call of the tube

I have this thing I do when I'm feeling kinda spunky where if I get in a person's way I am just compelled to demand a password before I let them through. Most of the time I don't even actually know what the password is and I really just expect them to give me one that sounds impressive, or something that seems like it would MAKE a good password hits me and I just expect the person to read my mind given the context of my weird facial expressions which I count as hints.

Sometimes people try to brush me aside? Or they play but rather begrudgingly. The point, however, of being spunky is NOT to get along with people but to have a good time being a nuisance. I kinda can't help but torture people with my game quite regularly. Most often, sadly, I have to confess the password because they are hopelessly lost or admit I don't actually have a real one and then my poor victim is forced to play along with me anyhow and we make up what the password should be, which usually has something to do with some stupid inside joke going around or disgustingly enough I might force them to say something ridiculously nice about me.

"Tubee MickTube," Bobby bursts out very confidently when I've got him trapped and he can't get out of the fucking kitchen until I grant him freedom. "I don't care if that's not the real password, it is from now on, because Tubee demands recognition." And even though I hate how I didn't really get to torture him at all I must respect such solid logic and move out of his damn way.

Tubee MickTube is like the bestest tube in the world. He makes me happy. I got him at Blockbuster, he was the container for some ugly stopwatch I never even bothered figuring out how to work because although I told myself I liked the watch when I bought it what I was really after was the damn tube the thing was in, but hey, maybe one day I will be in the mood to slap that thing on and figure out how to set it and wear it around all super proudly.

Aaaaaaanyway though, my friend LeeAnn was with me and she was the one who kind of inspired such excitement about the tube, she was like, "Do you know what we could use that thing for???" and I was like, "MmmmmmHmmmmmmm, I hear you girl," and we decided it had to be done. Except the guy at the counter, I handed him the tube without the watch in it because I was so excited just to hold the tube in my hands on it's own I'd pulled out the watch before he'd even rung up the price and so I just handed him the empty tube, which he scanned and then thoughtlessly THREW THE DAMN TUBE AWAY and I had to ask him like four times to give me my tube back before he realized what I wanted because he couldn't grasp the logic of me needing such apparent trash back. WHAT an ignoramus.

So all day long me and LeeAnn were singing songs about Mr. Mick Tubee, our new pal, our favoritest tube in the whole world. Driving in the car listening to music, we'd sing on top of the songs and replace all the lyrics with our random Tubee MickTube poetry, which mostly just involved saying, "tubee Micktoob" repeatedly.

And Tubee MickTube became our phrase that just embodied a sense of utter joy and love for life.

Anyway, Bobby knows how deeply my heart is moved just to hear the phrase "Tubee MickTube" and he's taking advantage of it now to win my fucking password game, but I guess I'm the one who wins because Tubee is the light of my life and I can't ever hear his name enough.

addicted

"Did you get my e-mail?" Heather asks rather urgently, looking over at me from the couch as I walk into the living room.

"What?"

"My E-MAIL!!!"

"Oh, you mean that post-it note you stuck on the computer?? That is not an email, Heather. But yeah, I wrote you back and stuck it on yer mirror in yer room."

All it said wuz could I please stop with the incessant glitter wearing because the whole house had become hopelessly tainted with my damn sparkles. To which I replied, in our little e-mail, "Oh sure, anything for you Heather---NOT!!!! ha ha ha ha!!!!"

Because, well, I just can't stop. It's just such a cheerful thing to see random sparkles on everybody and everything, even the dogs. I know, I know, it's sick. But everybody admits on the sly that they like it. Except Heather. Deep down though, she's probably my biggest fan. Okay maybe not.

But I will never surrender!!!!!

LICK IT OR TICKET, HONKY!

He's on the couch with his dad watching I don't even know what on tv. I'm not even paying attention to the damn show. I'm busy trying to be sneaky and not get noticed crawling on the floor over to his work bag behind the couch and then zipping it open to hunt through it.

But he turns around. Oh, it's terrible, how I wish his head wouldn't turn, but he lays his eyes on me and he knows immediately exactly what I am doing. Goddamnit. Maybe I can still pull this off though. I got so hopped up on the idea I can't just give it up now, even though my chance of pulling the whole thing off really does rely almost entirely on the element of surprise.

