The Oval Mirror
The Oval Mirror
A reflective medium
for mental selfies.
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Pinned: Profile & Beyond
Posted:Jun 27, 2018 12:03 pm
Last Updated:Aug 10, 2018 4:28 pm

Profile & Beyond
Hopping off the wagon and looking to meet new people again!

The t.ext of my profile, along with supplementary information about my circumstances and availability is here, however, for those who cannot view it through other means.

Posted:Jul 30, 2018 10:12 pm
Last Updated:Aug 13, 2018 3:56 pm

Picture Portfolio
Updated 8.12.18 - New just-for-the-blog pics, not included in my standard portfolio.
A small selection of pictures for the Standard members who are unable to view profiles and profile pictures, yet who have enough of an interest to make the effort to find me here. It is an incomplete collection, but I will keep it updated as new pictures are taken and uploaded.

Pinned: Private Mailbox
Posted:Jun 27, 2018 12:22 pm
Last Updated:Aug 14, 2018 9:02 pm

Private Mailbox
For those who are unable to send messages through the normal means, either for technical reasons or limited membership, please leave a private message here. It will not be viewable by anyone else.

3 Comments , 15 Pending
Posted:Aug 14, 2018 9:00 pm
Last Updated:Aug 15, 2018 7:51 am

As everyone who read my over-emotional, over-sharing post this weekend knows, my daughter turned 9 on Saturday, entering the last of her single-digit y.ears. It kind of freaks me out a bit, for all of the reasons cited often enough to sound like cliches or platitudes: "The time goes by so quickly!" and "They grow up so fast!"

It seems like she was a baby just yesterday, in her near-constant position of "riding my hip," as I called it, almost always in physical contact, our heads close together as we made our way through daily routines... me pointing out and naming and defining all of the things around us, her following my finger and observing and repeating.

The entire world is a classroom and every activity is an experience of learning in those early y.ears, with that close and constant exchange between mother and child providing the identification of and fundamental knowledge about the stuff of life. "That's a cloud," "Look at the bird," "That lady is tall," "See her green dress"... almost every word uttered is instructional, a lesson in recognition and vocabulary and grammar.

For the first couple of years, infants mostly just take it all in, soak it all up, absorb the information that lays the groundwork of basic understanding. But then they hit a point, which all parents know- and some bemoan!- where they want to go beyond the fundamentals, when they start asking questions to acquire a deeper knowledge about things. "Where do clouds come from?," "How does a bird fly?," "Can I decide how tall I want to be?," "Why don't boys wear dresses?"... and all of a sudden, the scope of instruction expands, the lessons are about science and psychology and culture.

Having a background as an educator, I don't imagine that it's a surprise to hear that I have not simply enjoyed the teaching part of parenting, I have delighted in it. Where there's some degree of bittersweetness in my daughter's diminishing need for my constant, hands-on attention and care, it is soothed and smoothed by her increasing need for detailed and accurate information to allow her to develop a more nuanced and complex understanding of life and the world.

Being the excessively word-oriented and over-analytical person that I a.m, I find it particularly enjoyable to try to help her to grasp some of the more subtle and sophisticated concepts in language and communication... things like sarcasm, irony, and puns.

I think there's either a genetic predisposition towards sarcasm in my bloodline or that Squinkie just has a natural talent for it (or maybe ALL kids do, gearing up for those sullen teen-aged years!), because she not only grasped, but mastered, it early on and with ease. She can be bitingly sarcastic to a degree that seems well ahead of her y.ears, a skill that increases my personal admiration of her, though afraid not everyone appreciates it as much as M.ommy does.

Okay, okay, I'll admit it- I egg her on, sometimes high-five and congratulate her when she makes an especially clever snarky comment... even when it's directed at and intended to bite ME. But I a.m the sort who appreciates pointed cleverness on an objective level, and if someone offers a witty and/or creative insult, I can absolutely admire and applaud it, even when I a.m the one being insulted. And even when it's spilling out of the mouth of my kid. Yeah, I may be creating a monster!

Irony has been a tough one to teach, in large part because I have some baggage associated with the concept from earlier in life. I a.m sure that most of the people reading this remember Alanis Morrisette and her uber-popular "Ironic" song that dug burrows in our collective ear for what seemed like far too long of a stretch in the 90s. And I a.m equally sure that the overwhelming majority of us didn't make a really big deal out of the song, beyond either loving, hating, or tolerating it. It was just a song.

Well, not to my ex-husband. He liked the song musically, but he took issue- very serious issue- with the lyrics, due to his belief that Ms. Morrisette's definition and examples of irony were grossly, profoundly inaccurate. Every time it came on the radio or popped up somewhere on TV or at a social event, he would launch into a commentary, criticism, and correction of the scenarios presented in the song.

"That's NOT irony," he'd protest, "it's coincidence!" Or, "Please! That's just bad luck, NOT irony!" And so on, verse by verse, as the painfully long song unfolded. He'd even bring it up as a topic of what he believed was "intellectually stimulating conversation " at parties and barbecues with our groups of couples-friends. He latched onto it like a little yip-yip dog who catches a bit of your pants hem in his jaw, and it was impossible to shake him off... you'd just have to walk away from the conversation, dragging him along at your heels until he eventually found something else to sink his pointy little teeth into.

The basic point being: my ex kind of ruined irony for me. He subjected the definition of it to such a high level of scrutiny- and inflicted that micro-analysis on everyone (with his wife, me, holding the front-and-center seat in the agonizingly tedious audience of his exactitude) - to such an extent that all possible fun was entirely sucked out of any possible understanding of the word and the concept that it represented.

I can occasionally muster a chuckle for a joke or a meme centering on irony, but it has to be as simple and silly as Napoleon's armies and sleevies for me to do anything other than cringe. I kind of feel bad for this gap in Squinkie's word education, and very much hope she can find someone or something else in her life to help her to know and appreciate the value of a non-obsessive (or defensive) embrace of irony.

But there are no such obstacles in the way of teaching my girl about the grandly hilarious verbal phenomenon of puns. And it's just as well, really, as they ARE the fodder of the juvenile. Much of the comedy of childhood is punny, appreciated far in advance of the ability to define it as an a structured form of humor.

Like, two of Squinkie's favorite jokes:

What do you call cheese that doesn't belong to you?
Nacho cheese.

and... Why don't cats like trees?
They're afraid of their bark.

