“Your love is out But even despite it all Give me your hand Let's face this night and see it through”Skeleton Boy - Friendly Fires
I basically dig skeletal dudes that dance well, so the latest video by the trio “Friendly Fires” is definitely my favorite right now.
I was blasting them in my car months ago and just recently the clubs here have gotten wind of “Paris”, their first single, so I’m guessing by mid-June “Skeleton Boy” may get a turn.
FF’s songs aren’t insanely awesome, “groovy” is probably a better word as they consistently bang out these dancey light verses that are complimented by some heavy choruses that bite your soul up (don’t worry, it doesn’t itch). I don’t even like the verses that much, but the choruses knock me on my ass every time.
They’re touring with “White Lies” and “Soft Pack” as we speak, but of course, not where I live (assorted expletives).
If I happen upon a ticket for one of the US dates, I may fly out, I need a break from this place SOON!
“Hands, touching hands, reaching out Touching me, touching you” Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond
“The lack of touch and stimulation leads to many problems such as sensory deprivation and attachment disorders.”
The above sentence is about fucked up orphans from foreign countries in regards to not being held in infancy, but I think it applies to breathers of any age (maybe even some non-breathers - I’ll ask a vampire later).
I know your first inclination is to go all sexual, and sure that is part of it, but sex is easy to get (sort of, I’m rather picky so it isn’t THAT easy - so picky I‘d be willing to bet I‘ve had a lesser amount of “partners” than anyone reading this) despite the social norms and transmitted diseases pinning so many hang-ups on that particular area. Mainly that you have to be in a committed type of relationship to have sex (especially chicks or they’re labeled a “slut“, horrors!).
Crack, Aids, and premature infants that are in hospital for ages have special volunteers that come in to hold them; no commitment there, just physical and they will never see each other again. Yeah, I know it’s not sliding skin, but it’s caressing comfort nonetheless.
We need to be touched throughout our lives, it’s just a shame it needs to be so qualified.
A few drinks at a dance club and you’re bound to get touched whether you meant to or not, and more often than not can get sexual touching without even bothering with the formalities of last names, favorite bands, or political affiliation. But, if you want to just cuddle with someone, watch a life changing movie together and rub each other’s feet while musing over it afterwards, you have to pass several interviews, be pierced or not pierced in the right places, “get” each other, make each other laugh, have the right ambitions, have similar goals, etc. All that just to be innocently held, but 3 Long Island Ice Teas can make a perfect stranger risk their immune system for 20 minutes of not-so innocent clutching.
Where the hell did we ever have the audacity to assume we have logic? Because this really seems rather daft to me.
Touch. Touched. Touchy. Touching.
Loads of us stay with people that make us miserable because we can’t go without this aspect of health. Sure we’d all like to have CONNECTION on every level, but can we mentally afford to not be physical?
Weird huh? They say St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland. As I told my bestie earlier, my mind just goes straight to some robed dude packing a bunch of snakes into a VW mini-bus and after buckling them in (it's the law) gently tapping one on the nose saying "Sorry man, but we ain't gonna miss ya", and then backing away with a wink.
I wonder what music he would've played on the way out of Ireland (Sinead's "This is the Last Day of Our Aquaintance"?), and since it's an island, where did he drive them to? Exactly how many snakes were there? Did they get pissy along the way and bite his ass?
I know this is a drink specific "holiday", but lest we forget the snakes?
“On Tuesday she used to do yoga while I'd sit and watch the box in a vegetable way, but always ready to say to myself that I was an artist implying that she was not.” On Tuesdays She Used To Do Yoga - Peter Hammill
I haven’t been doing my yoga lately as I’ve just been caught up in other aspects of life, but I know I need to get back into a “routine” as it were. I usually just do a small bit of it and then hit my tread mill, but in search of a more extensive workout, I turned to my television.
My setup includes about 700,000 channels, an Italian dwarf named “Et Cetera” that mans the remote for me, and a search engine where you can watch something “on demand”. Oooh I so love to DEMAND things and within seconds of Et C. typing in “yoga”, a list longer than my attention span filled the 42 inch screen before me.
There was the usual spiritual stuff like “Namaste Yoga”, cutesy shit like “Yoga Bear”, an episode of “Jackass” where Knoxville unleashes heinous amounts of gas in a yoga class, and then further down the list, what I used to know as this meditation like movement had now reached the point of pornification.
“Hot Nude Yoga” - You and your partner enjoy the sensual experience of touch and body contact as you help tone…..blah blah blah do we have to do everything naked now? Something about envisioning the Warrior pose with someone’s junk dangling about sort of blows my image of what I need yoga to be.
I don’t share my yoga mat to begin with, but imagine how unsavory a job it is to clean it after “Yoga Gone Wild”, no matter who touches it.
“Naked Happy Yoga Girl” (as opposed to Naked Angry or Sad Yoga Girl?) - Join Naked Happy Girls as we hunt for nudie cuties with some help from Sammy Hagar.
Wow, not like I ever cared about what happened to Sammy Hagar, but you’ve got to wonder how one goes from lead singer of Van Halen to aiding the search for ecstatic, stretching females with a disdain for clothing (or maybe you don’t, though that song “I’ll Fall in Love Again” was pretty good for it’s time).
Last on the list was “All Naughty Home Videos” - Real home videos of 14 porn stars taking milk baths and doing yoga.
