Simplicity Itself
Rather than pick a subject line off the list I just made, I think I'll give one of the ones roiling around in the back of my head some time in the limelight. Maybe this is part of the healing I have to do. To forget. Blissful oblivion. Ohhhhhhhhhhh. Shit, idonotlikepeas, that question just got a hell of a lot harder. Fuck.
Otto (call him en_ki, call him epope, but definitely forget to call him to dinner, if you're serving delectible meat) once called me shallow. At the time, I was insulted. Now, I'm reworking that.
What I don't like about the word "shallow" is its ditzy implications. Of course, that's what Otto intended, at least at the time.
After mulling it over, I think "simple" is a much better way to describe myself. I don't mean the stupid, dull, country-hick connotations. But I am just about the most direct, most easy-to-figure-out person I can think of.
Gee, I'm cranky today. Why am I cranky? Do I need a nap? Do I need some yummy food? Do I need someone to pet me/kiss me/fuck me? Do I need company, whether internet or rl? Has it been too long since I've danced or done other fun forms of exercise?
I'm happy today! It's because I danced last night! It's because a cute womyn danced with me on the platform while her friend took a picture! It's because I'm eating these yummy bagel dogs that I just heated up! It's because my Coyote is coming back tonight, and I'm going to see him in a little while!
When less-direct people (such as CabaretGirl) are angry with me, I get massively confused. Poor womyn! Made it into her late twenties without anybody explaining to her why antibiotics have some nasty side effects! Well, I better inform her: before antibiotics, people regularly died from week-long fevers like the one she just got over. A few days pass, and I don't hear a single word of thanks. Even weirder, she hasn't posted! Oh, wow, her journal's deleted. Doesn't she know you can set your journal to default to be private-only, if you're sick of people telling you stuff you don't want to hear? Look, she's on AIM, I'll just tell her. Yep, she's pissed at me, I can tell despite all the smiley faces. She's not talking about anything except her upcoming move. Maybe if I prod her a little with a public rant about her misbehaviors, she'll explain herself. Yep, that worked. Not gonna engage her on LJ, though. If I tell her to solve this with me over email, AIM, or phone, will she?
Nope, I guess not. Well, I did get included in a mass email from her. Eloise followed up with the same thing, a request to input my birthday on an online calendar. I deleted both. I kind of like having my birthday a not-so secret. That is, I tell people freely, but they don't remember. If they use a program to remind themselves, that's cheating.
Anyway, CabaretGirl's behaviour is utterly perplexing. If she had told me to buzz off, mind my own beeswax, butt out of her life, give her some space, etc, etc, etc . . . we wouldn't be at an impasse. But she didn't. I was pissing her off (way before telling her about antibiotics) and she didn't tell me so. My ESP powers do not include over-internet mindreading. I have to be entranced and looking in your real-life eyes for even the slightest possibility of minor telepathy.
I have shared emotional states with Coyote, even when opposite sides of the world from each other.
But that's different. In Elfquest terms, he's my lifemate. What we share is almost as strong as a twin-bond.
Back to Simplicity.
I'm direct. I'm intensely, unnervingly direct. If you shy away from my glance, run away from me, refuse to engage me even a little bit . . . well, I don't know what to do with you.
Of course, "nothing" is the sum of all the responses I've gotten from galeogirl on the subject of my little crush on her. It hasn't dampened my entrancement: I assume she doesn't return my amorous desires, but likes me enough as a person to not want to hurt my feelings. Well, that's maddening too, but it's the "just fluff my tail, clean my stripes, and bounce a little higher in the white-striped black cat's direction" sort of maddening. *grin* I haven't checked to see if she's using the Friendster Testemonial I wrote for her . . . I guess I just really don't want to find out that she's not. I tried to be softer and subtler, but . . . how can you write to someone in pastel tones when you're feeling only primary colours?
OK, maybe that's exactly why she hasn't told me. Can I honestly call it a "little" crush when my instincts are screaming, "PROTECT! LOVE! NURTURE! GIVE PRESENTS! THROW ON A BED AND LICK UNTIL THE COWS GO HOME!" That she lives on the opposite coast as me doesn't fluster me one bit. She said once that she comes to NYC once a year or so. Compared to seeing a lover every two or three years, that's amazingly often.
PK is piping up, and I think he's got some nicely sobering words to say to me on this subject:
Hey, Romeo. Let's get off this trellis, shall we? Our fingers are numb, our throat is sore, and our Juliet is deep in her bedroom with her fingers firmly in her ears, trying to sing loud enough to drown out the off-key croonings of that Weirdo She Met On The Internet. Climb down, Romeo. You can try again some other night. You were always more of a Cyrano than a Romeo, anyway. Play the role that suits you. What's your middle name? What is it?
Panache. Panache is my middle name. No, really.
You're quite right, PK. Thanks, I needed that. I think I was warbling about her because I'm quite frightened about two of my three new crushes. Two of them are on LJ. Fawn isn't. How long until those two figure out who they are? I keep dropping hints to the boy, but he's admitted being obtuse. I don't want to bat my eyelashes too hard, though, because I've never really seen him. His face has always been hidden by a half-grown beard. So, I think he's cute, but I'm not quite sure.
See, Simple. If he's cute, I want to kiss him. If he isn't, I will continue to adore his writing from afar. (Afar, ha ha ha.) I don't particularly care that my last two friend-to-lover attempts ended badly. Amber wants to press against some new groins!
