Holy shit baby! We're back live and direct! I'm so happy to see you here...
I've decided to repost the Hot/Not Hot Chronicles in celebration of our return. Come hell or high water, he's probably going to read this somewhere, but I dungivvashit.
Enjoy,
Voodoo
Can you hit the button for "descent into hell?"
So check it out. I meet a guy, let's call him Hot/Not Hot. Wait, I suppose I should tell you why I chose his Voodoo Name. Wait, I won't. You'll see it all too clearly. So things are going cool, exchanging email, whatever. Messages here and there, it's all good. He's a nice guy. I'm diggin' his style, and bam he's hella fine, and he's all that.
But.
We trade numbers.
And what happens proceeds to be the worst, WORST game I have ever heard spit in my general direction. Allow me to explain. First off, he IMs me and says, "I have a surprise for you." This is probably the worst thing that you can say to someone online. It's so scary it's scurry. It's about 12:30 at night, and I'm ready to fall asleep, and I'm also not ready to deal with any kind of spookiness. I'm waiting for someone to knock on my window. I'm waiting for someone to grab my ankle under the bed. I'm waiting for the doorbell to ring. But it's worse than that, my Voodoo Babies. My cell phone rings.
It's him.
I groan and hit Accept. He proceeds to tell me what he'd like to do to me. And I don't mean make me happy or bring me flowers, we're talking mondo orgasm here. Lick that, bite this. I'm thinking, are you freakin' serious? I'm tired, and somewhat amused so I let it go. There are pauses there for me to interject with some flowery language of my own, but I withhold my, "I'm going to love sticking this ruler in crack," or "You are so sexy when I pee on you." Please. I instead let him go all out and lay it on me. It's not very cute.
As if this couldn't possibly get any WORSE, it did.
"I got stoned with this chick last weekend and she wanted to 'just get one out of the way', so you know, it was cool. I wasn't into it, but I did it. She liked it, you know, she kept wanting more."
"I dig older chicks, they know how to move."
"Sex is cool, you know, and you think you can do it all night, but when you, you know, get there, or cum, you just want to go to sleep. That's uncool."
And this is our FIRST phone call? At 1AM no less?
My Lovely Voodoo Men, heed the warning of the Voodoo. Self salting game is so prevalent these days that it's scary. You don't go into your sexual history and proclivities. Women don't need to know that! I'm half grateful that I did hear it, so that I know better, but damn, how can you be fine and stupid? Beats the hell outta me. It's terrible. Quoth the Pork Honey, "You get tired of the hunt..." Well, I am tired of the hunt, but I know I need to go out there are do something about this fine dry spell. The problem is, the hunt has led me to well, spoiled goods. Oh well, to paraphrase yet another poet, Guru or Gangstarr, "Get rid of the ex man and move on to the next man."
I'm going to have to kick this one to the curb and find a real man. I assume they're out there somewhere.
Voodoo
Update on Self-Salting Game
So the day after he calls me, I get a few IMs. He wants to see how I'm doing, he doesn't mention the phone call. He then proceeds to 'go there' again. Sadly enough, I think he's been voodoofied, and I'm not going to claim any responsibility if he should tattoo "I love Voodoo" on his ample pecs. The next day, the President of My Fan Club proceeds to express how totally much he misses me, and that he really really wants to hang out with me because he really likes me and then again continues with the tirade of sexual longings and issues that are most recognizeable in teenage boys from the age of 15.
Some guys never learn.
hot/nothot: talk to you later
hot/nothot: maybe
voodoo: thanks. later.
voodoo: how about never.
hot/nothot: what?
hot/nothot: never?
Remember that conversation I had with Hot/Not Hot a few days ago? It continues.
hot/nothot: so you never want to chat again?
hot/nothot: thats fucking real cool, whatever
voodoo: see what i mean
Okay I know what you're thinking. That's messed up! Why are you posting what he said here? Why the hell not. Besides, I'm going to take things out of context this way...Anyway, I lose myself here. Let's go back.
voodoo: and you calling me and listing your sexual accomplishments isn't exactly cute
hot/nothot: what?
lhot/nothot: what is all that about?
