My Preciousssss

So, those who know me might say I'm somewhat of a nerd. OK. Very much a nerd. I play a lot of video games, dress up at events for said video games, and watch shitloads of movies.

I've been known to quote movies often, painstakingly Lord of the rings. Example, while hanging with my best friend, I would quote it ALL the time. She'd say something to the effect of,"Be really careful with that, it's old." I'd get all creepy and say, "Don't worry, it's my preciousssss." Nods and laughs from her. But I realized that my friend didn't actually know what movie I've been quoting when I said, God, how crazy was Gollum, hey? Her response... "What's a Gollum?" Now what the fuck did you think I was doing when I would say things like, "It's tricksy ya hobbits"? Or someone wouldn't answer their phone and I'd say in the same creepy voice,"They is not our friennnnd." And more importantly, what the hell did you think I was doing when I walked into a room and said in a deep dark voice,"I am never late, nor am I early... I arrive precisely when I mean to" while stroking my long fake beard...

Do you just think I'm extremely fucking weird? Do you just laugh at ANY kind of weird shit that I do? Maybe I could just say something that isn't even a quote from a movie. "Oh, what a little crickily boxily, I won't break it." Would you just laugh and say I was so funny? You bitch.

And I stopped and thought, what the fuck have you all been laughing at these past few years? When I stood in doorways and said "You shall not pass!" And you'd all giggle. What were you all giggling at? When I let you borrow my necklace and you asked if I was sure, and I said,"I choose a mortal life" Why wouldn't you say something since it was such an obviously bizarre thing to say?? You fucking twat!

Anyway, sort of moving on, I thought of some quotes.

Let's see who can name these. Remember please I'm a nerd.

"I wrote you every day for a year!"
"MerMAN"
"I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse"
"I'm 16 years old and I don't need a governess"
"No one knows what it means, but it's provocative!"
"I coulda been a contender"
"I'm in a glass cage of emotion!"
"Look at this stuff, isn't it neat?"
"STELLA!"
"Say hello to my little friend"

I suppose there are some references some people wouldn't get. Like, Lord of the rings isn't a film everyone would've seen. Maybe I just need to stop quoting it or continue looking like an extremely dim and slightly insane girl...

Too Cute to be Straight?

First off, I would like to say that I have a really hard time spelling the word "February." I constantly want to spell it "Februrary." And every once in a while my brain does so much of that "You know there's that 'r' in there you always fuck up," that I actually spell it "Februruary." I also have problems with the words, colonel (big thanks to colonel colonel for teaching me to spell it correctly), restaurant, exercise, conscientious, and vacuum. Needless to say, I'm very excited (another word I tend to spell wrong) that this month is about to end. I'm tired of writing the word and misspelling it.



Does anyone remember when Jerry Falwell proclaimed that Tinky Winky, one of the Teletubbies, was gay? Now, there are many things that could be discussed here, such as the fact that Tinky Winky is fictional, and that Tinky Winky doesn't have any genitals and that Tinky Winky appears to have the same kind of affection for both the male and female Teletubbies, who appear to be rather androgynous anyway-- but instead I want to talk about all of this "exposing children to evil."

Falwell said that because Tinky Winky carries a purse (or "magic bag" or whatever you want to call it), is purple, and has his antenna shaped like a triangle, that these "subtle depictions" are "no doubt intentional." He went on to say in statements, that, "As a Christian, I feel that role modeling the gay lifestyle is damaging to the moral lives of children."



If anyone understands being gay in the most purest terms, it's probably children!

When I was younger I lived in San Francisco, California. I had two friends who were a year or two older than me, who lived together. They were best friends who got to live together. I thought that was the coolest damn thing in the world. When I asked how they got to do that, they explained that their dads were best friends, and when their moms divorced their dads, their dads moved in together. It made sense to me, just fine. Rent is cheaper that way, after all, right? Plus their house smelled amazing and their dads looked like Darryl Hall and John Oates, and there was nothing cooler than that, to me.

One night I spent the night at their house. They sat me down and told me that they had something very important to tell me. The looks on their faces were pretty serious and so I nodded and my eyes bulged. They said, "Our dads are gay." I really had no idea what that meant, but it sounded really important, so I tried to play it off cool.

"Oh, yeah, really?" (see how cool I was?)

"You don't know what that means, do you?" One of them asked me.

"Uh huhhh... I do." (I didn't, and they could tell, so they proceeded to explain.)

"They live together because they want to live together. They love each other," the other explained.

And here I thought that was the coolest thing in the world. Because their moms didn't love their dads anymore, they loved each other. Now that I'm older, I'm pretty sure that the moms left once they found out the dads loved each other, but at the time it seemed so simple. So logical.

"Everyone needs a best friend," I said to them.

