|
[29 Jun 2005|10:30am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
something random on this mp3 player deal |
] |
With a single touch, he lured the silent, waiting parts of my heart from darkened depths. Alive and awake again, at last. I have a good doctor. The events of the night were expected yet surprising. I came to him without knowing where the line would be drawn and understood there was no line between us, and he let me know there was never one to begin with. I was treated like a princess, even though he knew he didn’t have to, so I reciprocated with what I could do to make him feel like the king he is in my eyes.
We fit together so well, and the reunions after who knows how long we’ve been apart are always so magical. Feet gently shuffled, swaying us side to side around the room, and he’d dip and twirl me like the professionals would. Dancing in the empty room to the music he hummed never felt so right that very moment. I could never make a decision on the spot, and when he asked for a suggestion on what to sing, I blurted “Dancing Queen.” He gave me a questioning look and chuckled, shaking his head side to side. I laughed with him, realizing the silliness of the request. He opted for a more mellow song, and listening to his voice was a breath of fresh air.
It started off as a slow, hesitant meeting, but once lips made contact, he claimed me as a predator with prey, minus the killing and all that, though it would have seemed like it. We continued our exploration until our lungs were ready to explode in our chests from lack of air. The rest of the night he held me, and I let him because in that moment, all I wanted to be molded to his form.
In other news, I’m having a blast on this tour bus. Darling Dita, where are you? I love you like a fat kid loves cake, and I miss you like one would miss her cake, too.
|
|
| I am so horrible at keeping up with this thing. |
[10 May 2005|07:59am] |
|
But I promise I won't leave, which seems like the latest trend. It's making me sad actually. I haven't spoken to Gein since I came back from the dead, and I haven't met Ludacris or Missy, whom Tim spoke highly of. What is in the water? Maybe I will stick with liquor and soda just to be on the safe side. I'm not here to disappoint, you hear, and as much as I like to open up to a full inbox, I don't exactly want people threatening me with a knife to update.
When I'm not sleeping, I'm spending my Tuesdays and Thursdays learning how to juggle. I've been dropping a lot of pins and bean bags, but I am determined to get everything down pat. I'm going to be an expert before the tour begins, and speaking about the tour, I'm very excited. I've even resorted to cutting strips of red and black construction paper and making paper links out of them. I remember doing that in grade school when the winter holidays came around, and we would count down the days of Christmas by tearing off a link whenever a day passed.
So, besides juggling, I've been burying my nose into a book. Burroughs' Junky. It's my third time reading, and I've already uncovered more things to learn from it. I'm on the last few pages, and then I'll have to look around for another book. Let's see, then there were the days that I spent with Tim. We went to a spa together, and I finally tried the rock massage. I still don't know the proper name for it, and I don't exactly care at the moment. I'm going to keep calling it the rock massage like I'm going to call nail polish remover, Renaturalizer™. Seriously.
Hm, recently, I learned how to roll my very own cigarette. It took me only one try - okay, several tries - to make the perfect rollie. Now if there was a competition for that kind of thing, I'm quite confident that I can win the blue ribbon or whatever they give your for first prize these days. Maybe it's just me with a psychological problem, but I find that the cigs I roll myself are better than the ones I buy from my local store. Please agree with me someone so I won't feel like a total nutjob. Thanks.
I think this is good enough for another three weeks. Until next time folks. Mwah!
|
|
| 'ey baby, what's poppin'? |
[14 Apr 2005|05:10am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
wouldn't you like to know! |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
something French. |
] |
They say third time's a charm, and well, would you just look at that! I don't think you'll get rid of me if you tried this time. Nope, I made sure I covered myself in crazy glue, so if you even think about coming by, make sure you have plenty of paint thinner ready. Then make sure you lock your doors and your windows because I'm gonna cut you for planning to leave me. Okay, so maybe I'm not going to get that violent, but a girl can dream.