He looks at me with a naughty smile of expectation and superiority and asks all mock-haughty, "What do you think you're doing?"

I'm just in my old silly hooligan mood and I grin at him like it doesn't even matter if he knows, I'm going in for the kill and he's going down. "Nothing!" I squeal in poorly feigned innocence. "What--you aren't supposed to notice me! Watch your show!"

He snickers at my lame attempt to take control of the situation but decides to let me have my fun and complies, turning his attention back to the show and totally pretending to not see me still rifling through this damn bag where I CAN'T FUCKING FIND IT.

So I have to be real, real, real slick and grab this goddamn three-hundred pound enormously huge bag and haul it back to the bedroom where I can be free in my privacy take its insides apart with wild abandon. Which is like, super hard because it's impossible to carry this thing away very slyly. I kinda just like, take hold of it and bolt, but I'm not even that fast because it weighs more than I do and I can barely carry it without breathing funny.

So I'm in the room and I dump it on the bed and shut the door and I feel almost like a champion except I haven't really accomplished the main goal yet, there's three parts to this journey and this was only part one.

PART TWO- figure out where in God's name this man keeps his HANDCUFFS.

Sadly it's just not obvious to me and I search all the side pockets before I realize---uhhh, duh, if he uses them all the time at work they're gonna be on his utility belt.

*sigh*

So I'm feeling pretty good, like things are going halfway alright, and my mood elevates exceptionally the moment I strip down to total nakedness and slip on his work shirt. It's all big and manly and it buttons up in the front with a handy pocket on one side and a shiny metal badge on the other, a patch on one arm. I feel like I've gained some spark of authority somehow, and I'm holding the handcuffs in my hand and I'm feeling rather adventurous.

"Bobby!" I open up the door a crack and call out.

"What?!" he asks all irritated like I am bothering him.

"Come in here! It's important!"

"Hold on!"

I swear he takes like three hours to get in there. Meanwhile I'm looking around the room anticipating the thrill of my catch on the way and I notice the fan is on the floor not the box and if it's not high up when he's fucking me he's gonna get really hot which will be uncomfortable for him.

Don't ask why we've got a fan on a box, it's not very classy but it's what we've been doing and it works.

So I'm struggling with the box and the fan, the cord is getting caught on stuff and the box is losing it's top and things are just going haywire. I've thrown the handcuffs on the bed thoughtlessly and Bobby bursts in and spots them and I'm fucked to hell.

So he's on the bed with the cuffs in his hand just waiting for the right moment to snag me, just looking at me like, "I'm gonna getcha," and suddenly I don't feel so sexy naked in his shirt, I feel like this is totally the wrong time to be naked in his shirt, I don't want to be naked anymore, this is not going to end well I can tell.

I dive on him. "Sir, we got a call, I'm here to take care of you. We know what you did to the shopping cart. I'm gonna have to place you under arrest. If you will please hand me the cuffs."

See, cuz I have this little miniature shopping cart where I keep all my lotions and perfumes and he broke the seat on it the other day and it was a tragedy. And he was all like, "We can weld it! Or fix it with a twist tie! Don't throw it out!" but I was like, "You EVIL, EVIL man!!!!"

Only he doesn't hand me the cuffs he just says, "Yeah RIGHT!" and laughs at me while I'm struggling to dominate him. And then, somehow, I don't know, maybe it's because he's bigger and stronger and better at wrestling than me, but he ends up locking me in the goddamn cuffs.

And I'm fucked.

Except not literally. I don't get fucked. I get spanked once and scoffed at for even entertaining the idea that I could conquer him.

Oh, it was such a good plan you guys. In theory. I was gonna get him cuffed and threaten to take him to jail and he was gonna be like, "No! Officer! Please! I'll do anything!" and then I was gonna make him lick my bean for awhile, and whenever he tried to stop I'd be like, "Lick it or ticket, honky!" and I'd force his head back, and then I'd use his cock for my tool of pleasure.

UGH! And then he told me to hurry up and get ready to go meet Evelyn and it was just so unclimactic! He just threw me the keys and left the room.

