(no subject)
Am I the only one among us who enjoyed herself?
Things I may have to my advantage: I am a lonely isolated creature lately, the mere prospect of human contact can excite me. My Others are all so-called "insignificant" and I had no one with whom to be fraught. I am not only lucky because I am loverless, but because I had a root canal Friday, and am easily affected by palliative 600mg doses of Ibuprofen.
I have not yet discovered the sheer brilliance of Idlewild; I'm afraid they mean nothing to me, except insofar as they can at times mean the world to Mario. Eran gave me a nosebleed with his enormous head. Oddly enough this seemed vaguely affectionate. I steered Mario to the men's room door then failed in my vigilance while he stealthily slipped from the loo to end up napping at the bar and being ousted. I would have held you up, had I found you. I like Baltimore, I like its generally unforced seediness and the fact that little spoon-chested Sonny Bonos staff the club.
As has been recorded elsewhere, Mario, who probably needed love, and Eran opened their hungry maws and soul-kissed. Twice, at least, this time. It made Ivy frantic and gleeful. It made Jennifer avert her eyes, and probably roll them. It made me laugh, and made me jealous, jealous for kisses, since my mouth has lost all memory of them, jealous for drunk friends with exhibitionist streaks and enough love for me to try to swallow me whole in public. Sometimes flirtation is just a way out for the fondness one keeps buckled down. If it takes half a dozen Long Island iced teas to accomplish this liberation, then drink, friends, and let it spill over. It looked far more ardent and loving to me than slutty, Mario in Eran's lap, Eran's head, eyes closed, pressed against Mario's back, all father/son, or teddybearish... and then, issuing leeringly from Mario, whose legendary slow, deliberate speech amps up theatrically when he drinks:
Contrary to popular opinion, I am the top in this relationship and Eran is the bottom.
Maybe sometimes flirtation is a sign that deep down you really want to bone your "bandmate".
I got no tongue from Mario, which is for the best, since his mouth was probably full. Instead I got a chaste kiss on the brow, and my hand held. And I got a good solid hug after nearly tearing up in a pizza joint. For which I was grateful. I am at such a deficit I worry that when someone presses against that vacuum in my soul they will be physically unable to pry their limbs loose.
Things I may have to my advantage: I am a lonely isolated creature lately, the mere prospect of human contact can excite me. My Others are all so-called "insignificant" and I had no one with whom to be fraught. I am not only lucky because I am loverless, but because I had a root canal Friday, and am easily affected by palliative 600mg doses of Ibuprofen.
I have not yet discovered the sheer brilliance of Idlewild; I'm afraid they mean nothing to me, except insofar as they can at times mean the world to Mario. Eran gave me a nosebleed with his enormous head. Oddly enough this seemed vaguely affectionate. I steered Mario to the men's room door then failed in my vigilance while he stealthily slipped from the loo to end up napping at the bar and being ousted. I would have held you up, had I found you. I like Baltimore, I like its generally unforced seediness and the fact that little spoon-chested Sonny Bonos staff the club.
As has been recorded elsewhere, Mario, who probably needed love, and Eran opened their hungry maws and soul-kissed. Twice, at least, this time. It made Ivy frantic and gleeful. It made Jennifer avert her eyes, and probably roll them. It made me laugh, and made me jealous, jealous for kisses, since my mouth has lost all memory of them, jealous for drunk friends with exhibitionist streaks and enough love for me to try to swallow me whole in public. Sometimes flirtation is just a way out for the fondness one keeps buckled down. If it takes half a dozen Long Island iced teas to accomplish this liberation, then drink, friends, and let it spill over. It looked far more ardent and loving to me than slutty, Mario in Eran's lap, Eran's head, eyes closed, pressed against Mario's back, all father/son, or teddybearish... and then, issuing leeringly from Mario, whose legendary slow, deliberate speech amps up theatrically when he drinks:
Contrary to popular opinion, I am the top in this relationship and Eran is the bottom.
Maybe sometimes flirtation is a sign that deep down you really want to bone your "bandmate".
I got no tongue from Mario, which is for the best, since his mouth was probably full. Instead I got a chaste kiss on the brow, and my hand held. And I got a good solid hug after nearly tearing up in a pizza joint. For which I was grateful. I am at such a deficit I worry that when someone presses against that vacuum in my soul they will be physically unable to pry their limbs loose.