Are you serious? He went on and on not telling me "i don't know what you're talking about, etc." Right.
hot/nothot: you know some people i chat with, and end up not getting along with, and they get all mad, or i get all mad, and do the whole goodbye leave me alone thing
hot/nothot: and it just makes me kind of pissy.
hot/nothot: but...i would be sad if that happened right now
Wow, I didn't know he was having a hard time getting along with others so I said,
voodoo: see, i feel the same way, but when it comes to saying things like have a shitty morning even as a joke, that's not cool with me
voodoo: and you calling me and listing your sexual accomplishments isn't exactly cute
hot/nothot: what?
hot/nothot: what is all that about?
hot/nothot: when did I do that?
I think Oliver North and Ronald Reagan did something to that affect. "I don't remember." Psiyeah. Wait, it gets better.
hot/nothot: thats not fair
voodoo: you totally don't remember that?
hot/nothot: no
hot/nothot: i called you late i was tired
hot/nothot: i dont remember exactly what was said
So I had to break him off.
voodoo: so you've been checked into the friend zone.
Ouch, baby. Suffice it to say, we've squashed things. He still hits on me, talks to me in Tagalog, and if you know me, I'm like WTF? Speak French! Anyways, hope you had a good laugh. I sure did.
There's something that I love about live sports. Games I actually go to and watch. I love to sit on an uncomfortable plastic chair, in the sun, watching men (sorry girls, I love men's sports), cheering my teams, and reciting off stats. I've been an avid baseball fan since I was in the 3rd grade. Football since the 7th grade. Basketball I'm gaining in appreciation for. Soccer I'm just learning. Hockey since college. I get the willies just thinking about the next game I'm going to go to. Tomorrow night. Hockey. Alameda. Bruisers. I can't wait.
Sure, you get a better view of the game on TV. You can get up, take a piss without waiting for fifteen minutes to pass. You can get food that's not 400% marked up. You can even watch the game naked. (Don't ask because I won't tell you). But at the game, you can feel the tension, hear the crowd, feel the pulse of the plays. Sure the whole piss and food thing is messed up, but hell, notice how a ballpark dog tastes better? Hm.
Tonight I went to watch the school basketball game. I pretty much know most of the players since I see them so often, and that's nice. I went by myself because SOME people are a flake, and I won't get into details about who's a flake, but hey, YOU know who you are, you FLAKE! Oops, sorry. So anyways, I'm at the game, chillin', sprawled out and having a good time. I'm about five rows from the bench, so I can see the coach cussin' out the fellas. No wonder they hate you. At any rate, I enjoyed a thorough routing of the visiting team. Life was good.
The night before, I was also at the game. They were playing one of the top 10 NCAA teams, so the place was packed. Standing room only, and um, I got there kinda late, so that meant standing. I am only five feet tall, so that's hard to do with all these tall people around, so me and G-funk went and sat at the railing on the floor. You heard me, sitting on the floor, on the upper deck, watching the game. It was painful, but hell, it's live, and I enjoyed myself.
I have a lot of respect for athletes who go out there and pound away at the court. It's not an easy thing to do. Professional athletes pretty much just are athletes year round. But it's the amateur guys, the college hoops, the weekend hockey guys, the university soccer team, et. al who are out there, working hard at their craft and also playin' ball. The women's teams too, it's a fine balance between working out and working on homework. And I watch many students do WELL. On and off the court/rink/field. You name it.
My hats off to you guys. Thanks for going out there and working your asses off for your glory and for the glory we feel when we watch a game. Yer my heros.
CADIZ, Ky. (AP) -- A Trigg County teacher's aide has been suspended over complaints that he gave middle school students heart-shaped Valentine's Day treats that turned out to be cat food.
The aide, in his first year as an assistant, was suspended pending an investigation.
"He exercised very, very, very poor judgment," said Superintendent Tim McGinnis, adding that the name of the aide will not released until the investigation is finished. "We don't know why he would do something like this. We're embarrassed, we're apologetic."