It wuz kinda kinky being cuffed tho, and by kinda you know I mean SUPER-FRICKIN-FANTABULOUSLY-HOTT. He coulda toyed with me a little more. But our relationship is in a rocky bad stage where I keep trying to dump him and he tells me I'm crazy and I shouldn't and this was my way of trying not to be miserable with him, to just be happy with him, to play like everything was fine and make the most of a moment with him. We've never really been on the same wavelength sexually tho, and how do I explain that I dunno, where are my words?

We're lost with each other. With some people my love skills spawn from intuition and mojo, and I'm powerful because they are so receptive and hungry. I know how to own them and tap into their deepest desires, and there's an open communication about what is wanted. With Bobby, there is no such flow of understanding and connectedness, I just--- I give him head and I get boned and that's how it works. So simple and predictable and not-special. And it's only very very recently that he's ever been ready and willing to kiss me extensively, or pleasure my pussy with something besides his cock, or just give me foreplay-type stuff in general for more than a small fragment of a moment. With kissing it never leads to full-blown passionate making out endlessly, but we do smooch each other often at least, and it almost seems wild and elongated sometimes. With other stuff he gets like, pissed off at me for the way that I moan or thrust and wiggle my hips at him, he says it's stupid, it seems like I'm a desperate whiny baby and he wants me to learn how to be more sexy. He just doesn't ever own me, try to figure me out and learn how I cum the hardest. And when I do cum I have so much dirty stuff I want to say and yet all I can barely manage to utter is maybe his name a couple times and I wish I could be more comfortable. And I want sex more than once a day but he's done with one round. At least he wants it almost every day but still. Sooooooo.... see, we're just not on the same wavelength. I think if we were, when I wuz in those handcuffs, things would have turned out more interesting.

Which just adds a whole extra layer of retardedness to my story.

to laugh or to cry......

So I was in the bathroom at my friend Evelyn's house and there was this magazine on the floor that said, "Look twelve years younger!" on the cover and I was like, "Ha, how about no? I don't really want to look TEN."

But then I thought, "Wait, Bobby would probably be happy about that actually."

But since nobody in that house really ought to know he's a pedo cuz they would probably FREAK OUT, I had to keep my little joke all to myself.
 
*sigh*
 
 
 
 
.

worst guessing game everrr

Bobby comes home and snuggles into bed with me with these guilty words, "I have to tell you something. I lied to you. It's horrible. You're going to dump me. You're never going to forgive me."

"You're not really allergic to pineapple?"

Awkward silence. And then, "No."

"You ARE going to become a child molester?"

"NOOO!!"

"You stuck yer dick in some random chick and now yer worried you might be infested with something nasty?"

"NO, worse than that!"

"You think I'm ugly."

"No, you're beautiful."

"Come on, I'm pretty resilient, just tell me."

"I caaan't! It's really really bad."

"That's it, whatever, fine, don't tell me, I'm already mad at you anyway for being mean to me in my dream and telling me I'D MAKE A HORRIBLE BUSINESSWOMAN."

"That was just a dream!"

"I'm really mad at you right now, leave me alone."

"Okay okay I'll tell you."

"What."

"Remember your bedtime story? I lied. She doesn't get hit by a train in the end. She actually manages to burst through the sound barrier again and makes a shitload of money with her sister for discovering time travel. They become rich."

"Awwww! This is good. But yer still in touble for being an asshole in my dream."

"Oh my God."


best part of the bedtime story:

when she gets attacked by an angry mob and they break her wheelchair so she has to run away to save herself, and hides out in a dumpster. At which point I have to stop him and ask, "But Bobby, why would she be in a wheelchair if she could RUN AROUND?"

"BECAUSE SHE'S LAZY! Now are you telling this story, or am I?"

"Right, sorry, carry on."

I dunno wuts better, the fact that me and LeeAnn are in palm springs and at eleven we're gonna go make our own SQUIRT GUNZZZ, tan at the pool, play on the waterslide, relax in the sauna, and then spend the whole day going to museums and art galleries, or how healthy we will be eating all day so I won't have to cry at the lack of vegetables in my life.


