Geez my life has gotten so boring up here in responsible adult-land. The deal with the lumberjack fizzled out -- well, maybe not, but I'm refusing to continue to put in effort just for the sake of drama. (he's doing this stupid possiveness without commitment thing that I find nauseating.) And when have I ever opted AGAINST drama? I met this other guy, total yawn, works in pharmeceuticals! I am a domestic goddess, which is inherently too stable to be exciting. And I'm paying off my credit cards, always a sign of infinite boredom.
Thankfully, no one is sick or dying, unlike last year at this time. Life is good, and safe, and stable, and prosperous -- but no drama, no circus sex, no 17-hour benders or last-minute trips to foreign lands. I can't become a groupie for a punk band, because there are no good punk bands left, and they're closing CBGBs. Last time I was there was on said 17-hour bender, ordering water and underwear, right before I passed out in Nomda's hotel room. (Funny, the first time I was there, I showed my lace underwear to Mindless Self Indulgence, and to Nicfit and the biker, who were with me the last time too. What is it about them, me, CBs and underwear?)
Also, no one is racy up here, I can't even *imagine* having sex on a fire escape (also, I don't have a fire escape...) No one even swears. It is so... Bostonian. Don't get me wrong, I am very very happy, so glad I moved back, hardly miss New York at all -- except for the adventure (and my friends, of course, but we've been doing pretty good with the visits so far). I want circus sex, I want all-night raging benders, I want wild parties!
I don't want to grow up.
No, that's not true. I want to grow up, but I want a partner in crime that will let me be devious and bad on the side. If not on a fire escape or in a taxi cab, then at least on the kitchen floor.
Showing posts with label biker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label biker. Show all posts
Monday, September 18, 2006
Friday, November 04, 2005
forgive me, please...
I realize that I was gone for a while from these pages, and since I've been back, all I've been doing is quick funny links. I haven't told you about my life in forever, and I'm sorry.
It is a sad irony that just when life gives me lots of material to write about, it gives me no time to write. This is compounded by the fact that I only have computer access at work. But I've been writing posts in my Palm, and I promise to put those up soon. They'll be backdated with the actual date I wrote them, so don't be too confused.
In the meantime, a quick update:
I went to Dublin on 24 hours notice for a bender weekend with Nicfit and the Biker.
While I was there, my grandmother died. I tried to fly back early, but there were no flights (everything sold out), so I flew back Sunday night as planned, re-packed my bags, and headed out to Chicago at 6 am Monday morning.
Spent last week in Chicago for funeral/family activities. Came back Thursday.
Friday was Dr. Muffy's birthday party. Saturday was my fabulous birthday brunch, where everyone got together and got me a Nano! SO I can run with it! As soon as I get headphones that don't exacerbate my TMJ. Saturday night went to excellent Halloween parties with Amanda and Big D, in my last-minute-tossed-together Barbarella costume.
Sunday ran 5 mile race with Dr. Muffy, and we did excellent!
Wednesday was my Birthday Pub Night.
Yesterday was my most excellent birthday dinner of MEAT.
Today is the big day! I am officially OLD! Also, have officially sworn off younger men. What exactly constitutes "younger" has yet to be determined, but I am definitely abandoning the former goal of dating guys who were *in* junior high when I was *teaching* junior high (which roughly equals guys who are 6 to 9 years younger than me.
Tonight I drive up to Homecoming, then tomorrow on to Boston for some quality birthday time with the parents.
Monday I will have more info for you all. For now, I love you.
It is a sad irony that just when life gives me lots of material to write about, it gives me no time to write. This is compounded by the fact that I only have computer access at work. But I've been writing posts in my Palm, and I promise to put those up soon. They'll be backdated with the actual date I wrote them, so don't be too confused.
In the meantime, a quick update:
I went to Dublin on 24 hours notice for a bender weekend with Nicfit and the Biker.
While I was there, my grandmother died. I tried to fly back early, but there were no flights (everything sold out), so I flew back Sunday night as planned, re-packed my bags, and headed out to Chicago at 6 am Monday morning.
Spent last week in Chicago for funeral/family activities. Came back Thursday.
Friday was Dr. Muffy's birthday party. Saturday was my fabulous birthday brunch, where everyone got together and got me a Nano! SO I can run with it! As soon as I get headphones that don't exacerbate my TMJ. Saturday night went to excellent Halloween parties with Amanda and Big D, in my last-minute-tossed-together Barbarella costume.
Sunday ran 5 mile race with Dr. Muffy, and we did excellent!
Wednesday was my Birthday Pub Night.
Yesterday was my most excellent birthday dinner of MEAT.
Today is the big day! I am officially OLD! Also, have officially sworn off younger men. What exactly constitutes "younger" has yet to be determined, but I am definitely abandoning the former goal of dating guys who were *in* junior high when I was *teaching* junior high (which roughly equals guys who are 6 to 9 years younger than me.
Tonight I drive up to Homecoming, then tomorrow on to Boston for some quality birthday time with the parents.