McGinnis said the employee took the treats from class to class afternoon and gave them to students, some of whom "sniffed, nibbled or took a bite" from the treats.
After school officials learned what the aide had done, children exposed to the cat treats were encouraged to wash their mouths out, brush their teeth and visit the school nurse.
There were no reports of illness.
*****
mmmm Meat Valentine's. I thought my Valentine's was ass.
Today I was in a meeting that went from 8:30 until 4:30. One meeting. A training, to be specific. It was entitled "In the Moment Coaching", and the topic, if you haven't figured it out, smarty pants, was coaching. Different from mentoring, it's a new area of study that encourages workplace relationships or the like in order to help people fulfill their workplace expectations and/or personal life decisions. We were given a book from which to do some exercises, and there was a very highly motivated speaker who was, for the most part, engaging. I was there, for the most part too.
But I kept thinking about sex.
And each time that I did, I made a check mark on the page that I was on, or following along on, just to keep tabs on what was racing through my forced celibate brain at the moment. Oops, there's another one. Check.
So I kept myself amused by the number of check marks that were appearing on the sidebars. It looked like I was keeping tabs on how many times the speaker would say the word "coach." Yah, she said it. Oh yah, I wonder what it'd be like to kiss this guy. Oh yah, coaching. Back to the task at hand. Check.
It was amusing, but after awhile, it started to get freaky because I stopped keeping check marks, which lead to ex post facto check marks, and next thing you know I'm the biggest slut in the room. I sunk into my chair and felt like I was SO not present, like the trainer wanted us to be, instead, I was living la vida porno in my head while I was supposed to be learning how to take care of my colleague's needs. Shit, my needs came first, so check that one, baby.
I heard somewhere about some obscure statistic suggesting that people think of sex so frequently in their daily lives, even if they're not having sex, that it's pretty distracting to the general workforce as a whole. Ever wonder why they use seductive poses in ads? Because we're a nation of horndogs. Okay maybe not YOU, but certainly, I've been guilty of tapping into that brain stem that handles our autonomic functions. The function of gettin' it on. God, what have I become.
Hell, it made the day pass faster, and it certainly made the day more interesting. Asides from the fact that there was no one even remotely attractive in the meeting (except yours truly, thank you very much), the material was not only relevant, it was well presented. I was able to stay pretty focused, except for the mini porno scenes going on in my head. So you're probably asking me how many check marks I wound up with. And suffice it to say, my lovelies, if I were to tell you, I'd be embarassed.
10.
Remember, I stopped counting after a while. After the first fifteen minutes.
Don't stand too close, you might get Voodoofied,
Voodoo
The only way you're reading this right now, at this very moment, is because my blog is up. Unfortunately, the server changeover is taking a little longer than expected, and I'm going through the whole pageview withdrawal thing. My blogheads are getting anxious about writing, and I'm about to freak out over here.
It's like my whole writing world has gone to bits. Then I realized I could still write a thing or two, but not have to see the page itself to do it. But somehow, that's not entirely enough. I'm going to save my details for another time, my honies, cause I have some things to blog about (ballless men, weddings, and other cute things). Until the page goes up, I'm going to have to curl up in a literary ball and sob.
He's singing to me right now. I'm painting in the kitchen. I can't keep my mind off him.
Now if only I can say that it was real.
How to be alive in two words.
Paint. Something.
If I get enough motivation, I'll show ya what happened. But if it sucks, you ain't gettin' NUT! [update (12:34AM): things went better than planned. Two large format paintings, four little ones. I'm thrilled. Will scan pics when I'm done with them.]
Voodoo Solo
I love having the house to myself. Play MY music, paint MY paintings, sing as loud as I wanna, lounge hard, lounge good. It's amazing how much clearer my mind is when it's quiet, but I am always yearning for a voice to be gently calling my name.
Picture This
The hardest thing about being by yourself, and I've learned this a lot when I was abroad, was that there's no one to take pictures of you.
Kiss Me
I used to think that maybe I missed the sex. But what I really missed was the kissing.
Too Much Information
Yah, the kissing.