I love puns, undoubtedly because I love words and wordplay, love how only slight shifts in tone and context can cast the meaning of a word in an entirely different light. And I love puns because they seem so fundamental and childish... and yes, of course, sometimes they truly ARE... but other times, they capture and reflect a genuinely sophisticated understanding of not just vocabulary, but also culture and the human experience at large.

But rather than verbally dissect further, I'll share some examples and leave it for you sexy friends to analyze or disregard, to contemplate intellectually or simply to laugh. And if you have any punny favorites, I'd love to hear them!

Hope everyone had a fabulous Tuesday... catch you on the hump!

Meme-y Monday - Men v. Women
Posted:Aug 13, 2018 12:56 pm
Last Updated:Aug 14, 2018 9:40 pm
Oh sexy friends, I'm WAY behind on blog reading, email, and messaging, so just a short one today with a light-hearted look at the so-called "Battle of the Sexes."

Agree/disagree? Have any others to add?

Whatever your sex or gender, I hope everyone is having the best of all possible Mondays!

Pandora's Winky Vid & the $40 Meet
Posted:Aug 12, 2018 7:52 pm
Last Updated:Aug 15, 2018 7:53 am
As I think everyone knows, I a.m a pretty huge music fan- even my member name here is an homage to tunage. My tastes at this point in life are varied and eclectic, which is the product of a long evolution... and a great deal of exposure to a great many genres and artists, often introduced to me by the people in my life. Some of my first favorites were discovered by listening to the radio, but the primary musical influence in my young life was my parents and their album collections.

My range of taste sort of exploded when I hit my teens, as friends, acquaintances, and schoolmates turned me on to the things that they favored. While I have never had much in the way of female friends, always being more comfortable hanging out with guys than other chicks, I did have one close girl friend when I was 14, a chick who was y.ear older than me and lived in my neighborhood. She was an absolute Stevie Nicks fanatic, and she helped to turn me into, too.

For most of my teens, I was sort of a Stevie-Wannabe, imitating her style of dress, trying to mimic her writing in my own poetry and songs, and becoming deeply familiar with all of her work- from the songs that everyone would know upon hearing to the obscure tracks on Fleetwood Mac albums and bootlegs of unreleased/limited release cuts. Songs like "The Forest of Black Roses," "Has Anyone Ever Written Anything For You," and (early on- it was eventually released) "Silver Spring" representing the latter, and the former including songs like "Storms," "Beautiful Child," and "Angel."

I don't believe I've ever heard any of those songs on the radio- until just tonight, while I was driving home from my first meet since deciding to get back off the meeting/dating wagon. And it was "Angel," from the "Tusk" album, one of my favorites. It has a catchy, almost jaunty, rhythm serving as a backdrop for Nicks' signature whimsy-meets-mysticism lyrical imagery, belted out with her inimitable lusty, vulnerable, and intensely powerful voice...

... and it was JUST what I needed to hear, because my first back in the saddle meet hadn't gone particularly well.

It had involved a commute, for one thing- the fellow lived right on the far fringe of what I consider to be "local," really pushing the envelope where distance is concerned, but I was interested enough to give it a shot. He WAS within my range, after all, even if just barely. But wait, oh no- actually he WASN'T. He didn't really live in the beach town where we met, in spite of his claim of doing so- and in spite of his profile citing that as his location of residence. He lives in PA, is considering moving to the area, is staying in a hotel for the week.

Uh, okay.

And the place where he wanted us to meet- a beach bar... when coordinating the meet, he said we'd have to connect via phone when I arrived so I would know at which of the 11 bars that were in the place he'd be. I thought it was a joke- 11 bars in one place? But no, it was no joke, there actually were 11 bars there, and it was like a huge keg party- insanely loud and crowded, filled with very young drunk people behaving just as you'd expect very young drunk people to behave. Not my sort of place at all, under any circumstances, and certainly not the sort of place I'd think of to have a first meet with a potential intimate friend or playmate. There was no privacy anywhere in the place- even the ladies room was crammed with screaming, puking co-eds.

I should have known that there would be trouble from the moment that I arrived, when I couldn't find a place nearby to park. I finally found a spot a few blocks away and was downloading the app to buy a digital parking permit when he called me and told me to drive back to park in a spot right next to the bar. It had three big "No Parking" signs posted, but he pointed at yellow lines on the road and told me that I was absolutely permitted to park there. I questioned that, explaining that mine was a company vehicle and that I couldn't afford to either get into trouble at my job with a ticket- or afford to pay for one- but he totally insisted that I could park there, assured me that it would be okay.

It wasn't, of course. When I left, there was a ticket on my windshield- a $30 fine. And when I texted him with the equivalent of a "gee, thanks" message, he lamely insisted that I shouldn't have gotten a ticket, and after I mentioned the fact of the "No Parking" signs to him... well, sound of crickets. I haven't heard a word from him since.

But it's actually a relief, to be honest, because the whole scene was just not right. It was the absolutely wrong kind of location and scenario for someone like me, which he didn't know because he hadn't taken any time to really see who I am before he pushed to meet. He wore sunglasses for the first hour of our meet, almost like a glaring joke (or jab) in reference to my comments here about men who do that for their profile pics. And he did review my kinks, but not my blog. And it seems that he scanned my Q&A, but failed to note things like the fact that I've been in the Lifestyle for 20+ years. He cited a possible openness to that sort of play, but had no experience with it. I guess I was expected to teach or guide him through it...? I suppose he thought I would take the lead, even though my profile expresses a preference for self-assured, Dom-tilting lovers?

I don't know. He was nice enough, friendly enough- the sort of guy I would like to have as a friend- but, while he was quite handsy and happy to keep pushing into my personal space, he didn't have the self-assured flirtatiousness and sexy attentiveness that sparks and feeds chemistry for me. There was nothing wrong with him at all, he just wasn't right for me. And I think that, if he had taken just a little time to look at all of the info- the absolute wealth of info that I have on my profile- he would have easily recognized that we're not a good match.

But he didn't, and it was ultimately a flop. A $40 flop, between the cost of the gas for the 3-hour drive back and forth and the parking ticket. Well, at least he picked up the tab for my two draft beers. And I DID get to hear that rare Stevie song, "Angel," on my way home, driving through a thunderstorm and belting it out along with her...

So I close my eyes softly
'til I become that part of the wind
that we all long for sometimes...
and to those that I love
like a ghost through the fog
like a charmed hour and a haunted song
and the angel of my dreams...

My dream of a special connection with someone- someone close enough to touch- still remains a dream.

But I will tell you... something that ALSO seems like a dream, at least in terms of the bizarre, surreal factor, is what's been going on with my profile today! I don't know if any of my sexy blog friends pay any attention to what I do on my profile, but I did my usual free-weekend taking/uploading of pics, keeping my collection fresh.