Yes, boys-reading-this, it ain't just your sex that occasionally lets the pulsating flesh at the meeting of your thighs do your thinking for you. ;)
(It's probably why I like this guy so much, he's as femme as I'm butch.) Oh, shut up! Hit the submit button before I stick my tail up your nose!
Otto (call him en_ki, call him epope, but definitely forget to call him to dinner, if you're serving delectible meat) once called me shallow. At the time, I was insulted. Now, I'm reworking that.
What I don't like about the word "shallow" is its ditzy implications. Of course, that's what Otto intended, at least at the time.
After mulling it over, I think "simple" is a much better way to describe myself. I don't mean the stupid, dull, country-hick connotations. But I am just about the most direct, most easy-to-figure-out person I can think of.
Gee, I'm cranky today. Why am I cranky? Do I need a nap? Do I need some yummy food? Do I need someone to pet me/kiss me/fuck me? Do I need company, whether internet or rl? Has it been too long since I've danced or done other fun forms of exercise?
I'm happy today! It's because I danced last night! It's because a cute womyn danced with me on the platform while her friend took a picture! It's because I'm eating these yummy bagel dogs that I just heated up! It's because my Coyote is coming back tonight, and I'm going to see him in a little while!
When less-direct people (such as CabaretGirl) are angry with me, I get massively confused. Poor womyn! Made it into her late twenties without anybody explaining to her why antibiotics have some nasty side effects! Well, I better inform her: before antibiotics, people regularly died from week-long fevers like the one she just got over. A few days pass, and I don't hear a single word of thanks. Even weirder, she hasn't posted! Oh, wow, her journal's deleted. Doesn't she know you can set your journal to default to be private-only, if you're sick of people telling you stuff you don't want to hear? Look, she's on AIM, I'll just tell her. Yep, she's pissed at me, I can tell despite all the smiley faces. She's not talking about anything except her upcoming move. Maybe if I prod her a little with a public rant about her misbehaviors, she'll explain herself. Yep, that worked. Not gonna engage her on LJ, though. If I tell her to solve this with me over email, AIM, or phone, will she?
Nope, I guess not. Well, I did get included in a mass email from her. Eloise followed up with the same thing, a request to input my birthday on an online calendar. I deleted both. I kind of like having my birthday a not-so secret. That is, I tell people freely, but they don't remember. If they use a program to remind themselves, that's cheating.
Anyway, CabaretGirl's behaviour is utterly perplexing. If she had told me to buzz off, mind my own beeswax, butt out of her life, give her some space, etc, etc, etc . . . we wouldn't be at an impasse. But she didn't. I was pissing her off (way before telling her about antibiotics) and she didn't tell me so. My ESP powers do not include over-internet mindreading. I have to be entranced and looking in your real-life eyes for even the slightest possibility of minor telepathy.
I have shared emotional states with Coyote, even when opposite sides of the world from each other.
But that's different. In Elfquest terms, he's my lifemate. What we share is almost as strong as a twin-bond.
Back to Simplicity.
I'm direct. I'm intensely, unnervingly direct. If you shy away from my glance, run away from me, refuse to engage me even a little bit . . . well, I don't know what to do with you.
Of course, "nothing" is the sum of all the responses I've gotten from galeogirl on the subject of my little crush on her. It hasn't dampened my entrancement: I assume she doesn't return my amorous desires, but likes me enough as a person to not want to hurt my feelings. Well, that's maddening too, but it's the "just fluff my tail, clean my stripes, and bounce a little higher in the white-striped black cat's direction" sort of maddening. *grin* I haven't checked to see if she's using the Friendster Testemonial I wrote for her . . . I guess I just really don't want to find out that she's not. I tried to be softer and subtler, but . . . how can you write to someone in pastel tones when you're feeling only primary colours?
OK, maybe that's exactly why she hasn't told me. Can I honestly call it a "little" crush when my instincts are screaming, "PROTECT! LOVE! NURTURE! GIVE PRESENTS! THROW ON A BED AND LICK UNTIL THE COWS GO HOME!" That she lives on the opposite coast as me doesn't fluster me one bit. She said once that she comes to NYC once a year or so. Compared to seeing a lover every two or three years, that's amazingly often.
PK is piping up, and I think he's got some nicely sobering words to say to me on this subject:
Hey, Romeo. Let's get off this trellis, shall we? Our fingers are numb, our throat is sore, and our Juliet is deep in her bedroom with her fingers firmly in her ears, trying to sing loud enough to drown out the off-key croonings of that Weirdo She Met On The Internet. Climb down, Romeo. You can try again some other night. You were always more of a Cyrano than a Romeo, anyway. Play the role that suits you. What's your middle name? What is it?
Panache. Panache is my middle name. No, really.
You're quite right, PK. Thanks, I needed that. I think I was warbling about her because I'm quite frightened about two of my three new crushes. Two of them are on LJ. Fawn isn't. How long until those two figure out who they are? I keep dropping hints to the boy, but he's admitted being obtuse. I don't want to bat my eyelashes too hard, though, because I've never really seen him. His face has always been hidden by a half-grown beard. So, I think he's cute, but I'm not quite sure.
See, Simple. If he's cute, I want to kiss him. If he isn't, I will continue to adore his writing from afar. (Afar, ha ha ha.) I don't particularly care that my last two friend-to-lover attempts ended badly. Amber wants to press against some new groins!
Yes, boys-reading-this, it ain't just your sex that occasionally lets the pulsating flesh at the meeting of your thighs do your thinking for you. ;)
(It's probably why I like this guy so much, he's as femme as I'm butch.) Oh, shut up! Hit the submit button before I stick my tail up your nose!