Hook Me Up
I spoke with a dear friend today who was glad to report that he found a doctor for me to meet. Apparently though, he's still enamored with the pretty plastic girls of LA. Shit, call me when he's over that. I can't compete. Nor would I want to.
Flakes
My newest Love Interest, Jack, says this: "It seems to me that maybe pretty much means no. So don't tell me you might just let it go." Yah, that's real.
I am not going to get into details, and I'm not going to try to pull anything on anyone here. I have to tell you all some important shiznit, so gimme a minute.
Think of all the little things you go through each day. The stuff that you do automatically before you leave the house. The people you walk by each day. Think of all the people in your life. The phone calls, the email, the letters, the time you spend with each other. Think of all the people that you care about, the ones that you love, the ones that love you back. Think of all the moments you spend doing stupid thangs wastin' your life on bullshit. Yah I know I'm tellin' it like it is. I gotta swear cause I need the Voodoo Babies to feel me on this one.
Think on all the times you shoulda when you coulda but you didn't. Think on all the times you didn't stop to appreciate the people around you, the people who love you. In the next few days handle your business and look at all those things. Then, make it a point to tell those people the things you need to tell them. Tell those people that love you that you love them back. Appreciate those people. Appreciate those moments. Give some time in your day to recognize how important those people and things are.
Appreciate the things God/Buddha/Allah/the Goddess/Bathala/VoodooChild gave you. The sun, the air you breathe, the family you have, the music you bump your Neon to, the fingers you have left, etc.
Finally, in a serious way, make this a part of who and what you are.
Hey Voodoo Babies, and other visitors to the Lovely Voodoo Land. I regret to inform you that beatsrhymesnlife will be down for the next five days. Please check back with us on Wednesday.
Good morning heartache
You old gloomy sight
Good morning heartache
Thought we said goodbye last night
I turned and tossed until it seems you heve gone
But here you are with the dawn
Wish I forget you, but you're here to stay
It seems I met you
When my love went away
Now everyday I stop I'm saying to you
Good morning heartache what's new
Good morning, my voluptuous ones. Tis I, your Voodoo Queen, just awakening to a lovely little post-soju tweaking. Thanks to all the beautiful ones who rolled through last night, and I'll give you the details in a second. Firstly, you're probably wondering what's up with the dismal start to the blog...Good Morning Heartache is a song that I learned many years ago when I first heard of Billie Holliday. I liked the lyrics, the feel to it, and post-Valentine's B.S., it just seemed like the appropriate song. Dealing with the aches and pains of one's ex-factor (i.e., an accumulation of exes that induces cringing), particularly recent and more fresh ones, either you can shut the door and endure the incessant knocking on the door. And honey, the knocking ISN'T opportunity. OR you can open the door, give Heartache a seat and just have tea. I don't know, screw the world, but at some point in time, the dumper will always miss the dumpee. Take great comfort in that, and if not, you throw an anti-Valentine's party.
Special Voodoo Love to Evhead who rolled through after some bizarre invitation from yours truly. I decided to take a chance and invite him out for drinks and all that, and right as rain, he showed up. So Ev, remember, drinks on me for life. I, as well as the other writers, appreciate all you've done and what you continue to do. Who's Evhead? Oh lord, you should be ashamed of yourself. Another Ginju, please.
As one of three hostesses for the party, I have to admit that I hate hate hate flakes.There were a few, and I won't bag on you, but hey, don't tell me it's all gravy when it's NOT! tsk tsk.
It's the hostess nightmare. Everyone says they're in, but only a few show. I'll tell you tho, when you have a cool set of folks who roll through, it's cool, you can focus in on them and spend time choppin' it up in a way that a large crowd wouldn't allow. Hockey Dude, in his drunken splendor, announced to half the room that I was the hostess. They applauded, but they thought I was the hostess for ANOTHER party. Damn alcoholics.
So luckily today I have the day off, and I'm sitting here, in a hockey jersey (and that's it,I don't know why you need to know that, remember, I'm slightly hungover) writing you. I think I'm going to take a drive, my pretties, get some sun on my face, and yah, I'll take heartache with me.