This time, I also took and uploaded a short video. Nothing provocative- not even any boob- just a smile and a wink. But I swear you'd think there was a pussy or a gaping ass in it, for the response that it's getting me- it's like Pandora's Box has been opened up on my profile. As of this moment, and since about 5 am this morning, I've gotten 3k+ profile views, a jump of about 40k views on my pics overall, 70 friend requests and counting... I don't know how many messages because messaging isn't working for me today... and the silly little 5-second vid has almost 300 likes and just about 50 comments.

After I posted it, one of my friends mentioned that it was going to get a lot of attention for me, but I didn't see how or why. And frankly, I still don't. It's a wink, for goodness' sake! Are all of the men here so inundated and saturated with vids of pussies and fucking and cum shots that a wink somehow seems special?? I Just Do Not Get It. And if anyone can explain it to me, I would surely appreciate it.

This place just seems so bizarre sometimes.

But anyway, that's the wrap-up on my weekend: an inexplicably popular winky vid and a disproportionately expensive meet. I do have another planned for Wednesday, though- a meet, not a winky vid. Here's hoping that won't put me in the red.

Hope everyone had a super-fabulous weekend and that your Mondays start out swimmingly!

Pop's-at-the-Go-Go Saturday Night Laughs
Posted:Aug 11, 2018 7:46 pm
Last Updated:Aug 13, 2018 11:04 pm

Okay, then! After last night's intense post, I'd like to lighten things up a bit. I will move towards the shallower side of the pool, though I may dwell a bit longer on diving board end. Bear with me, if you will.

As everyone knows, I've been riding the Nostalgia Train lately, thinking a great deal about my younger life and the past in general. It's an unusual thing for me, as I a.m characteristically an extremely (almost neurotically) forward-facing person. To be honest, I've actually long been the sort of person who finds expressions of nostalgia more-than-a-little tedious. So, I feel a little hypocritical- and I can't help but wonder if this recent mood is the Universe's payback for all of the times I've rolled my eyes and thought "yeah, yeah, yeah, the past is gone- get over it!" when someone rambled to me about The Good Old Days of their youth. The Universe seems to be good at doing things like that. Helping us to maintain perspective, I suppose.

When talking about cartoons the other day, my mind fixed on an old TV that my father had, spinning out in a ton of different directions of memory. It's weird that I'd remember his TV the most, though, because for almost all of my growing-up, I lived with my mother.

My folks had one of those "love at first sight" things. In San Juan, of all places. My mother was from Long Island and my father was from Pensacola, but they both ended up in Puerto Rico in the spring of 68. Mom was with her then-fiance, and Pop on leave in his service in the Merchant Marines for the Viet Nam war. They ran into each other at a party, and lightning stuck. They ended up getting married only 6 weeks after first laying eyes on each other.

They were not together for very long, however. Gee, what a shocker, eh? It was four or five years altogether, I guess, with three of them spent apart while my Pop was abroad. He had a couple of brief stays at home with Mom, long enough to conceive me and the older of my two younger brothers, but they were married for a few years before they actually lived together. And once he came back and they settled in under the same roof... well, let's just say that it didn't work. The only recollection that I have of the two of them as a couple are memories of fights- screaming, throwing things against walls kinds of fights. And then there's the memory of the day he moved out- I was about four, I guess, and recall standing in the yard, watching his Pinto drive away.

The man who would become my step-father came along about two y.ears later, and from that time until the day that he drove away from us (in an LTD- funny that I remember the cars), that was my family and home: he and Mom and my bro, wherever we roamed. My bro and I saw our father only on weekends, occasionally for longer stretches over the summer or holiday breaks. Whereas custody courts now favor- even force- equal time with both parents, in those days, the mother got the kids pretty much by default. Only special circumstances- or personal agreements- allowed for anything else.

"Special circumstances" cropped up one y.ear for us, when my mother had a third child, my step-father's son. My baby bro's birth coincided with their effort to open a business, a store that sold brass beds, and because there was so much going on on their lives, everyone came to an agreement that my brother and I would go to live with our father for a year.

Or maybe forever. That's what we hoped for, anyway, because Pop was a MUCH better parent than Mom ever even dreamed of being. He did things like help with homework, show up for parent-teacher conferences, and enroll us in after-school programs. He took us places, played games with us, steadily engaged and interacted with us, treating us like mature and interesting little people... whereas Mom was the sort to wave us away with a directive to "Go play outside" so that she could do her own thing, and she studiously avoided any form of interaction with "The Authority" that schools and organized programs represented. Mom was into herself, Pop was into us.

So, I guess it's really no surprise that I remember the TV that he had during the year that we lived with him, as it was kind of the Best Year Ever in my young life. It was a little thing, his TV. About 17" and with rabbit ear antennae on the top, dials on bottom front, below the screen. And when I think about watching cartoons as a kid, I think about that TV, my brother and I flopped on the floor in front of the bookcase that housed it, spilling cereal milk on the carpet as we pushed and punched each other, squabbling over conflicts too petty to be remembered now.

Where the memory of Saturday morning cartoons is clear and special, what is even better is the memory of night-time TV watching. As kids, we didn't get to experience a lot at night because of the whole early bedtime thing. When living with Mom, that was a pretty rigid rule- the night belonged to the grown-ups. It was mostly the same at my father's, though there was an exception once a week, on Saturdays, when he went out to the Go-Go bar down the street, taking one night of freedom for himself- and offering the same to us.

Before anyone is tempted to cry "neglect!"- I was old enough at that point to earn a few bucks here and there babysitting other people's youngsters, and I was certainly old enough to watch my brother for a handful of hours while Pop went out to play. We were fine, I promise- no one was neglected. In fact, we were more than fine- we loved those free nights! They gave us an exciting feeling of freedom and autonomy, a sense of being grown-up, as we could do what we wanted, eat what we wanted, watch what we wanted, and choose our own bedtimes. We'd mostly watch TV and eat cereal (seriously, we were addicted to the stuff back then), sometimes bake things and play games... and occasionally, if we were feeling like outlaws, make crank calls (did anyone else ever do that?)... basically just bask in the feeling of freedom of being alone for a night.

It was during those Pop's-at-the-Go-Go nights that I/we discovered late-night TV programs, like Second City and Saturday Night Live. And Pop splurged and got the still-quite-new HBO, which often ran comedy or musical specials on Saturday nights, and from those programs, I discovered the larger comic genius of some of the folks who'd started out on SNL.