 
 
 
 
 
.

cheesecake makes everything better. I woke up at like six in the frickin morning cuz my stupid cough and sore throat and stuffy nose were making it impossible to stay comfortable. But then I had some cherry cheescake, and for a moment all was right with the world. Then I put the cake away and hawked a loogie and my taste buds went from "Yesss!" to "God no!", but still.


 
 
 
 
 
 
.

How shiny and bouncy and perfectly manageable is my hair right now? I FEEL LIKE A SUPER HOTT GODDESS OF SEDUCTION!!!! Don't worry Rodrigo-- I mean, he he, Bobby-- it's all for you. Aaaallll for you, babe. I love you so much.


*grabs a handful of her luscious hair and waggles it at you like a maniac, tickling your face. "Healthy hair, healthy hair!!!!!"*



.

fuck sadness

"I'm going to need a lot of metal music, weed, and smooches today," I say, giving him the recipe to cheer me the fuck up.

"I can take care of the smooches right now," he offers all sweetly, leaning in and puckering his lips.

And his kiss actually does manage to lift my spirits a bit.

But then later I'm petting the dogs and I look up at Yolanda there standing on the porch smoking her cigarette and she tells me, "You look sad," and then Evelyn frickin agrees with her and they both ask and ask me what is wrong. I tell them I can't talk about it, that I just want to be happy, and anyway, if I had my life together a little better I doubt I'd be in such a fucking impossibly low mood anyhow. So Yolanda tells me if it's about Bobby I should forget him and move on, and Evelyn adds to it and says I've given him too much of an extended chance, but I phoo them off. Later Evelyn mentions nonchalantly that if I'm really concerned about getting my life together, I ought to write myself a six-month plan.

So I ask Valerie and Vanessa to help me think up all the goals and ambitions I could possibly work on in the next six months, and also to give me motivational quotes and phrases. My favorite quote that we came up with is, "What would Evelyn do?" Also, Valerie gave me some phrase from the Jimmy Neutron show: "BRAINBLAST!!!!!" And some of her own originals, like:

"Don't be a dumphat, do your work."

"Do your best, don't make me come and get you."

And the oh so charming, "If you do your best, tomorrow you will be everyone's fascination."

What I love about being an artist is the stupidest stuff can happen to you but lead to the best inspiration for some creative idea. It makes setbacks seem more like new opportunities and life in general more interesting and layered.

Hi-lights of Hanksgiving:

Sean's story of getting maced by an old lady

Free pearl bracelet--score!!!

torturing Heather in unmentionable ways

Rum and coke w/ LeeAnn: "You help me, and I'll help you, and together---we'll almost be one person."
"It's a figlent of yer immagration!"

Hi-lights of Saturday night:

/bumming money offa Bobby's dad: "Can I give you this fake money in exchange for some real money?" Handing him a wad of fake cash and a plastic gold coin. Getting 8 bucks out of it. (Yessss!!!)

My awesome pg-rated strip tease in which I humped a lot of people's faces, whipped Danielle with my belt, and managed to make pulling socks out of my bra and throwing them at people seem sexy.

realizing that Paco and Andrea are the perfect, most adorable couple ever.

Discovering the glory that is Ketel One vodka.

Hi-lights of Sunday:

Apparently Jennifer is "muffining out" of her skinny jeans? Anyway this means I get all her old cool pants. They make me feel HOTT!!!!

falling in love with Duffy McFluffy the pillow-pet dolphin

Tidbit and Yum Yum -- A Blossoming Romance?

Yum Yum is a girl shark and you can see that she is very beautiful. I made her to be a companion for Tidbit, my stuffed boy shark that my friend bought me. Tidbit was always humping my leg and the furniture and stuff and I just thought he would be happier if he had a girlfriend. They haven't met yet cuz I left him in Vista and I'm in San Diego right now, but I'm going up there for the weekend and hopefully they will hit it off. I'll put up pictures of them together maybe if all goes well.

.

"What kind of things do you think are worth writing about?" I ask, sitting in the computer chair staring at the screen feeling frustrated because I don't know what I really want to say about anything.