Speaking of dreams, if we're defining them as goals for now, my childhood dream of joining the circus might be coming into fruition since Timmy suggested I take up juggling. Yes, juggling! Little coordinated me will be checking out that cute little school near La Brea. (Hi Pogo! You're coming with!) It's good for me, you know, since I need all these hours in the day taken up. It goes by so heart wrenchingly fast, and I end up sleeping the day away, which makes me awake in the wee hours of the morning. But I'm a nocturnal creature at heart anyways, so it's not like it's a big deal to everyone.
Now that I mentioned the word "everyone" (yes, I did this entire update just to talk about everyone, maybe.), I have to rant and rave about how happy I am to be back. How wonderful April 12th is. I'm still having people ask me what's so special about that date, and it makes me want to cut them. But seriously guys. The day I came back? The day Taime came back? The day when there was a decent if not good number of us in a chat room thinking about old times and creating future ones? Yeah, that day will live in infamy for the rest of my life, or something to that extent anyway.
So through a grapevine, I'm hearing about this manlyesque barbeque type gathering, and I'm literally on the edge of my seat looking like a Cheshire thinking about it. Makes a girl happy to see her pretties, you know, considering how long I've drifted, and what not. So far I'm just stuck talking to the Swede, and he's telling me about his little accidents. Notice the trend you're setting with the cigarette? First your mouth and now the bed. What next? We can only wonder with the possibilities, and considering it's you! Hm. Well, this is all I can dish out for now. I'm only writing in this here box to let you know I haven't jumped off a cliff since Tuesday!
|
|
| Now that's a spicy meatball. |
[05 Mar 2004|03:10am] |
| [ |
music |
| |
a lot of people singing/drowning out Disposable Teens |
] |
This can't count as updating every day because it's a fluke. But things are still flying around my head and nobody wants to leave so we've locked them all in the club and Helena's making her famous Bettie Page cocktails and it's getting ignorant. This is a field report from the trenches.
Someone explain to me how someone that doesn't drink can be so incredibly irresponsible as to forget it's drag night and end up screaming blue murder in the corner of the club when he finds hidden treasure he hadn't banked on? Note to potential dates of John 5: he must be warned of imminent willy or he will react poorly and spend the rest of the night chasing you around to explain it was shock and not horror and that's everything's ohhhh-kayyyy and could he please have another look, he's so sorry, he'll make it worth your while.
Ginger was significantly more subdued until someone had the bright idea of giving him a lot of vodka. Next thing you know he's naked with a bar tray duct taped over his lap, ass to the wind, singing and air drumming along to Blockbuster by the Sweet. Ginger has very nice nipples. They often go ignored and I think there should be some sort of campaign to alleviate the injustice. We know that his Swedish bandmate's nipples are messianic, but let's not underestimate the fine nippletude of Ginger Fish. Give generously.
Tomorrow, we're promised a revisit from 5 and Fish, an appearance from Pogo and we're hoping for a Taime, especially if he can DJ since I'd really like to fire our current DJ for introducing Shotgun Messiah as a Blast from the Past with that infuriating grin aimed in my direction. Should be a good time either way, come on out if you're in LA. *skiwwa skiwwa*
Gotta go. I don't want to miss the moment that Ginger realizes that duct tape is harder to remove than he thought. Wish you were here.
|
|
| Hey, muchacha. You like zombie flicks? |
[04 Mar 2004|08:41am] |
I didn't expect to see quite so many emails in my little email box, but lo, there they were. You're very persistent little rabbits, those of you who mailed. And I appreciate it, thank you. I feel a little bad that I didn't see them until a couple of days ago, but I haven't actually checked that address in ... months.
So. It's been made clear that a couple of you have made space in your nests for me, and I love you for saying so. I came on defining myself as Tim's wife and that's not exactly a normal position to be in at this point, is it? But we've had the grand discussion mach two and I think he has a shot at being happy in the most realistic way possible for him. (Wow, congrats to the three of you for your something amazing.) He's told me that he's prepared to be a better friend. I hope I can be the same for him. Too much history to walk away. Note to self, stop walking away.