Thanks again for helping the Voodoo celebrate V-day, and big love again to the bloggers who represented. I'm outta here!
I feel like I'm going to pass out. The walls are closing in. I'm feeling claustrophobic. I don't want to see people. I think maybe I'm going a little crazy. Oh yah, that's just the PMS.
I have to tell you that I'm feeling the whole Singleton Vibe for Valentine's Day. But then we had the Valentine's Lunch. I got some Valentine's love from my students, a little bit of candy and some gifts too, and I'm happy as a bee. This holiday, as we like to say, is all about the social pressure and drama of being single AND in a relationship, if you think about it. Somehow, you gotta do something, and more often than not, that Something is Nothing.
This point last year, I was recently out of a relationship (couldn't you have at least faked it until Valentine's you jerk?) and I was righteously bitter and slightly off kilter. Well, that was a year ago, and I don't think much as changed, but I don't have that clever answer that goes something like "I'm recently single, so screw the world." Oh the pressure of it all. I smile when I think about how my life has been in the last year, and it's been good, so who am I to complain. Earlier today, a very married visitor to the campus and I were talking, and he said, "You're still single? You must be focused." On what? I don't know what he was talking about but I said back, "Focused is one thing, dead in the water is another." I am the Buoy of Love.
I think the cutest part about today is the way that single people sneer and say with clenched jaws, "Black Thursday." I love that. But really, we ALL are little pipes of steam screaming inside of our innerds "DAMN!" I spoke with the Enforcer last night and I think every other word was Aiyah! and ARGH! I think the whole gutteral feel of saying those words really help somehow. No, I take that back. It just drives the stake in a little deeper.
Tonight with my crew from The Big Aiyah, and the Weekender, we're going throw a sexy singles party, and if you haven't heard yet and you want to roll through, make sure you email me so I can get you the 411. I would love to meet some folks and have a good time kickin' it with you all. We're staring at a pretty diverse crowd of folks and I hope you will consider paying homage to your Queen Mother Voodoo, and the rest of the Voodoo Family Crew.
So peep this girl: Valentine's isn't easy, nor is it a bad thing entirely. It's a time where we all can just kick it and appreciate the love we have for others, and we don't need to stress over feelin' sad and lonely offa nothing. Single people, don't trip, I keep tellin' myself. I'd rather be happy and solo than somewhat happy and shackled down.
Let me refresh your memory on this note: Each one of us has a number of soulmates out there. We may be in relationships with them and maybe not. The point is, you gotta have faith that soulmates always find a way home to us, no matter what. They may not be in our grill now, but they're out there, and be ready for when they arrive. It's just like the whole be ready to croak thing (not that love = death); are you prepared? Work on your shit, babies. Make yourself into what you were meant to be, honies. Give yourself the time you want and need, sugar pies. And then when you're ready, it'll go down.
Apparently, many of you who read the post feel that the Cleavage Comment had to be true. God bless you. Because it IS true. He was cute, Filipino and knows a good rack when he sees one.
Those of you who chose the Felt Up one, I regretfully have to inform you that HE DID FEEL ME UP! Sweet. I get a free feel, get a pseudo gay man to play the kissing game, AND no guilt whatsoever.
But alas, the last one, The Margaret Cho one is false. He told me I look like Margaret Cho, but did not think I was Margaret Cho. So to you who felt that it was a Lie, I give you a famed Margaret Cho line as a reward:
Okay, so check this out, I've been feeling ten times in the dump for the last two weeks, tryin' to look forward to things, but it's just not happening. I know that largely this is due in part to the whole Valentine's crap that's coming up (not the party, good lord, no) but the whole romantic thing. Oh yah, and as unromantic as this sounds, it's also largely in part due to the fact that I have some major PMS issues kicking in.
Now guys, don't be screamin' and hollerin' cause a girl's got her thang goin' on. It's not cute, okay?
So I've been thinking, and I've been drinking. Seeking answers where there aren't many, looking for the right questions to ask. It's a funny little loop or game we play and I'm at the point where I feel like I don't want to play.
