad Girls are naughty, naughty little things. Mmm, yes. So bad. & Good Girls? Good Girls are timid; Good Girls are inhibited. Good Girls are oppressed within themselves. Now tell me… which would you rather be?
I thought, “Are you kidding me? Is that even a real question? I wanna be BAD! Duh.”
Which transpires an argument in my head: But… but… I am a Good Girl. I always have been, even while trying to break out of the reputation I made for myself. I was most commonly known as The Virgin all through high school & this wasn’t just a sexual reference. I didn’t drink, I didn’t smoke, I didn’t do any kind of drug (much of that is still unchanged, even as of now). I was a regular square; the third wheel; the tag-along. No one ever taught me what it meant to me a woman, with all the trimmings. I mean, of course my mother taught me how to sit like a lady, talk like a lady & act like one. But what about how to make love like a lady? Or how to seduce a man? The word “sex” was hardly ever used in my house, which made me feel very dirty whenever I thought about sex. & although I feel like I outgrew most of my awkward stage, I know that the Good Girl image is still there, annoyingly taunting me & making me feel inferior to all those Bad Girls out there.
After a few nights of skimming through these pages of step by steps & do-it-yourself sessions, I realized something pretty profound: I am not as good as I once perceived, which means I have been depriving myself of a toe-curling sex life as well as Bad Girl strutting sexuality all this time! I mean, yes… I can be a little innocent minded at times & yes, I can be pretty damn shy when it comes to sex & sexuality. & yes, my self-esteem is a work in progress; I am certainly no Marilyn Monroe. But I am a woman, that much is so. I might even be kind of sexy, instead of the resounding “cute!” I seem to get constantly.
It’s obvious to me now that I’ve got a little more “je ne sais quoi” (that I don’t know what) that I have been looking for. There is a lot of me that is Bad already; I just needed the courage to explore it. I needed the courage to admit it. I needed the balls (yes, balls!) to say to myself, “You’ve got cleavage, you’ve got long stems for legs, you’ve got moon beams for eyes; use them, for Heaven’s sake! & seduce your husband, why don’t you? You’ve got it in you & even if you don’t think you do (which is usually the excuse) fake it, Honey. Fake it until you feel it. You’ll thank me later.” I suppose that maybe I am a lot closer to wicked, enticing, Bad Girlness than I thought.
So in the midst of all this complaining about how dumb this book is & how much money I just wasted on this wretched thing & how it seems as though I’ll never find my sexual niche in life, all of this — everything I have been talking about — just dawned on me. & it made me feel really good. No, actually… it made me feel really bad.
& for the record, I do recommend this book. While I felt it didn’t pertain directly to me, it opened my eyes to traits & things I already have within myself, even while I was searching & praying for answers. Knowledge & enlightenment come in many different forms. I suppose mine was in this seemingly useless book.
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