Blue is not very helpful. "I don't know," he answers absentmindedly, and I look over at him loafing on the couch with his legs propped up on the coffee table, watching tv and playing idly with his limp dick which he's got hanging out over his boxers and his pants. "Kaylen says she's on her way," he informs me.

Ah well. I gotta go. Things are happening. Sorry for not writing as much lately. I'll be back, I've just been busy and stuff.

scummy slag

"You have a lot of explaining to do," Bobby says, wondering what exactly happened.

"I'm retarded," I tell him.

"You're not retarded," he answers with a sweetness that catches me off-guard because I don't feel as if I deserve it, and my heart breaks because it's so nice to hear but such a fucking lie. I can't believe he doesn't say one judgy thing to me in our whole conversation. When I'm so ashamed and I feel as if there are a thousand things he could say to make me look bad.


How can I explain? It was hot. I didn't have a shirt on, just my bathing suit top and jeans. So I'm walking in the sun and this guy stops me in his car and asks if I'm alright.

I don't even know what that means when he says it. Why wouldn't I be alright? I'm fine. I'm walking along, going my own way, and I don't really need to be bothered by anybody. Sure, it's hot, and my bags are heavy, but I'm super tough. I like the suffering. I'm happy. I tell him it's okay and he stills puts on such an air of concern. He offers me a ride as if it is a heroic deed.

I'm like, "No, thanks, but you could be a murderer and I wouldn't know. Sorry. It's very nice of you to offer though. I just don't feel safe." I smile at him in a friendly way and it's all wrong, it makes him brave when I want him to shut up and drop it and leave me alone. He tries to win me over by saying he's got "clean hands," and that his father is a very important man. And I think he says some stuff about how he's like, a good guy, and I ought to trust him. I can barely remember now. It's totally lame. It's not like he charmed me in the slightest. I have no idea what persuaded me to get in the car except that he wouldn't leave me alone and I got all curious and reckless and stupid.

At first he puts on like he's actually interested in getting me home, but wants to hang out a little while first. So I end up in some motorcycle shop feigning interest in this fucking bike he's got for sale there, still without my shirt on, and his friend who works there asks why I've got glitter all over my face and body, and I tell him it's actually the last of my glitter and I desperately need to get some more, and it really gives me pause because I'm kind of addicted to being sparkly at all times and I secretly start to stress out about how I am going to find myself a shop that sells glitter dust. I make a mental note to get more glitter as soon as possible.

He wants to have a drink. We end up in some oceanfront bar and he says I can have anything. So I order probably six random things to get my full alcoholic experience. I am not really enjoying this man's company too tremendously but I don't really expect to and I'm just kind of amusing myself by being happy for the hell of it. I'm still not wearing a shirt. All this guy talks about his how rich he is, and how sexy I look. Over and over, these are his two main topics of interest. I'm the biggest fucking idiot who ever lived because I do NOT want him as my sugardaddy and yet that is obviously where this is headed.

He decides not to give me a ride to the other station after all, but to molest me in his car while he drives drunk to another bar where he was supposed to meet with his friends. He's popping my boobs out of my suit and fondling them with one hand while the other is on the wheel, and he tells me I have the most amazing tits. He keeps using the word "Areola" to talk about my nipples. It makes me sick but somehow seems funny so I don't shove him off. I tell myself it's all fine, it's nothing, it's not really that bad. Then he works a hand into my pants, down McBean Parkway to POUND TOWN. I'm like, "NOOO!!!" but I don't shove him off. He's feeling all over it like the most giant pervert in the world telling me it's lovely and talking about how I am definitely tight. Then he leaves me alone finally like he's savin' the rest for later.

We go to the other bar which is set up outside. He leaves me alone for ten frickin minutes while he's off I have no idea where and I never meet his friends. I'm sipping Stone ale and talking to some chick next to me about God knows what and the sun is shining all around and the day seems like it will never end and it's kind of nice. When he comes back he says we're gonna go have sushi at some ritzy place. I put on my big ti-dye "I'm Fresh" t-shirt before we go in the restaurant. The conversation turns to various ex-lovers of his. It's interesting to learn about him because I'm a curious person but he doesn't seem to have much soul or fire inside. I watch his fat fingers grabbing at a bunch of huge shrimp on his plate and he stuffs it all into his slobbery mouth and I realize I'm done with this man and it's time for us to part. So when we go back to the car I ask about my going home and he makes a phone call but then apologizes because apparently his "limo driver" is too drunk to come pick me up. He says we should go get baked with his buddy.