What do I do? I have no idea. I could sit here and stare at the computer or make sense of it all. I could maybe get another round of DPA and kick it a little longer underneath the stars with a cool fellow. I could maybe give it up. I could even try to solve it at a medium pace. Or I could just apreciate it for what it is.
Somewhere in all of this self-inflicted drama is a lesson I'm trying damn hard to learn. I'm looking from all angles, feelin' it out like a person who is without sight. I'm askin' questions to those who would dare cross that threshhold and want to get to know me better. But most of all, I'm thinking that it's not even that complicated as it seems. That later on in life, this is going to be one big fat ass joke, and I'll laugh, if I remember it, and if I don't, tant pis, as my second tongue would say.
Je dis seulement qu'il y a beaucoup de raisons que je pense comme ca. Peut-etre l'amour, tant pis por moi, c'est en faite l'amour. Mais j'existe. Simplement, l'existence c'est l'essentiel. Mais maintenant, en ce moment-la, il sent comme la douleur.
Why is it that all words for darkness and pain are feminine?
Tonight was a most fabulous night out with StraitsJackit and the crew. I shall detail the events for you only in brief. It is 3:30 in the morning,and I feel slightly TIRED. But I wanted to give you the dirt before I go to bed. And we're going to give the dirt via the ever famous, Voodoo Patented and Approved "2 Truths and a Lie."
Cleavage Comment/Appreciation
When at Club Universe, do as the Queens do. Look your best, wear appropriate makeup, make very good eye contact, and, if you got it, flaunt it. I happened to be wearing my fave night out top, the Lacy Racy Do Me Shirt. I was dancing next to a really handsome Asian man, who said hello to me and then, appropriately and with great zest, said to me, "Nice cleavage. It really works." His eyes got big, and so did my smile.
Voodoo Gets Felt Up
I know that at many clubs, there are women and men who insist on taking drugs to alter their experience. I'm not going to preach here or anything, but hey, that's all gravy, just be safe, right? Anyways, I'm dancing with this guy, now mind you, this is a GAY club, who pulls my arms around his neck and proceeds to hug me and then rub my back, and do all those affectionate touchy feely things. I'm not going to say that's all he did, but it was enough to make you say, "hm."
I Am Not Margaret Cho
I was dancing with another fellow who quipped to me, "Are you Margaret Cho?" This is NOT the first time that I've heard this from strangers, and even from friends who insist I look like the diva herself. That's all good and all, but he got all star crossed when he thought I was Margaret. I thought twice about maybe milking it for some free drinks. Heck, I didn't even drink at all once I got to the club.
Okay kiddies, those are your choices. Vote only for ONE and remember, if you cheat, I'm going to have to spank you.
Voodoo
PS: I saw the Original Beer Can, and if you recall, Beer Can is given that name on the basis of his package, which, if gripped properly, feels like a Beer Can in your hand (do the math, children). I regret to inform you that Beer Can was not Beer Cannish, rather he was sadly enough, a roll of quarters. I am bereft.
Thanks to Straits and the crew for hangin' at the U. Love to Beer Can for takin' a girl out last night. Congrats to Mighty Mom and Brahma Bull on their new Matrix, and kisses to the divas at U.
Last night, Buff and I got back from a few hours of playing around at the mall. We got back to the house, and the ghetto light (the one that's motion detected operating) didn't pop on. I thought it was nothing, dismissed it and went into the house. Later on that night, Buff met up with Pigpen, and he noticed that the car stereo was missing. We wondered why the light didn't go on, and we found out that the light was loosened. Yes, someone reached up, unscrewed the light. Pretty sneaky, sis.
It's happened before, to be honest. And I started to freak a little bit because I've been so used to not worrying about the wholeghetto thing, now it feels like I have to. I keep thinking that one day I'll get home and find everything gone.
I won't tell you how, or why, but people seem to think I like to whip others.
I get IMs (yes, you can IM the Voodoo: MsVoodooChild) that ask for routine beatings, shittings, and other wonderful things. My favorite thus far is:
"I sometimes like to simulate dommes and torture myself in the shower. I have soap beads on a string and I have inserted two in my ass so far! What else can I do?"