I feel like I've gone through all this before, so I'll put that shit to bed and get on with it. I miss a lot of you. I'm amazed and elated that Lucia and Sascha got journals, and not at all surprised that Sascha hasn't updated in weeks - it really is you, isn't it, Kapt'n?
And hey - congrats to Watts on the new release! I hope I didn't fall off your promo list, pallie. But more importantly, congrats to you and Gen for being grand together. I got the poop just today and I'm so impressed. It makes sense.
I guess it's bed time, considering the postman just made an appearance. Got to be fresh and ready to roll for drag night at the club. I really hope there aren't any cat fights tonight. Those chicks throw mean punches.
|
|
|
[24 Oct 2003|07:46pm] |
I am not, I was busy.
So we launched a new night at the club and I'm going to try to get Taime to spin after the queens roll off the stage. He loves that scene, I know it, the tramp.
We're going to do a big, fuck off Halloween party. I know, everybody else is too, but we aim to have a home for lonely rockers and strays and this seems like as good a place as any to start. Besides, we have cuter bar sluts than everybody else. Sharpen those horns. Ha.
I've been working out to try to get some meat on these spaghetti arms and make my ass look like it was 1984 and since there's no Timbod around to shove, I got a personal trainer. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, but I'm walking with somebody else's ass on. You remember how C3-PO walked, right? I say, mawsta. My arse hurts. Be quiet, Artoo, not like that.
If this doesn't stop burning, I'll have to rethink my costume. Actually, maybe not. I'm going as Tron. ph33r the geek within. But I'll look rilly cool in the blacklights, man. My back up costume is the Bride With White Hair. Felt wrong to do it without Mr. Japan there, though. He'll be getting annihilated at Anselmo's house in Texas and I just have to respect that. If I didn't have to work, I'd... no, I couldn't leave LA over Halloween. It's just way too much fun.
Tomorrow, I'm going to the Fetish Ball in Vegas as the guest of the Mistress of the Ball, ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) dita_vonteese. Sadly, I'll be going in alone. Not so sadly, I'll be leaving with Dita and we're having a panty party in her hotel room. I wonder if we'll do that exaggerated porn talk. Gee, it's so HOT in here. Siiiigh.
The plural of ho. Is it hoes or hos? Hos looks Swedish. How fitting.
I've been plotting and planning fiendish things like a fiendish thing and my cohort in cahoots and I are going to do our level best to blow the minds of our nearest and dearest. I wish I could fess up, but they might be reading.
I miss... everybody. But it was sweet to talk to Dita and to meet Mr. James. I told him me and my ho(e)s watch the Practice every week and he was like hrum hrum, subject change. Nice.
My husband kisses boys and won't say who, awww.
|
|
| Mad at the world for all the good reasons. |
[16 Oct 2003|06:57am] |
Don't let the subject line fool you. It just came out of Michael Hutchence's mouth, well, my computer speakers and it sounded good. I still get pissed off that he killed himself. All the love for him but it wasn't enough. This is where I make the inspirational noises and ask you to hug your loved ones. Sniff, sniff.
I spent a lunchtime feeling relieved and relived with the real Mr. Mayhem, taime_downe We did a lot of avoiding of the subject, which was just what I fucking needed. It's good to see him in such great spirits. We took a drive and didn't avoid the subject. The coolest thing about Taime is that no matter what, if you're his friend, you're his friend. Everybody does some fucked up stuff, especially in LA, but he's one of the guys you can really count on to be cool about it. He doesn't point the finger and he doesn't sweat the politics of the rock scene. I feel really fucking stupid not calling him before this week, but he wouldn't even let me kick myself for that. Everyone needs a Taime in their lives.
After the eating of sacred dogs, sorry, getting our grub on ahaha, we took a drive in my hoopdie. He drove, I put my feet out the window and didn't avoid the subject this time. He made me feel guilty for one thing and one thing alone: I don't have hydraulics. I have a pimp mobile with no hydraulics and this distresses him.