And "genius" is definitely the right word for some of those comedians. They were right on point during that time, and even to this day, I can re-watch some of the skits and full-length programs and acknowledge and admire just HOW good they them were. I don't know if comedy itself has taken a nosedive since the 70s, or if maybe I just lost some of my humor somewhere along the line, but there are very few comedians and comedies these days that can get me truly laughing. Like, really busting-a-gut, rolling-on-the-floor, eyes-watering laughing.

I have had plenty of experiences like that in the past, though, and many of them came on those Saturday nights, alone at Pop's, watching SNL or HBO comedy specials. And as we got older, even when we were back with Mom, we earned the right to stay up later on weekends, and Saturday continued to be The Night for comedy, most definitely because of the tone set by SNL.

During my late teen years on my own, when I almost always had roommates, we did Letterman during the week and SNL on Saturday. And in the early years of my marriage, my ex and I regularly sat up to watch it, though we eventually lost interest- it just hit a point of not being very funny to us anymore. And most of the people that I know say the same, except for my on-again/off-again friend, CB (Crazy Bob) - he watches it every Saturday, come hell or high water- and brags that he hasn't missed an episode in over 30 y.ears. Bless his heart.

I've watched it a few times with him over the past few y.ears, but it just didn't do it for me. Not like Key and Peele do (they're the only ones I can think of who have made me fall out of my chair in recent years). And not like it did in earlier days. But it's no wonder! SNL set the bar pretty high for itself, set the standard for comedy overall, really... to the point that it couldn't keep living up to itself. In my opinion, anyway. Or maybe it stopped taking wild chances in the selection of its regular cast members. Or maybe there just haven't been many comedic greats to select. I don't know.

But I do know that it used to have people and skits that were funny and clever to Epic Proportions. The cast during the mid/late 70s was iconic, of course. John Belushi, Chevy Chase, Dan Aykroyd, Garrett Morris, Steve Martin, and Bill Murray for the guys- talk about a Dream Team! And the ladies- the classic trio of Jane Curtin, Laraine Newman, and Gilda Radner... Lions and Tigers and Bears, oh my! Being outnumbered in gender and existing in the tricky position of being females in a field dominated by men made them seem even more incredible and admirable. Even inspiring.

I particularly loved Gilda Radner, who I'd discovered on an HBO special, instead of SNL. One of her live stand-up shows played one Saturday night while my bro and I were kicking around by ourselves, and we were captivated, totally enthralled, by her. She was just SO funny- and she always seemed like she was having fun, genuinely enjoying what she was doing- and there was also a true sweetness about her, a sense of emotion, vulnerability, and poignancy in her humor, particularly her standup material.

The 80s were sort of hit-or-miss for SNL, I thought. There were some great moments and cast members- Eddie Murphy, Joe Piscopo, Martin Short, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, the other Belushi brother... but it wasn't until late in the decade that it really started picking up steam again, invigorated by strong and innovative comedians like Dennis Miller, Jan Hooks, Mike Meyers, Ben Stiller, and the incredible Dana Carvey.

I think of broccoli-chopping Carvey as the sort of captain of the ship of the SNL Renaissance that started in the late 80s and carried over into the 90s, during the time and me and the ex-hub made it part of our regular viewing fare. They had close to a Dream Team then, too, with Chris Farley, Chris Rock, Chris Elliott, Tim Meadows, David Spade, Adam Sandler, and eventually Will Ferrell... and finally more-than-token female talent again in Molly Shannon, Ellen Cleghorne, and Janeane Garofalo.

Those were great years, with the Church Lady, the Ambiguously Gay Duo, the Roxbury Guys (the best duo since the "Two Wild and Crazy Guys" of the 70s), the Ladies Man, Superstar! Mary Katherine Gallagher of the armpit-smelling fame, Wayne's World, Coffee Talk, and the introduction of Celebrity Jeopardy, which had some of my favorite all-time SNL moments with Darrell Hammond playing an absolutely absurd Sean Connery, intent on finding pervy meanings in rather innocent words and phrases.

But as I mentioned, my interest fell off as the 90s progressed, with the last of my all-time fave skits being right on the cusp of the millennium, featuring Will Ferrell and Christopher Walken. You know which one I'm talking about! One word- it's what you need, what we all need... more cowbell!

​So, how about you, sexy friends? Are any of you SNL fans, either past or present? If so, which have been your favorite years? And who have been some of your favorite cast members? Which are your favorite skits? ​

And what are your feelings about comedy in general these days? Who/what makes you laugh? I need recommendations!

Hoping everyone is smiling, even if not laughing, on this fine Saturday night!

Homage to Squinkie (Not For the Squeamish)
Posted:Aug 10, 2018 9:50 pm
Last Updated:Aug 15, 2018 9:03 am
*Warning: This gets a bit gruesome and hard at points- it's not something for the squeamish. If you're not up to something a bit intense, it's probably better to wait for my next post.*

It's the evening of August 10th, 2018. There are not many days that I can say this about, but I know exactly where I was- and exactly what I was thinking and feeling- nine y.ears ago. Almost down to the minute.

It was August 10th, 2009... and it was the night before my daughter's birth day. It was the night before I was scheduled to go into the hospital for labor inducement to give birth to an unexpected late-in-life miracle baby. Being what is called a "DES Daughter," I was not supposed to be able to produce offspring. Doctors never used the word "impossible," they simply said it was "highly improbable." And as I took a lackadaisical approach to birth control in the almost two decades of a sexually active marriage, and as I still never had occasion to buy a pregnancy test... well... I- and everyone- believed that I wasn't capable of being a mother, until biology proved otherwise about 18 months after my divorce.

And it was August 10th, 2009... and I was giving birth the following day. And I was very pregnant, very huge, veryuncomfortable. It was August, and so miserably hot, and I was gigantic. Always prone towards slenderness and expected to carry light at the beginning, my 80-pound pregnancy weight gain was a shocker. Especially since there were no indications that the baby was anything other than of typical size.

Extensive testing revealed that there was nothing wrong overall. Over and over throughout those 41 weeks, high-risk was declared, then eventually downgraded. My age, medical history, and personal situation made it a high-risk pregnancy at the start, but endless testing and fastidious self-care had caused it to devolve to normal-risk by about the eighth month. The only remaining uncertainty- the fact of my unexpected hugeness- was determined to be no cause for alarm. Tests revealed that everything was fine. They also revealed that fears of a secret twin were unfounded, but still I worried about that. Worried a lot.