When I say I feel kind of vulnerable and scared about being with him anymore he gets angry and refuses to understand what I am talking about. He starts chewing me out saying when we get to his friend's house I'd better act normal. I know he's gonna try to bone me and I'm going to have to shut him down which will probably piss him off. And I don't know how I lost my shirt in the first place but when we go to enter the house he won't let me put it back on because he says it makes me look like a goddamn twelve year old and I have to go in there all exposed.

There is a sweet Mexican lady in the house with a cute little baby and a very hostile dog. His friend is very old, and tall, and skinny, and white. He takes me with his friend to some other dude's house where I see a lot of money flash around and his friend apparently buys the guy's boat. While we're waiting for the guys to finish their paperwork I'm alone with my kidnapper, whose name is Abe I forgot to mention, and he's telling me about how he misses cuddling with his ex-wife but he had to dump her because she lusted after cocaine too hardcore and he thought that was trashy. I offer to be his new cuddle buddy, because I like to cuddle, but I don't feel any true affection I am just trying to pretend I care about this man to make myself feel warm inside instead of sick and sad. He brightens up though, and seems really excited about it.

So we light up with his buddy when we get back to the house, and then Abe and I are sitting on the couch stoned and he's sharing his dreams about being my sugardaddy with me, talking about the way he's going to throw his money at me, how I'm going to be taken care of, and the Mexican lady offers me coffee and a shirt. It's good coffee, Columbian. The shirt is probably made for a pre-teen, it barely fits and it's itchy, it's this long-sleeved silver and blue striped sweater thing. But I wear it in the hopes that it will give me some kind of dignity. I try to drink my coffee and feel fine but I am in the worst mood ever. I have to run away to the bathroom and cry uncontrollably in there, thinking about how I am stranded with this horny old guy and it's all my fault. They have a house phone in the bathroom so I pick it up and call Bobby again, but he doesn't answer so I cry into the phone leaving a message about how I'm a hopeless moron. I go back out, trying to breathe easy and act straight but I just look at the Mexican lady and burst into tears. And she's asking what is wrong with me, and Abe tells her I'm tired, and then he tells her I got very drunk earlier, and I try to play it off like I am just some over-emotional dumb broad. I try to smile and tell her I'm alright, and we rush out the door with Abe wanting to kick me in the face. He drives me to some shitty motel, promising to take me home in the morning, angry with me for being sad, disappointed that I have turned out to be such an unappreciative brat after the nice day he has tried to give me. I refuse to take off anything but my shoes when we slip into bed which annoys him, and he keeps trying to grope me everywhere but I grab his hands and push them away rather coldly every time. I think about what a fucking pea-brain I am for being so unrealistically carefree. I can't stand the thought of him trying to touch me in my sleep so I stay up all night pushing him off while he tries to fuck me over and over and over and over and over and over again. But at least he's not a rapist. He can't let it go but he won't force it.

He calls my boobs his twins. I'm like, "They're not YOUR twins!" and he's like, "Okay, OUR twins." And I'm like, "NO!" but I'm laughing histerically at him for totally missing the point. He doesn't seem very amused.

As soon as the sun comes up we're out the door because the tension is so fucking high we can't even stand to be near one another anymore. The whole ride home is painfully silent except when he asks for directions to my house, and it takes more than an hour to get there so you can imagine the level of awkwardness. I feel like there is nothing to say, like if I am friendly he will just want to bone me more and if I am mean he will just drop me off in the gutter to die and there is nothing to do but sit quietly and stew. He fiddles with the radio a lot, barely ever settling on a song. For a moment I am happy when he picks a tune by Simon & Garfunkle. When he drops me off I go to my room and smoke a bowl to calm my frazzled nerves. Then I call Bobby and he is wildly worried and I feel like the only thing worse than hurting myself is making somebody who cares about me watch me drown and I don't really know how to apologize for anything I just hope maybe in the future I might be able to manage to look out for myself a little better.