Serendipitious sex shop visits....(That got your attention.)

Pretty! Pretty, pretty, pretty.

My god, I love shoes.

Note the 2 inch platform 8 inch stiletto heel whore shoes near the bottom behind the cowboy boots. Shoes I had to own just to look at occassionally. I went into the local sex shop and the owner asked my shoe size. When in a sex shop, one must careful how one answers that question. But it turns out she had someone order these shoes in 6 and that turned out to be wishful thinking. Hey, I'm a size 6. So she gave them to me 40% off. Mmmmm, whore shoes.

I got so excited talking about them, I had to photograph them alone. I also have some 4 inch heel pirate boots, but that's a blog for another day. Now I must go have some alone time with my shoes.

I'm too old to giggle and run at the same time.

Wednesday, evening there was a knock at the door of Chez Me and Boyfriend and there stood our good friend, Matt. I've mentioned Matt before as singer/author/nicest guy ever. No really. Our little town voted him nicest guy in our yearly poll of "Best of" for our local entertainment magazine. It's in print.
Anyway, he shows up to tell us that on Thursday, he would be celebrating his 42 birthday and he would like us to join him in celebrating by playing tag. Yep, you heard me. Tag. Being as this was just the kind of crazy thing Matt would do, we signed on.
On the longest day of the year, several fully grown adults and a few kids gathered in the park to play tag. But not just any tag. Let me see if I can explain it. You stand there with your hands on your hips looking like a teapot with two handles. (More of a sugarbowl, I guess.) Someone links their arm through one of yours. The twist is only two people can be linked at anytime so if a person being chased runs up and links onto your partners other arm, you are knocked off and have to go find another free arm to link with. If you find another arm without being tagged, then the person on your link's other arm is knocked off. If your tagged while running for an arm, you are it and the person who tagged you must run for an open arm.
IT WAS SO MUCH FUN. I don't remember the last time I just stood there and giggled. And it was very social because you linked up with people you didn't know and got to talking while watching the game. I spent many times linked up with a fella that I only knew by his first name, but later found out he was somewhat of a town celebrity. If a town had a artist laureate, it would be him. He has some national acclaim too. I've always loved his work. but had never met him. Now I've played tag with him. God, I love this town.
I'm off now to take a really hot shower for my legs hurts so bad, I can't cross them of my own accord. But, if you ever get the chance to gather some friends and go play tag, I highly recommend it. Happy Birthday, Matt!

Attempting to recapture the elusive.

So, Boyfriend and I have a new wifi connection and it's all speedy-speedy. What is the first thing I do with a fasty connection? Well, first I found a YouTube of Christopher Walken reading The Raven but shortly after that, I watched a video of Morrissey's There is a Light that Never Goes Out. Every time I hear this song or anything by the Smiths or the Cure, I think of this feeling I had when I was a teenager. I'm not experiencing the feeling, mind you, just remembering it. Couldn't begin to tell you what the feeling was. A tingling, a hum, an energy. A state of being. An awareness of the vastness of the universe. Maybe, just maybe, and it fucking kills me to say this, maybe it was only the feeling of potential. The idea that maybe I would be killed by a ten-ton truck and maybe I would feel privileged to die next to a particular someone. Maybe my life would be tragic and heroic and memorable and...big.
All I know is that I can't get the feeling now and when I try, I feel borders, edges, walls. A definite sense of confined space.
I never thought I'd be one of these women, but oh how I mourn the loss of my youth.

Day from hell that sucked big time plus two!

Let me give you some highlights.
1. Cats unrolling entire roll of toilet paper because they think it's fun to spin.
2. Children running to the desk to tell me someone had hurled all over the library floor.
3. Cat shitting on the floor because I took the litter box outside to clean. Couldn't wait two goddamn minutes.
4. Pinching my fingers in a cupboard and when I jerked my hand away, ramming my elbow into a different cupboard.
5. Seeing a friend who I know is suffering from severe depression and knowing there is not a damn thing I can do.
6. Having a loved one call me crying because people are saying mean things about her and having to tell her the mean things are true because, well, they are true and the people are trying to help.

And those are just the highlights. I didn't mention the small shit that happened.
That's it. I'm in a hot bath as we speak and I'm about to watch Blue Lagoon. Yep, you heard me. Blue Lagoon. Why? Because Christopher Atkins in a loincloth is hot and I still want long wavy hair that will cover my boobs so I don't have to wear a top. So there. Deal with it.

How the #%@& am I supposed to know?

For those of you who don't know, the old Pollywog is working strenously on her Master's degree in Library Science. (Stop snickering, it is a science.) And what fine class did she decide to cram into the summer? That's right. Ethics. So now here it is, almost midnight, and I just finished a paper on, essentially, whether I would give a book about how to build a backyard artillery device that shoots full beer cans 300 yards or more using gasoline and compressed oxygen to a minor? Real book, by the way. Turns out I would indeed give the kid the book and point him to the nearest hardware/liquor store. Why? Because, God Damnit, to not give him the book would be censorship and futhermore, where the hell are his parents anyway? It is their job to say "Jimmy, don't shoot full beer cans at the neighbor. Drink 'em first and shoot the empties". It takes a village, my ass. It takes a few dedicated individuals like myself to say "It's probably not a good idea to climb the bookshelves" while Mom is busy talking on her cell phone in the middle of the library while instant messaging on the library computer to the person who she's talking to on the cell phone! Whoops, slipped into a rant there.
Point is, any discussion on Ethics frustrates and annoys me. Would I kill one hundred people if I knew it would save a thousand? I don't freakin' know, will there be pie afterwards? Ethics conversations are pointless because there IS NO ANSWER. Can I please go to bed now?

The ends of my hair hurts...

...along with every other inch of my body. Moving bites! It was a hectic weekend of Boyfriend and I trying to move with the just the short and weak two of us and a truck. Did I mention that my old apartment is on the second floor? Stairs , couch, my trembling biceps. Not a magic combination.

But, it's all worth it for this deck and this back yard. I know it doesn't look like much but in my little town, it's living high on the hog.

Dishwasher, baby!