Because it was August 10th, 2009... and I would be having a baby the next day. And I was alone. Not just for the moment or for the night, but as a parent and For Good. I had gone through the pregnancy alone and without a partner, a companion, or even a friend. The man that the Universe had paired me up with for this unexpected conception was not a man that I could be with. I couldn't be with him, and he couldn't handle the situation. He was hostile in the face of something that threatened his freedom and lifestyle, and his conduct had led me to view him as a threat- even as a danger- to me and my unborn child.

But it wasn't just him that couldn't be counted on, it was everyone. I'd had several close friends before, but every of them turned their backs on me when I didn't terminate the pregnancy. And I get it, I DO- the man who had made me pregnant was violent and abusive and tried to kill me, and I'd lost my job- my whole profession, really- due to massive budget cuts the year before, which came only months after losing everything in divorcing my heroin-addicted, lying and cheating ex-husband.

WTF, what the fuck, REALLY- What the Fucking Fuck was I doing, having a baby under those circumstances? That's what everyone said, asked. And when I didn't bend to the pressure to abort, when I decided to trek blindly into more hardship while on an already rough path and living in an already broken life, everyone I knew pretty much threw up their arms in disgust and walked away. If I was going to be a fool, then I was going to go there alone, they said. And they kind of despised me, I know- because my situation was supposed to be what abortion rights are all about.

And if any of them had known that I had never, not even for a minuscule portion of a fraction of a second, considered NOT having the child, I am sure they would have loathed me even more. But it wasn't their business, wasn't their say- and THAT is what abortion rights are about: making your own choice, without reference to what anyone else thinks, says, or believes. And I was in for the penny of baby, but worried deeply about the possibility of twins, uncertain if I could also be in for that possible pound.

But it was August 10th, 2009... and I was going into labor in the morning. And I could not only feel, but could actually see, the elbow of my night owl baby jutting out of the side of my belly while I tried to rest up for the next day's momentous activities. I could trace most of her form from that reference point of her elbow, and I was wishfully certain that there was only one tiny human inside of me. And I marveled at that feeling of that miniature elbow, either nudging me for attention or squirming in an effort to make a break from the confines of my womb.

And I rubbed that elbow and sang "Morning Has Broken" to my restless little passenger, this person who had been living and growing in my body for 41 weeks... but who was still a stranger to me, was still someone I had not yet met. But even though I didn't know her, I still knew that she would ever be the most important person in my life, the most important person in the Universe. And I wondered what she would be like- not just how she would look and smell and sound, but what the shape and size of her nature and personality would be, what sorts of things she'd enjoy, what she would be afraid of, what she would want to be- and would eventually become- when she grew up. She was a familiar stranger stirring inside of me, someone whose life would henceforth be intertwined with mine in ways that I could not possibly even conceive of on that night... and the only thing that matched my fear was my anticipation.

Yet it was August 10th, 2009... and I was only hours away from becoming a mother. And at 10 a.m. the following morning, I reported for duty at the hospital, my overwhelmed and more-sober-than-usual mother at my side, doing her best to finally do me a solid by not making me go through the childbirth thing alone. She looked out of the window while the OB pushed an (of all things!) gout pill up against my unbudging cervix, declaring that my labor should start within 5 or 6 hours. But 20 minutes later- 5 hours ahead of schedule- my water broke... that bizarre internal wet "POP" that ushers in and accompanies the full wet mess of the whole deal.

No one ever told me that "the water" keeps coming after it breaks- I always though it broke and drained out, and that was that. But no, the nurse told me, laughing- "There are no dry births around here!" And that's one of the last things that I remember clearly before the world warped and turned sideways under the influence of absolutely unimaginable pain for about six and a half hours.

I do remember snippets from that period, tiny vignettes of awareness and clarity breaking through the cloudy haze of incredible physical agony... the OB standing beside me, studying the contraction read-out, looking at me with deep scrutiny and writing down notes before leaving my line of vision. My mother fluttering at the side of the bed, shaking and in tears, demanding of the nurses the administration of the epidural that I'd signed on for. And the man whose sperm had fertilized my egg, setting this whole thing in motion, showing up and behaving true to form- driving my mother out of the room and then turning on me, right in the middle of labor, with insults and threats, spiking up my blood pressure and setting off alarms on all of the equipment attached to my body, and the nurses rushed in with a cry of "Fetal Distress" and then he was gone, locked out of the maternity ward, and then my OB rushed in and, barely before she'd snapped her gloves on, finally said the magic word: "Push."

My water broke at 10:35 a.m., and at 4:55 p.m., alone because my mom had been scared off by the sperm donor, and required to hold up my own legs, the insides of my elbows latched into the undersides of my knees, I was instructed to "Push." And never, ever, have I NEEDED to do something as much as I needed to do THAT- and I did. Once... twice.... and the third time's a charm, baby... and moments later, at 5:02 p.m., a baby's cry, the sound moving through my ears to my soul, imprinting with a distinctness so powerful that later, while my new girl was down the hall in the nursery as I tried to rest, I could pick out her individual cry in the cacophony of collective wails.

I was damaged, badly so- torn and hemorrhaging, requiring a lot of post-birth work. But they didn't keep me from my girl because of it- she was handed to me after being cleaned and weighed, put right to the breast, where she stayed for the 45 minutes that the doc pulled unimaginable things out of my body before carefully working the 17 stitches that put me back together again, luckier than Humpty Dumpty. (The weird hugeness of my pregnancy was explained- there was a massive deformity on the side of my uterus, a big glob of goodness-only-knows-what; the OB said, wonderingly, "I've never seen anything like this!")

We had to stay in the hospital a little longer than normal for natural births because of my weirdness, and the nurses kept trying to take my baby to the nursery so I could be alone and sleep. But I didn't do that often- I couldn't get enough of my fresh, new Squinkie, wanted her to stay with me as much as possible.

And just as I'd sang to her elbow when she was inside of me, I sang again to her whole self, though a different song came to mind once she was out in the world: "The Most Beautiful Girl." And I kept singing it for years, and she knew it as the "Hey Song"... because that's how I'd roll with it- I'd stop in the middle of something and say, "Hey!"... and after a pause (which got more and more predictable as time went on), I'd continue... "Did you happen to see the most beautiful girl in the world?" Only, I changed a lot of the lyrics to be more positive, such as changing, "who walked out on me" to "who came out of me."

It was really kind of clever and cute in its own way, I suppose, though she did eventually ask me to retire it. And since then, we've had at least a half-million other things like that: M.ommy's silly endearments and goofy expressions of the true and deep love that she feels for her miracle baby, for the stranger in her belly who turned out to be The Love of Her Life.