Well.
You have to stop and think for a second after you get a message like that. Do I encourage him to go for the third? Do I ask him how the hell do soap beads (if you know what those are) get onto strings? Go ahead, put "soap beads string" into any ANY search engine. Do you see soap beads on a rope? I doubt it. Do it on Google and scroll down...ooh, what's that? ANAL BEADS!!! Okaaaaaaaay?
You babies must be wondering what I told him. Well, I told him something akin to, "You need to quit playing around and get a real Domme to stick things in your butt."
Nice, huh. You grinning yet? You should be. That's some coooold shit.
The other day, I got one from "Matthew." He wanted to know if I was a real Domme. (you figure it out). And then he sent me a picture. ooooooh, offerings to the Voodoo Queen! I like it! So I open it and he looks all of 16.
"Why are you sending me pics of you at the prom?"
"What do you think?"
"I think you're sad. You look all of twelve."
"Actually I'm 17."
"How old are you now?"
"18."
Ooooh. I think that deserves a BUDDY LIST IGNORE. With my fucked up luck he's probably sending me pics of his son. He's no doubt some gnarly old man who likes to feast on Voodoolicious. Who could blame him. But the big rule of thumb, Babies, is to send a pic that isn't too young, too old, too fine (ooh, are you REALLY an Abercrombie model? fucker) and mos def, don't send me one of your snatch/cock/ass/pet rodent. Yes, I've amassed a collection of those too.
I love the Internet. I really do. You can do wonderful things with it. You can surf. You can read. You can meet new people. You can also get some freaky shit that you thought never existed. You can BAM! Meet men who are really women, women who are really men (i've found the latter to be more true than the former). You can meet people who live down the street, as I did. You can also have some deep conversations about nothing in particular.
You can be amazed at how illiterate some people are. You can find that idiocy reigns supreme in ONE particular part of the United States. I won't say where, so don't ask. You can steal pics, send them out as yourself. You can talk, chat, watch cams, peek in on private lives, and you can be sneaked on. Wonderful thing, the Internet.
I won't say anything about free speech. You can say whatever you want, but read your content carefully. Don't believe everything that someone tells you. So-called Mister FINE ASS usually got major problems. So-called Hoochie Mama probably is a guy. Whatever. There are some genuinely nice people out there in the world, and no doubt, most of you are. But there are some assholes who just go out there and fuck it up for everyone. Have fun while you're out there, just be careful.
Love from,
The Voodoo
Your Internet Mistress of Voodoology
ps: this is a repost that I did about a year ago...i saw it and started bustin' up. still fits, doesn't it?
Stop pointing fingers at those who are different than you, it's killin' me over here. The people in your neighborhood, Billy Joe, who have been in your neighborhood for longer than you've been around. So quit trying to "help" the cause by bashing on your neighbors in the name of patriotism.
I'm going to just throw this out there, since I throw pretty much everything else out there for you all to enjoy and comment...but where the hell is my life going?
Not in the philosophical sense, because truly, I can say with honesty that it's going in the right direction. But I'm talkin' about time wise. I seem to not have time to do the things that I want to do. You know, get outta town, go visit some friends, talk to certain people, kick back and throw down some beers with the fellas. I'm supposed to be working, but I'd rather blog since I haven't had time to do it at home...Anyways, blogging is more fun, don't you think?
Someone once said, "It took me a year to recalibrate my life after the dissertation."
Oh freakin' wonderful.I'm looking at a month's worth of weekends already booked with things I HAVE to go to. But like Buff said, "You don't HAVE to go, but if you want to make it a "HAVE" to go situation, then freakin' go. In a meanwhile, quit complaining." Sure, quit complaining. Such is life.
Okay, back to work...I have a training to prepare for.
Things to do in a club when you know everyone there
It sucks to go to a club and not know anyone. It's great fun if you do know everyone. And last night was one of those nights. I have to admit that the bulk of the evening was spent sayin' "Whaaaaaaat's up!" and "Where are you now!?" Throw in a few "Who are you here for?" and a smattering of "I love your hair!" and you've got my routine down. The party was in honor of a few homies, Barf Bucket and You Want This. I met up with World of Curls, Dr. Evil, Beer Can, and a few assorted others. I brought Hockey Guy with me to witness the carnage.