"They have sex," one of them spat out. I could tell that they had lost plenty of friendships over this, and they were ready for me to leave, too.

"Well, duh. That's what grown-ups do when they love each other," I said. "I do have cable, you know."

And that was all I thought about it. I don't think that their dads "damaged" my "moral life" in any way.

Children don't assume people are "evil." It's when they see their parents suck their teeth and shake their heads that they wonder what's different about those people. People just love to snicker and giggle about making puppets and children's icons have these "secret sexual lives." They turn Mr. Roger's Neighborhood into the Jerry Springer Show. Every time someone sees my Sesame Street books or my Grover cup some asshole has to start in with the, "You know Bert and Ernie are gaaaaaay, right?" You know what? Bert and Ernie live together because they are best friends. They're fucking puppets! They were seven years old! Maybe Bert was ten. Tops. Don't even give me the argument that they had adult voices, because when you were little, you didn't even give that a second thought.

Pooh is a bear and Piglet is a pig. They are also about six years old. Christopher Robin, who was the one making up the stories, was ten. They aren't giving each other blow jobs on the Hundred Acre Wood. They're fucking toys!

Why are all these freaks trying to ruin my childhood memories with sexual images?

Just let the children's shows do their jobs. Let them educate the youth. That's what they have degrees for.

Children start by looking at people just like they see themselves. Then they start to compare. It's when their parents tell them something is wrong that they question whether or not they should like someone.

I have a feeling I'm preaching to the choir, here, but for fuck's sake, is anyone else tired of this? Just people stretching for any kind of conspiracy theory that leads to the boycott of yet another thing that could possibly bring joy into a child's life! They have to make their own decisions, sometime. They have to learn about the world and people in it. Wouldn't it be simpler to have your child see a man in a gay pride parade and say, "Is that man carrying a purse like you do, Mommy?" And when you say yes he says, "Oh, just like Tinky Winky!" And that's it. There's no need to explain fetishes or gender issues until the child is older and can understand such a complex discussion. Everyone. Is. Different.

I started reading Stephen King books when I was eight. I read Lord of the Flies at ten. If you had kept me sheltered, I would never have been as intelligent and literate as I am. Because when does the sheltering stop?

Kids just want someone there to answer their questions. They are able to rationalize all sorts of things. But who knows? Maybe if Prince had seen Tinky Winky sooner he wouldn't wear so much purple. Getting my Prince cassette taken from me as a child for asking why Nikki* was masturbating with a magazine, and "wouldn't that hurt?" is a different story for a different time.


*couldn't find the song, so I could only link to lyrics, but I'm sure most of you know it)

I didn't Escape. I Have a Day pass!

I used to have this really cool boyfriend. When I say cool, I mean, willing to experiment. Not only willing to experiment, but willing to do pretty much what I asked for or needed.

I'm not quite sure what made my our hearts desire this special book I'm about to tell you about, but we ended up with it, anyway. The first page of the book warns that if you're absolutely satisfied in your love life, than then this book wasn't for you. I wish I had known that a little earlier, but since the book was sealed when I bought it, there was no going back.



The book came with a series of sealed envelopes. Half of the envelopes "For Her Eyes Only" and the other half "For His Eyes Only." You're supposed to sit together and pick an envelope every week to later be opened in private. This was you knew at some point during the week, you'd be surprised with some random, romantic, sex act.

My first envelope was called "Fantasies of the Orient" and involved honey and tea. Strictly following the instructions, I made a pot of green tea with a hint of ginseng (supposed to be an aphrodisiac?), draped a black blanket over our futon, and made my boyfriend take off all of his clothes. Acting like I wasn't allowed to utter a word, I pushed him back on to the blanket, poured honey on the inside of his leg, and the proceeded to lick it off. Then I was supposed to put the tea into my mouth and let it hit his skin through my lips as I kissed him. Yes, it's as hard and complicated as it sounds. First I scalded his neck and then I burned the inside of his elbow. Soon my tongue was aching terribly from the near boiling liquid, but since I wasn't allowed to speak, I just quietly sobbed on his stomach as I got sick from too much honey, and I couldn't eat anything for the next two days or so.

We decided it was just a bunk envelope and admittedly, as well as embarrassingly, tried again. The next envelope was called "Treasure Trail" (shut up) and it instructed me to cut out paper outlines of my feet to make a trail from the door to my chosen "hiding place," where I was supposed to "pounce" on my "mate."

Just a quick note: the only time you ever hear hear a boyfriend, girlfriend, husband or wife, described as a "mate" is when you're reading some kind of sex-help book, or listening to Doctor Ruth on the radio. Mate has to be one of the most un-fucking-sexy words. Besides tuna. Well, tuna, and uvula. Those are the three unsexiest words. But the last two are hardly found tucked away neatly in the pages of Cosmo or Playboy, now are they?