And now it's August 10th, 2018... and, sadly, my Squinkie can't be with me for her birthday this year, as it falls during her 's week. No complaints, as I've gotten it the past 2 years through the luck of the calendar draw. But it still burns a little, hurts a little, because a kid's birthday is just as significant to the mom as it is to the kid her/himself. Perhaps even moreso, because WE actually remember it. My dad, a really progressive fellow, in spite of being a radical Pentacostal minister, Gets It- and he sends me a card every year on her birthday, usually with some little quip like, (this year's) "I heard you were there, too."

Yeah. My kid's birthday is significant to me, too. And that's why I've subjected all of you sexy friends to this TMI account- because it may be HER birthday, but it's a big deal day for me, too. In the same way that her life started on that day, mine also did, too- or rather re-started. And I have no regrets, and I wouldn't change a thing about anything... unless, maybe, to change circumstances so that I might be able to call her at 5:02 tomorrow- just as my dad has called me every year at 8 a.m., my exact time of birth, for the past 45 y.ears- just to wish her a happy birthday and let her know that I am glad that she exists.

I imagine all parents Get this, in one way or another. Though I know this is a bit harsh around the edges, and it's okay if no one says anything. If nothing else, please join me in wishing my baby girl a happy 9th birthday.

Thanks for reading!

Whaddya Say?
Posted:Aug 9, 2018 2:59 pm
Last Updated:Aug 13, 2018 11:08 pm
As I've mentioned before (probably enough times to be irritating), I have an education and professional background in history and anthropology. When I finally started college at the ripe o.ld age of 31, I'd had an entirely different- and far more practical- academic track in mind. But after a few intro classes, I fell in love with those disciplines and committed to them for the long haul.

Anthropology was really a passion; it was what I ended up pursuing in grad school. It's a tough track, though, as it takes a wide, holistic approach to the study of humanity. It has four sub-disciplines, and even though everyone chooses sub-discipline as a specialty, they also need to be familiar with and trained in the others, as well.

Those sub-disciplines are physical anthro (think of the show, "Bones"), cultural anthro, linguistics, and archaeology. I ended up specializing in the latter, as it meshed well with my secondary passion, history. I was sorely tempted for a few y.ears to go the linguistics route, however, and opted out of doing so because I thought there would be more work in archaeology than linguistics.

Boy, was I wrong! Not that there's a great many available jobs in linguistics, mind you. But in the dozen y.ears since I got out of grad school, there have been some interesting- and really quite major- changes in language use, primarily due to new technologies and a growth in written communication that has no parallel in history. Where written correspondence has traditionally been the way that people at distances kept in touch with each other, we now write to the folks in our everyday lives via texting, chatting, and e.mail. For some (maybe even many), it is the preferred way to stay in touch with even the closest people in their lives.

This huge increase in the use of the written word through technology has been causing a change in language and the way that it is used. If you do any texting or chatting, you know what I mean. Most of the changes center on increasing efficiency, with probably the biggest being the abbreviation of words- even words that were already short to begin with. Like using "u" instead of "you," or "r" instead of "are," and running multiple words together, such as "wanna," instead of "want to" and "whaddya," instead of "what do you."

There has also been a growth of acronym use; where it used to be reserved for official titles and organizations ("NASA," "OPEC"), there are now common acronyms for common things, like your "BAE" and your belief that "YOLO." Certain words and symbols have been re-purposed for new meanings ("@," "#"), and certain ways of expressing things that used to be cringe-worthy are now mostly accepted without complaint, such as saying "should of," instead of "should've or "should have."

It would be interesting to approach these changes from an academic standpoint, I think. Irritating as hell, granted... but interesting. And if I could go back and swerve into a different lane during my career as a student, I probably would choose to go the linguistic route instead of the archaeological

Done is done, of course, but I still have a lot of fun exploring language and its use in and relation to culture. One thing that I've long been fascinated with is the variations in language due to geographical area. In a country as large and widely spaced as the U.S.A., it is only natural that regional dialects emerged somewhere along the line, different ways of speaking the same language.

We mostly notice different dialects through what we call an "accent," that weird mix of a "different" (or it seems to the hearing an accent in another) tone and pronunciation, emphasis and pace. But we also see evidence of regional dialects in word usage, in what people call things.

I think of the most recognizable examples is in what person calls a group of other people: "you all," "y'all," "yous," and "yous guys" being the most popular o.nes, though I know people in western PA use "yins.," i.e. "Are yins going to the cookout on Saturday?"

But there are quite a few others, along with that.

Like: what someone calls a soft drink... "soda," "cola," "coke" (even when it's a Sprite), or "pop."

Or what a sandwich on a long, oblong roll is called: a "sub" or "submarine," a "hoagie," a "hero," a "po-boy," or a "grinder."

Or the long piece of furniture in a living room: "couch" or "sofa."

Or the thing that you rest your feet on: "ottoman" or "hassock."

Or what you put your folded clothes into: a "dresser" or a "bureau."

And, of course, there are certain sayings in different areas, things that are commonly said and have meaning, even though they probably wouldn't make sense a few hundred miles down the road. Like, around here, when traffic is heavy, people tend to say "The ferry must have just let out." Or when they've had enough to eat, they push away their plate and say, "I've come ashore." Given our location, it's not really surprising that those sayings are nods to the water.

So, I a.m wondering about y'all, sexy friends, and what people say 'round your parts... not just these examples, but any others that I didn't mention.

Of course, if you're anywhere in the U.S., thing is the same for all of us: tomorrow is Friday! And around here, especially in the beach towns, we call Thursdays "little Friday," to indicate that we're gearing up for the weekend.

I hope you are all doing the same!

Blues & Shoes
Posted:Aug 8, 2018 3:09 pm
Last Updated:Aug 9, 2018 6:39 pm

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

It's been a particularly happy one for me because I didn't have to make my usual camp commute at both ends of the day- Squinkie wanted a day off and came to the office with m.e instead. We did have to make a trek out of town for a lease-signing in the afternoon, where I spotted the second car this week that inspired the taking of a photo. The first one was a car that had been keyed by someone obviously displeased with the car's owner, the other was... well, see for yourself:

I'd never seen anything like either of those before. I've heard of cars being keyed, of course, but had not actually ever seen the product of such an effort. And I couldn't help but wonder about the story behind it- what the "bitch" did, or what they keyer thought she did. And, of course, I also couldn't help but wonder if there was a man involved in the story.