Milk baths? Uhhhhhh…. is it organic milk? (See Milk Dud post)
I then DEMANDED Et Cetera type in “Pilates” and crossed my fingers (and my legs).
Currently listening: Friendly Fires By Friendly Fires Release date: 2008-09-23
“Under my shirt, have to amass Sling the tainted words” Wolf in the Breast - The Cocteau Twins
“Nipple“.
That word is such a creepy turn off to someone like me. Me, the female that has no intention of reproducing (at least not until my Master Satan returns from the underworld with his holy plan - oh wait, I am Satan*).
I realize that long ago when anatomical monikers were being decided upon, women were mostly relegated to “baby factory” status only, but in times where women are not just vessels for screaming, bald brats, it would seem appropriate to “she” define some things.
I’d like to start with “nipples”. Men have them too, but they’re apparently for decoration only (Linen’s and Things doesn’t carry much of a selection) or for shaving off when LSD points you in the wrong direction. At my request, my mom felt up her male Chihuahua “T.T.” in search of nipples, but alas he is without. Go figure. My cat Scoob dentally objected to my groping him, but according to a few web sites, all cats have nipples regardless of machismo.
For the females that choose not to or can’t have children, nipples are still functional, though only in the sexual sense. I don’t know if men are aware of this, but sometimes stimulating this area alone can bring your girlness to orgasm. So even if you’re not a “breast man”, one should still delicately massage the berries if one is at all considerate (trust me, some aren’t).
I’m not really into the cutesy names for body parts; “nips”, “ninnies”, “nippers”, “headlights”, and such aren’t always fitting or suitable for some personality types. I know there are a bazillion slang words to describe breasts and their elements, but none really appeal to me, especially when engaging in the act of sexual expression. I totally can’t get it up if thinking about babies, and hearing my peaks called a food source can completely dry a She up. Barring cannibal attacks, I’ve never envisioned mine ending up on anyone’s menu, so a name unassociated with infantile cuisine would be preferable.
“Areola” is no better than “Nipple” either, as it sounds too close to “Aioli” (again food) or the font "Arial", which I always use in this blog.
I think in sexual situations, this area should now be called a “Vey” (rhymes with “lay”) or “Veys”. It’s short, to the point (heh), and when you need to direct someone’s attention there, you can just say “Oy Vey”.
*I have references.
Currently listening: Twin Peaks (Season One TV Soundtrack) Release date: 1990-08-31
"Emily, Kristine, Adri, and the lesbians await your arrival" - Received from my friend Maxwell.
Still doing reposts. This one I pulled out in honor of Annie Rhiannon's post The Sad Truth of it All: Needle and the Damage Done 3/19/08 Nope, it’s not about the infamous Neil Young song.
I had some blood taken a couple of weeks ago and I went in for the results this afternoon.
I hate needles, I hate blood, and I especially HATE pain of any kind. I know some people get off on pain, but I definitely don’t ride that bus. Tickle? Yes. Slap? Hell no! I’ll take some tenderness with a drop of gentility, thank you very much.
OK, the phlebotomist who had previously removed my life flow was awesome. Mosquitoes are more invasive, so kudos to her! Unfortunately, the results revealed several vitamin deficiencies and I had to get an IV of what is called a "Meyer’s Cocktail". Cocktail? Yes. IV? Oooooh nooooo.
I was a little more than perplexed, as the nurse who was going to stick me had an undecipherable, deep southern accent and she could not stop hacking. One false cough during her quest for a vein could land me the lead story on tonight’s local news - "Distraught IV victim beheads pregnant nurse with her IPOD but SAVED THE BABY! See how she did it at 11!"
I would have a better chance at discovering true love at a KKK rally than this woman did at finding a vein. I didn’t cry but my top lip disappeared as I started to tell her, through my oh so clenched teeth, that I needed the smallest needle they have. SIZE DOES MATTER in this case. She assured me this was the smallest and proceeded to stab at me with the finesse of a three year old making mud pies.
"Weelllll," she drawled, "lets try the hand." OMFG I’m trapped in "Hellraiser Part DUH: The Hick’s Revenge"!!! YOUCH!!! It was in - we thought.
I sat back and got lost in Damian Kulash’s voice until something felt weird.
"Hey, should my hand be all cold and sting-y and making me feel the need to chop it off?" I yelled.
A vehement wall of "No’s" shot back as some other nurses rushed over to stop the beginning of what looked like a very unhappy hand about to give birth. The needle wasn’t in right and was shooting fluids under my skin and they had nowhere to go so they just sat around stinging and swelling until further notice.
New nurse said she couldn’t understand why OLD nurse didn’t use the smaller needle. I then requested a pen so I could begin my suicide note.
She started over on the other arm, THIS time with a children’s needle (insert every expletive known here).
It was in and she ordered me not to move, as if THAT’S what happened. I didn’t move, as hard as that is when one is listening to "Oxford Comma", instead, I mentally plotted to relocate to Austria. It just seemed like the thing to do.
The physical pain was over, finally, and I would take it any day over the mental pain you get with heartache and loss. Luckily, I’m not dealing with anything like that right now and I’ll try to remember that next week when I have to go back for the next one. UGH!
Currently listening : Oh No By OK Go Release date: 30 August, 2005