Monday I will have more info for you all. For now, I love you.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Pie in the sky
For all the travelling I did this past week, it would have been nice if I had needed this. But the Biker was on another flight, and anyway, I've never understood the point or the logistics of the Mile-High Club. It seems destined for getting caught, and as much as I may be a drunken exhibitionist, I wouldn't want to have to deal with the irate co-flyers waiting in line for the bathroom when I get out.
Only once would I have considered it, on a foiled trip to San Francisco with the cokehead alcoholic. We were supposed to go to SF for Dan's wedding, stay with Ian and Zanne for two days, and then head off to a hotel for two days. The day before, about 14 hours before our scheduled departure on American, he bailed for what I eventually found out was a typical reason: he had to attend a class for an old DUI conviction.
Which he'd never told me about, of course.
The conviction had happened in PA, right before he moved to NY, and the two states have some sort of agreement that let him fulfill his community service and class requirements in NY. But it had taken a while to get it all sorted out, and when they finally scheduled him, the class was starting right before our trip.
He didn't tell me, because he didn't want me to know he had a DUI record. So he went to the first class, which was the night before we left, and tried to negotiate a postponement, as sessions were scheduled for while we were gone. When he couldn't reschedule, he had to call me and tell me he couldn't go on our trip.
Of course, we broke up, the first time of several.
But back to the point of this post . . . when I got on the flight, my seat, and his empty one, were in this little private compartment in front of the Coach section. We were to the right of the plane galley, so across the aisle from us was a solid wall. There was another wall behind our seats, enough leg room in front of us to fit another row of seats, but it was empty, and a wall in front of that space. Then even though there was a wall on the other side of the aisle, there was a curtain on our side. It was a room designed for in-flight sex, the head of the bulkhead.
A totally bizarre, perfectly designed opportunity for Mile-High entry, and me flying all alone.
So I swapped seats with a nursing mother, since I didn't need the privacy, and I didn't want to be taunted with it for eight hours.
Only once would I have considered it, on a foiled trip to San Francisco with the cokehead alcoholic. We were supposed to go to SF for Dan's wedding, stay with Ian and Zanne for two days, and then head off to a hotel for two days. The day before, about 14 hours before our scheduled departure on American, he bailed for what I eventually found out was a typical reason: he had to attend a class for an old DUI conviction.
Which he'd never told me about, of course.
The conviction had happened in PA, right before he moved to NY, and the two states have some sort of agreement that let him fulfill his community service and class requirements in NY. But it had taken a while to get it all sorted out, and when they finally scheduled him, the class was starting right before our trip.
He didn't tell me, because he didn't want me to know he had a DUI record. So he went to the first class, which was the night before we left, and tried to negotiate a postponement, as sessions were scheduled for while we were gone. When he couldn't reschedule, he had to call me and tell me he couldn't go on our trip.
Of course, we broke up, the first time of several.
But back to the point of this post . . . when I got on the flight, my seat, and his empty one, were in this little private compartment in front of the Coach section. We were to the right of the plane galley, so across the aisle from us was a solid wall. There was another wall behind our seats, enough leg room in front of us to fit another row of seats, but it was empty, and a wall in front of that space. Then even though there was a wall on the other side of the aisle, there was a curtain on our side. It was a room designed for in-flight sex, the head of the bulkhead.
A totally bizarre, perfectly designed opportunity for Mile-High entry, and me flying all alone.
So I swapped seats with a nursing mother, since I didn't need the privacy, and I didn't want to be taunted with it for eight hours.
Thursday, October 13, 2005
Hi, my name is Maggie and I have a problem.
(Hi Maggie!)
After at least four whiskeys (wait, maybe it was six) that are totally not on my diet, I think I can only manage stream-of-consciousness this morning.
The biker woke up at six in a panic; he had to be at work by eight, and needed to go home to Harlem first to change. I washed all the smeared eyeliner off, grabbed a spare blanket (it was freezing; when will the heat come on?), set the alarm for 8:00 and went back to sleep . . . until 9:00.
The alarm had gone off, I'd just slept through it for an hour. My hair was a matted snarled mess and had to be washed, but at least it didn't wreak of smoke (thanks, Bloomburg!).
Where was my bra? Oh, right, in my purse. (but my cell phone wasn't, I discovered later. Still AWOL, egads.)
My boots? One was in the kitchen, the other in the bed.
My raincoat? Covered with pigeon droppings from the fire escape. I'd have to wear something else.
I barely managed to water the cat before I dragged my sorry ass out of the house. Late again. Those resolutions are dropping like flies. But at least I was wearing eyeliner while drinking more and not driving!
After at least four whiskeys (wait, maybe it was six) that are totally not on my diet, I think I can only manage stream-of-consciousness this morning.
The biker woke up at six in a panic; he had to be at work by eight, and needed to go home to Harlem first to change. I washed all the smeared eyeliner off, grabbed a spare blanket (it was freezing; when will the heat come on?), set the alarm for 8:00 and went back to sleep . . . until 9:00.