Have any of my sexy friends ever been keyed- or done the keying? If so, please do tell! I am very curious about what could inspire someone to take such a measure!

The Blues Brothers I'm a big fan of a lot of things, but to decorate your car in homage to something in this way is... well, it's pretty hardcore! But fun, right? And the Blues Brothers are iconic, definitely falling into the category of things that I've been thinking and talking about lately- the grand stuff of my young life... and the lives of those sharing my generation. I actually think an SNL post might be working its way over the horizon, so stay tuned!

During a break before the trip to the lease-signing, we visited one of the Christian thrift shops that keeps me in low-cost, slutty shoes, and the rack was even better stocked than usual. AND they were having a Flash 50% Off Sale, to boot (ooooh, was that a pun?), so there was no way that I was walking out of there (another!) without fun new footwear to showcase in this upcoming weekend's picture-taking activities.

Since I've been feeling an affinity for shiny things lately, I went with a pair of copper-glittered, stacked wooden heel platforms. And with the sale, they were only $3. Woooooo! I already have some interesting ideas and am looking forward to playing around with these babies on Friday or Saturday night. I will admit that I would much prefer to wear them for someone sexy and interesting, but since I am still on the meeting/d.ating wagon, I guess exhibitionism will have to suffice.

If anyone has any ideas about possible pics including or involving these coppery delights, I would love to hear them!

The other errand that I had planned for the day was to stop by the post office to mail out a copy of the "Burn After Writing" book that I have been talking about here. Along with wanting to offer one to Squinkie from me when she gets older, I'd like her to have one from her only remaining grandparent, as well- my father.

And to be honest, I would like to have it for myself in the meantime. I know that not all people would be comfortable with and willing to contribute something like that, but my Pop certainly IS the sort who would. I actually think that he will tremendously enjoy the project, and might even see it as the offering of a gift to him, asking for his story.

So... a pretty good day, all in all. How about you, friends? How has your hump day been? Fine and wonderful, I hope!

Renaming Humanity
Posted:Aug 7, 2018 2:43 pm
Last Updated:Aug 9, 2018 6:40 pm
I don't do much in the way of social media anymore. Well, not that I ever really did. There was a stretch of a few y.ears when I was kind of into Facebrag, but that was mostly to play games (I had a serious thing for Farmville). And I got pretty heavy into reddit during the first season of my beloved Westworld, though I haven't been back there since. Nowadays, all of my activities of that sort are limited to A.F.F. and Pinterest.

I first got into Pinterest back when it was a by-invitation-only site, when it was just starting to evolve from being a clearinghouse for links to interior decorating, fashion, and wedding sites to being a huge mish-mash of content of just about every stripe. These days, it's my primary source for finding everything from font types and kid's craft projects to dirty humor and naughty memes.

When I was a new to it, the thing that I liked most about the site was the ability to share things that I'd made- my own graphic designs and memes. For a time, I was big into making and sharing memes with lyrics and meaningful quotes, and I got very excited (like very excited) when they were popular and often-pinned.

I haven't made and shared anything like that in a few y.ears, though I still do dabble a bit in graphic design- like the logo that I made for this blog. But I still visit Pinterest almost every day, mining for new and fun goodies to download or pin to of my boards.

Since of those boards is dedicated to topics relating to writing and words, I get a lot of "suggested pins" with content of that type, and the other day, popped up with a list of collective nouns for animal groups. You know, like what you're supposed to call creatures when they're gathered in multiples. It's a huge meme, and I'll post as the first comment, instead of here, but here's a portion of it:

There are many on the list that I'd never heard before, and I found it hilarious, fascinating, and even kind of enlightening how those collective nouns sometimes reflect the characteristics of the animals, like a flamboyance of flamingos and a prickle of porcupines.

And it occurred to me that maybe we should adopt the same sort of practice in the naming of groups of humans who have similar qualities and characteristics.

Like: a Congregation of priests or a Lecture of professors.

Other suggestions:

A Sullen of teenagers
A Tantrum of toddlers
A Stumble of drunks
A Purchase of shoppers
A Troll of internet flamers ( or a Flame of internet trolls? )
A Bicker of married couples
A Delay of slow drivers
A Flirt of single women
A Boast of single men

What do you think, sexy friends? Do you think that such an idea makes sense? And if so, what are your suggestions for these or other groups of people?

Whether you're with a crowd of your own kind or by yourself today, I hope you're all having a terrific Tuesday!

Mango & Cookies & Toons
Posted:Aug 5, 2018 4:55 pm
Last Updated:Aug 9, 2018 9:59 pm

Warmest Sunday greetings, sexy friends!

I a.m happy to report that our little family grew by two souls today, with the addition of a couple of insanely friendly, cute, and active little critters who have been named Mango and Cookies (full name: Cookies-and-Cream).

With the exception of the frustrating task of assembling the habitat, everything has gone smoothly. Whew! And to my surprise, I find that I like the creatures more than I expected to, which is a good thing, as I will have to care for them when Squinkie is at her dad's.

Along with getting and setting up the new little furry o.nes, I have also been working on some content for the "Burn After Writing" birthday book. Since I have been rather nostalgic lately, I've been focusing most on the section of it dedicated to the past. A lot of stuff is already close to the surface from recent thoughts and expressions, but the prompts in this book have evoked some new memories and reflections. that kind of struck and surprised me, and that I'd like to offer to everyone here:

The long-lost possession that I would love to see again.

It's been a long time since I've thought about the stuff that I had as a child, and it took some time to delve through the years and remember if there was anything that was significant to me that had been lost or broken​ somewhere along the way, and that I wished I could have (or at least see) again. And I started to think that there wasn't anything like that, but then I remembered...

The original Pinkie! Not the vibe that eventually ended up with that name! But a giant- or so it seemed to me at the time- plush Pink Panther. In the pic, it's the biggest He wasn't quite as big as my 6' father, but he towered over me and my brother, and we thought he was the coolest thing ever.

We loved the Pink Panther cartoon, which was part of our regular Saturday morning cartoon viewing. Back in those days, there weren't full networks dedicated to showing cartoons around the clock, there were only a couple of slots for them on the network channels. And Saturday morning was THE time to tune into the toons.

I remember my brother and I used to get up at 5:30 a.m. just so we could catch our shows... stumbling sleepily, pillows dragging behind us, into the living room to turn on our 17" TV set and flip the dial to the right channel, pulling out a box of cereal, a carton of milk, and a couple of bowls and spoons, and flopping down on the ground to lose ourselves in four or five hours of animated fare.