I posted outside to wait for the entourage to show up, and I was surrounded by four Filipino boys who were from the 916! I said, oh where, Rio Linda?
Saying that to guys from Sac is like saying you're from San Francisco when you're really from Daly City.
They weren't thrilled, but we laughed and they all promised to dance with me. I was probably 10 years older than all of 'em. But hey, all good. When they stop hittin' on you, then it's a problem. We get into the club, I see a guy with a feather boa. I ask him, "Hey, is this a special occasion, or do you always travel with your boa." He said "Always!" Why am I not surprised. He was with his boyfriend. Saw SugarQ3, Hellraiser, The Artist and Gengalicious. Hugs and Love.
I drag poor Hockey Guy to the bar, meet up with the crew (after I ditch my jacket behind some kegs) and order up two Heinekens. Hockey Guy is amazed that I drink beer. Honestly, it's easy, it's fast and I dig it. Most girls, I suppose have to warm up to it. My first Corona, when I was 18 wasn't all that great, but now, I'll gladly take one off your hands, thank you very much. And I have to say that when you get bumped with your beer, it doesn't go all over the place. Hey ladies, save your cosmos for the restaurant/bar. We're in the dungeon called the Beer Cellar, filled with short ass Filipino guys and shorter women who will mos def bump yo' shit. Big hugs to CloudNihne and Squeak.
We get to the dance floor (Hey, what's up! How are you doing? What are you doing here?) and I see one of my students. How bizarre. Fortunately she's with a program I used to be with, and not one of my current students (RUN AWAY!), so I can hang out, but not too long. Fortunately she knows Hockey Guy. All is well. Commence to boogie. We move next to Yuck Mouth and the Apostle, the next in line to the altar, and he's wanting to hear some bling bling shit,. I know it. ;-) WERD!
Onto the second beer. I'm at the bar with Hockey Guy. You will notice, I hope, that at the bar, when you're ordering, the 'tender is going to go in a particular order. Usually down one end to another, right? We're at the far end, and she's working her way down. Picture this, okay...She's coming down the bar to where we are because there's the toybox full of lemons, cherries,etc. This big dude, to my right, leans over and shouts at her "Yo, gimme a long island." She ignores him, doesn't even acknowledge him, and she finishes the drink. He's hyped, thinking he's gonna get his perv on. She goes to the next dude and takes his order. Again, she comes by us, picks out a lime and again, he shouts, Yo, where's my long island? She continues and gets down to us. Hockey orders the beers. Big man next to me starts bitching, "Yo man, what's up wit' my long island????" I think he's going to cry. I take my beer and laugh.
In the end, I just wanted to bounce. It's a nice night, nothing cold or windy, and I'm hungry as HELL, so we head over to North Beach for some dinner at Calzone's and Tiramisu at Steps of Rome. I drop Hockey Dude off (what the hell alley are you TALKING about), and I end up at Chez Voodoo. I was supposed to go to Gay Man Central, AKA Club Universe, but that will wait for another weekend. I had a good time tonight,and that's cool with me.
I just spent the last 45 minutes trying to debug some crazy HTML drama on the site. Hopefully nobody noticed, but hell, who gives. I included brl site news on the home page. I'll change it as need be. Check it for announcements that don't necessarily belong here or there.
I don't like to think how much time I spent working on this site has gone to nil. I think I'm the most published on here. I would like to see everyone write more, but oh well, they apparently have lives. At any rate, things are going fairly well. I'm looking forward to cutting loose at You Want This' party, meeting up with some good friends there. I also can't wait to just chill. I'm going to take a half-day off on Wednesday to decompress and spend time with a very good friend.
I have to drag my ass to work tomorrow for some training. I'm the trainer, so I better look purty tomorrow. (psyeah).
I'm off to bed. Hot/Nothot mused if I would be his gf. Please. (complete with sour face and what not)