The alarm had gone off, I'd just slept through it for an hour. My hair was a matted snarled mess and had to be washed, but at least it didn't wreak of smoke (thanks, Bloomburg!).
Where was my bra? Oh, right, in my purse. (but my cell phone wasn't, I discovered later. Still AWOL, egads.)
My boots? One was in the kitchen, the other in the bed.
My raincoat? Covered with pigeon droppings from the fire escape. I'd have to wear something else.
I barely managed to water the cat before I dragged my sorry ass out of the house. Late again. Those resolutions are dropping like flies. But at least I was wearing eyeliner while drinking more and not driving!
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Of the men who undressed me in my foyer this weekend...
...one then went for the bed, the other for the couch; one left too soon, the other I couldn't get rid of fast enough; and one was only there at all because the other one wasn't.
The Bachelor and I had a lovely time on Friday night. And more on Saturday. He was sweet and charming and funny and attentive and ... ohmygod so good. I know I've talked about circus sex in the past, but that was just adventure. This was so far beyond, good thing the neighbors were out of town for the holiday weekend. No tricks or bells and whistles or feats of exhibitionism either, just enthusiasm and a talent, and a big payoff for my patience.
Alas, the Bachelor has a built-in expiration, and the alarm usually goes off after about a dozen hours or so. As I'd used up my quota for the week, he wasn't available to enjoy he fruits of my bender on Sunday. Which leads us directly to the door of...
The Biker, also known as "Chew-your-arm-off-and-leave-it-behind-in-Harlem-if-you-have-to-but-get-out-at-all-costs Guy." Why on earth would I hook up with him again? I was drunk, he's a good kisser with a hard body (biker as in cyclist, not Harley), and the Bachelor didn't answer my messages.
That said, there are a few lessons to be learned here.
-- If you have to keep score ("I went down on you in the bar; now it's your turn"), then you've already lost.
-- If you push down on the top of my head even once, it will be the last time you will be in a position to do so. This is not a porn flick, I am not a prostitute, and you need to show some respect and appreciation.
-- As I am non-confrontational to a fault, I probably won't actually kick you out -- unless you've gotten physically violent. But if I don't offer you a shower, a toothbrush (I keep a stash of spares, courtesy of my dentist), or breakfast, consider yourself unwelcome.
Also, "You're so macho" is not a compliment, Don Juan.
Nicfit, if you're reading this, please stop me from ever making that mistake again. Three strikes is enough.
The Bachelor and I had a lovely time on Friday night. And more on Saturday. He was sweet and charming and funny and attentive and ... ohmygod so good. I know I've talked about circus sex in the past, but that was just adventure. This was so far beyond, good thing the neighbors were out of town for the holiday weekend. No tricks or bells and whistles or feats of exhibitionism either, just enthusiasm and a talent, and a big payoff for my patience.
Alas, the Bachelor has a built-in expiration, and the alarm usually goes off after about a dozen hours or so. As I'd used up my quota for the week, he wasn't available to enjoy he fruits of my bender on Sunday. Which leads us directly to the door of...
The Biker, also known as "Chew-your-arm-off-and-leave-it-behind-in-Harlem-if-you-have-to-but-get-out-at-all-costs Guy." Why on earth would I hook up with him again? I was drunk, he's a good kisser with a hard body (biker as in cyclist, not Harley), and the Bachelor didn't answer my messages.
That said, there are a few lessons to be learned here.
-- If you have to keep score ("I went down on you in the bar; now it's your turn"), then you've already lost.
-- If you push down on the top of my head even once, it will be the last time you will be in a position to do so. This is not a porn flick, I am not a prostitute, and you need to show some respect and appreciation.
-- As I am non-confrontational to a fault, I probably won't actually kick you out -- unless you've gotten physically violent. But if I don't offer you a shower, a toothbrush (I keep a stash of spares, courtesy of my dentist), or breakfast, consider yourself unwelcome.
Also, "You're so macho" is not a compliment, Don Juan.
Nicfit, if you're reading this, please stop me from ever making that mistake again. Three strikes is enough.
Small Victories
I was so proud of the monkey, and myself, this morning. As the cat hair problem is really getting out of control (yes, it's true, she's getting shaved on Thursday, make your jokes now), I'm trying to be a better disciplinarian. Absolutely no fridge, and no kitchen counter, no matter how delicious the food smells. Yesterday morning, with a naked biker listening from the bedroom, there was an extended, and vocal, battle of wills as I prepared a dish of canned food.
This morning, victory! She waited patiently, if attentively, as I prepared the dish. I thought we'd reached a peaceful understanding. My hopes were soon dashed, though, for as soon as I took out the arugula to prepare my own lunch, she was deep in the thick of it. Ah, the siren call of those leafy greens!
This morning, victory! She waited patiently, if attentively, as I prepared the dish. I thought we'd reached a peaceful understanding. My hopes were soon dashed, though, for as soon as I took out the arugula to prepare my own lunch, she was deep in the thick of it. Ah, the siren call of those leafy greens!
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