There are so many shows that we watched and loved- I don't think I can't even remember them all, let alone name them here. But there was Mighty Mouse (that always seemed to be the one that came on the earliest), Hong Kong Phooey, Magilla Gorilla, Speed Racer, Josie and the Pussycats, Scooby Doo, Tom and Jerry, Heckle and Jeckle, Woody Woodpecker, and of course, Bugs Bunny and the Roadrunner.

Wile E. Coyote, Super Genius. The first villain to steal my heart.

Those were good times for cartoons, though I have to admit that I've seen some of them again in adulthood, and was kind of shocked at how much adult content was couched in them. But we never noticed, when we were kids. Kind of like Caddyshack- we were crazy about that movie, didn't think it a "grown up" flick at all. But boy, oh boy, were we wrong about that! The mature humor just coasted right over our heads, we were none the wiser.

So... how about you, sexy friends? Is there anything you had in childhood that you'd love to see/have again? And did any of you used to drag your young asses out of bed super-early on Saturdays to eat cereal and watch cartoons? If so, did you have a favorite (cartoon or cereal)?

Hope everyone is having the best of all possible Sundays!

Burn After Writing
Posted:Aug 4, 2018 10:43 pm
Last Updated:Aug 9, 2018 6:41 pm

I a.m wiped out, sexy friends. Though not from anything sexy. Au contraire, I a.m exhausted this evening because this was the day allocated for Squinkie's birthday shopping expedition. We went everywhere, it seemed, covering every base in the effort to buy- or plan to buy- all of the things on her birthday list.

All things considered, her wants are modest and mostly involve silly little games and toys and beauty items. She's still not yet old enough to expect or demand things like a smartphone (including a calling and data account), a computer, or (it will surely come someday) a car; she can still be satisfied with mostly goofy little novelties. Thank goodness, as I live in the land of goofy little novelties, and it's a comfort that she and I still speak the same language in those terms. I know that, soon enough, we won't... and recognizing that, I took a real pleasure in kicking around with her at Five Below and Target and the flea market, at Justice and Claire's and Walmart, mining for fun trinkets.

We also had our second visit to PetSmart and, after a lengthy discussion later in the day, finally settled the pet question. And the answer to that question is: gerbils.

I previously mentioned that she was leaning towards a gecko or hamsters, and then she took a turn towards a snake... but then ultimately settled on a pair of gerbils, which she has tentatively advance-named Mango and Fluffy. Though Fluffy might end up being a Junior of her own real name, she's still stewing on it.

I a.m actually kind of digging her choice, as gerbils seem like a good choice where rodents are concerned. Mice and hamsters are rather small, and I admit that I've had some unpleasant mental projections of them escaping and ending up living in the walls, like the "Bad Ronald" kid from that disturbing '70s "after school special" show... geez, does anyone else remember that? Crazy, the stuff they fed us in that decade!

Where the tiny creatures have been a concern because of the possible-escape factor, the bigger ones, namely guinea pigs, have bothered me because I know that Squinkie would want to let them roam around the apartment. And I further know that such a thing could lead Althea (the obese Calico with the foot fetish) to draw upon the latent reserves of her hunting instincts... and in my mind's eye, I see an eventuality that involves a dead birthday pet. And I really don't want to go down a road that has that as a potential destination point. Plus, I am also just kind of creeped out by guinea pigs, don't ask me why.

But, anyway... while the birthday girl was loading up a basket of goofy novelties at Five Below, I found something that I want to give to her as a present. Only not this y.ear, and maybe not for several- perhaps even many- y.ears. It's a little book entitled, "Burn After Writing" that is mostly blank, but provides a selection of questions and writing prompts designed to capture information about one's past, present, and thoughts and hopes for the future.

The book is a clever idea- props to the chick who developed and published it! In its pages are everything from questions about the people you liked the most when you were a kid to the things that you feel most guilty about. It asks you to record your favorite foods and the places you'd most like to visit, as well as what you wish your name could be and the people you can never forgive.

I initially wanted to get it for Squinkie herself, so she could capture the nuances of her life at this time, to look back on when she is older. But the interest and value of that concept is still just a bit beyond her, just a little too sophisticated for where she is in her life now, and she wouldn't bite. She DID agree to get a book to record her Top 5 lists, mostly focusing on tastes in entertainment, so that's something.

The "Burn After Writing" project was too much for her, but it IS perfectly aligned with what I have been trying to do lately, most notably through this blog... which is to capture some of myself and my perspectives and experiences for her to have later in life, should she ever want to know those things.

In case anyone didn't read my initial comments on the topic, this effort of wanting to record the things of my life for my daughter is not motivated by self-absorption, it's not an exercise in narcissism. Instead, it comes from the sharp and poignant realization that having had my daughter at 40 almost certainly means that I will not still be alive when she reaches her older years.

I lost my mother not far into my self-reflective middle-aged years, and I feel a sting and burn at my inability to know certain things about the woman who gave me life. And I cannot tell you what I would do to have something like this blog or this little book, capturing the internal workings of my mother.

So much of the parent/child dynamic is reactive, situated only in the moment at hand, centering only on immediate concerns, circumstances, and conditions. Questions about motives and identity often only come outside of direct interactions... and those questions can bombard and overwhelm you once the opportunity for direct interaction has passed, once a parent has passed. I feel a painful and sorrowful gap of unknowing when it comes to my mother, and basically, I don't want my girl to ever feel the same way.

And so, this blog- this Oval Mirror that captures and bounces reflections of and on my life. And also now this book, something that will be handwritten, guided and direct in its effort to capture the stuff of a life that often slips through the cracks in any effort of knowing someone. This blog may be on a sex site, but I suspect that the book will be far more revealing than anything I could offer here.

Many of the questions in the book are thought-provoking and fun, and I cannot help but to want to offer some of them here, just to see what my sexy friends think about certain things. In fact, I may make a whole series of it, drawing inspiration from the book.

To start, I offer a question from "The Past" section:

What posters did you have on your walls while you were growing up?

For me, I had a Roger Dean "Pathways" print, a signed Blue Angels picture (my grandfather was a Naval aviator), and a Close Encounters of the Third Kind movie poster- I was crazy about that flick!

How about you, sexy friends? What was on your walls as you were growing up? And if you are a parent, is there anything that you try to do to make sure your kid(s) know who you are, in case you leave this world before he/she/they thinks to ask the questions?

As always, I appreciate everyone's attention and participation!


To link to this blog (GratefulGirl69) use [blog GratefulGirl69] in your messages.

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