Taime got on a plane and I went to Melrose and ran into my girl Abby - her show is this Tuesday at the Viper and the password is LOUCHE for the discount, go! - and she was feeling funky too so we went to get sundaes. Those big ones the size of a sheepdog. After that kind of hoggery, we didn't think clothes shopping was a good idea so we bought shoes instead. Thank fuck she doesn't like Manolos or I'd be ducking the accountant. (That might have been a typo.)
We are living in a suggestible world and I am a suggestible girl.
Speaking of suggestible, do I want to reupholster my big ugly pimp mobile with leopardskin velvet or keep its ignorant red leather that's seen better days?
Oh, I got the AIM thing: erin has a gun. It wasn't my idea, I swear.
|
|
| I may never write this much again. |
[14 Oct 2003|01:45am] |
Well, I did call him and warn him I was setting this up. Lucky me, he didn't get a new cell for the tour. Apparently, it's not only the same number, but the same phone, complete with duct tape holding in the battery. Ok, I admit I might not have warned him if I didn't need a code to try this thing out, but it was nice to hear his voice again, broken though it was by confused panic. Hee.
I'm not here to change anything, necessarily. Where we were can still be where we are and I'll play Mrs. Parker. The only little hitch in that parallel plan is that I don't know where we are. It's one of those conversations that's twice as long on the phone as in person, so I hopped a plane. Literally, it was like somebody picked up the plane and smacked it back down a few feet away. Seems like I could have jogged that far but who am I kidding? I can't jog to the corner without sacrificing a lung. ...and we talked. We're still not sure, so we're talking again, but at least we know we can still be friends.
We did that whole routine when he walked away initially. Walk might not be the right word. Ducking and running might be more appropriate, so we'll go with that. That whole we can still be friends routine and then no calling and afraid to talk to each others' friends. I haven't seen Taime since that whole... yeah, and there was no way I could call Dita or Manson or Pogo or any of those guys. Maybe that will change, maybe not. But we're still married.
We talked about that, too. Why don't we just admit defeat and sign the papers? For whatever reason, even though we're not together, he doesn't want to talk about it. He looks away, changes the subject, bites that bottom lip and smokes with emphasis. Throw in a little thumb chewing and those floaty unfocused terror eyes and you get the expression he had just before he asked me to marry him.
I asked him (read:made him promise) to talk to Shalom and tell her exactly what he's thinking even if he doesn't tell me. I'm not the one owed an explanation. I am one of the ones that should give one, so here's my side of it.
We didn't initially have problems with his fidelity. He made a lot of time with girls all over the place, but after about the 7th girl told me that they were messing around and then he just kind of curled up and talked, I got the idea that he didn't want to mess around. Well, that was a cool little fantasy, but it wasn't exactly true. He just didn't want to mess around with them. It takes a sight and sound production to ring his bell and if a girl ain't got it, he don't want it. I knew from the beginning that we weren't exclusive, and I wasn't sitting at home pining. There are a lot of beautiful people in our social circle and we were as Caligula as each other in that way, but we'd go home and have a love thing. That's how it was. Most of the time, eh, no big deal. Once in a while, a liason would hit a nerve in the other and we'd flip out and not touch anybody else for a few months, then one of us would stumble on something tasty and break the news that our run was over. It got harder and harder to take every time and then maybe we need a break.
I'm one of those people that has to cut to the chase, so it's not easy to hear that line without a resolution. A break means you're never coming back. I don't think that's an unusual point of view, but even though it's glaring at us as an obvious fact, he won't just say it. I'm not blind. I can see that his words about Shalom are charged and he's definitely changed from where he was a few months ago. The page has turned. He just needs to stop turning back, maybe. If I'm on another page myself, he'll have to look forward, right? So here's me stepping into the present tense. I can't say I don't want him to step into it with me, but whatever happens, I need some sense of completion and he's the only one that can give it to me. I hope that makes sense. Maybe it doesn't. It wouldn't be the first time.
|
|
|
[13 Oct 2003|08:51am] |
|
Sometimes, you stumble on things that surprise you. Your husband having a journal is one of them. He seems well, anyway. That's good news.
I've got a few phone calls to make, but I'll write a little more later. Morning.
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
|
|
|
|