While making the little cutouts, the little voice inside of me muttered, What the hell are you doing here? How old are you? I used my special glitter crayons to make the feet sparkle and say funny things. It really does take a long time to trace, cut, and color little cutesy feet to tape all the way from your front door to your hiding spot. Plus the card said I should make them go in and out of several rooms in the house...We had a two bedroom apartment, so I had the feet go into the bathroom, out of the bathroom, into one of the bedrooms (a storage room/office), out of that room, up the wall and around the corner on the ceiling, down into the closet. Just a little Lionel Ritchie in there to get him motivated.


So I'm sitting in the closet, waiting for my dumb, damn darling, boyfriend to get home from work, and I'm thinking, Fuck, I hope he doesn't go out for a drink after work or something. He better just come home on time. I wonder what kind of idiot I look like in here. Ow. Shit. I'm sitting on a high heel. (Maybe I should be wearing these.) I'm thirsty. Maybe I'll just run and grab something to drink. No, no. I can't go out there, because what if he comes home and sees that I'm standing in a trail of my own damn glittery toes? This just isn't sexy. This. Isn't. Even. Cute. This, my friends, was solitary confinement.


He did come home. Late. Of course. And apparently he didn't even notice the new sparkly trail of feet installed on our almost white carpeting. I heard him call out,"Hello? Baby? Where are you?" I didn't know if I was supposed to answer or not. The book didn't leave me instructions for when if he missed the giant clues that were as bright as those flashing arrows that led to strip joints. Shouldn't these special circumstances for stupid special couples such as us, be covered? I heard the refrigerator door open and close. The TV snapped on and the sounds of a basketball game filled the apartment. Unbelievable. He wasn't even going to notice. What if in three or four hours he finally decided to do something about it? What would I do if he called the police to file a missing person report or something, and they came in, followed the purple paper trail, and found me asleep in the closet cradling a tin of Altoids, and an empty bottle of water, wearing nothing but my panties?

I panicked a little, making noises that were a combination of whimpers and shrieks until I heard him get off of the couch. When he finally found me, seven minutes and 37 seconds later, he looked at me with a face that read,"Hello. Did you get lost or something? Do I need to call a psychiatric ward ambulance? Do you still understand English?" Then he smirked and laughed through his nose, before bursting into full-on laughter, and then it hit me that this book was making a complete and utter moron out of me.

His assignment that week focused on kissing. That was fun.

I pulled out my third assignment. I was supposed to make a sex game creating two sets of cards. One with body parts listed on them and the other with verbs. I tried all week, but I just kept wondering what would happen if he pulled the two cards that said "Thrust!" and "Ear!"

I absolutely refused to do my next assignment as well, where I had to "innocently" take him to a miniature golf course (because we put-put all the time?). I was supposed to go to the bathroom, take off my panties, wrap them around the golf ball, and hand them to him. Can you imagine that?!? I'm sure he'd say,"Uh...S, what the hell...?"(in a nice loud tone) And everyone would look up to see my panties on hole nine. Besides, there are fucking kids on these mini golf courses, mostly due to the fact that miniature golf is supposed to be for eight and nine year olds.

The only thing I liked about this book was while planning the fucking ridiculous things, I thought about my boyfriend. I liked thinking that week that there was going to be some kind of special surprise for me. But in general, the two of us could be a hell of a lot more creative than that book, which still sits in my bedroom by the way. Mocking me. Feeling like a dork is a really, really bad way to spice up your sex life. And come on, do you really want me showing my naked ass to innocent children, golfing? Put, put, put.

Happy Valentines Day, kiddies!

Infinite X's and O's,

Simply Curious Girl

Have yourself a messy little Christmas, I mean Merry...

Santas in Australia's largest city have been told not to use Father Christmas's traditional "ho ho ho" greeting because it may be offensive to women, it was reported Thursday.

Sydney's Santa Clauses have instead been instructed to say "ha ha ha" instead.

One disgruntled Santa told the newspaper a recruitment firm warned him not to use "ho ho ho" because it could frighten children and was too close to "ho", a US slang term for prostitute.

You've gotta be fucking kidding me! Am I the only one that thinks this is going a little too far?

"Ha ha ha", just doesn't have the same ring to it. How to you change hundreds of years of tradition for a group of bitches with sticks up their asses? Next thing you know, people will be claiming that "ha ha ha" makes children feel bad and like they're being laughed at and will be changed to "he he he". A big fat guy in a red suit skipping down the street with candy canes, saying "he he he" just takes away my whole vision of Christmas. "Mommy? What's wrong with Santa?"

Give me a fucking break.