Chor Leone is the premier men’s chorus here in Vancouver, and I’m going this afternoon with my eldest and the son of one of the men in the choir, who’s a buddy of Paul’s. Hope that’s all straight. We have to go early, and I am going to use the opportunity to go to the Labyrinth at Xenia on Bowen Island. Must remember to pack camera.
I am writing porn again! That more than anything else should tell you about my mood. Read it to Paul. He only laughed once when he was supposed to and he snorted when he wasn’t supposed to… yes I know, it’s a bizarre thing to write soft core porn that’s supposed to be funny, but there you go. If there’s anything with more potential for complete and lung squeezing embarrassment than sex, it’s a kind of sex you didn’t know about before. However I’m not into the humour of embarrassment (much) so most of the humour has to do with the heroic efforts of a band of devotees to get the lead female character, ten guesses who that might be, to just shut up for a minute, or several.
I remember telling a friend that I love laughing in bed and she said she’s learned not to. I had to have that explained to me. That’s how stupid I am!
Or, and you can take this any way you like, any person foolish enough to want to get close to me BETTER have a sense of humour, and not be afraid ta unlimber it as the occasion may require.
In the best circumstances, I get to share the stories I write with the person who’s the object of the stories… sigh, the good old days … but that leaves me with freaking MOUNTAINS of stories that I will never be able to publish, at least not until…. No, drop it like it’s hot. Lean back. At last count I have twenty of these sick little puppies squirming around. I am extremely happy though, because one of the best stories I ever wrote MAGICALLY REAPPEARED recently (actually it was stuck on the end of another story so I didn’t realize I’d never lost it). I re-read it with great happiness, because in the last two paragraphs is a line that made me whoop with laughter when I saw it. I just wrote an entire paragraph in the hopes that I could somehow Disnefy it, but it didn’t work, so you’ll hafta trust me.
Speaking of soft core, check out liegirls.com. It is one of the narstiest pieces of political humour I have seen in quite a while, heard about it thanks to the News Dissector. The English accent of one of the girls is really jarring until you realize that it is part of the shtick…. you know, the coalition of the willing and don’t forget Poland.
I love Canada. Six hundred women came to the land of the beaver last year because of our horrific shortage of exotic dancers.
Aren’t you glad I didn’t post a picture? In my current mood I might be posting those ‘art’ pix I had done of myself when I was 21. (Brother James in Ottawa is screaming and clapping his hands over his eyes right about now – that thin reedy wail… can’t you hear it?).
I give this advice all the time, and I’ll give it again. If you think you can secure them, get naked pictures of yourself when you are in your early twenties. I have never ever regretted doing it. At the time I thought I was uggggly. Jumping Jimmy Christmas, I look at em now and go that girl was hotter than a compressor stall. But I figured my then husband would want them.
As a pro porn feminist, I have a horrific confession to make, one that will make most of my male readers want to KILL ME. I hardly ever think about this dark blot on my past, but I am truly contrite and if I could fire myself back into a time machine, I would never ever have done it. I would have found some more humane way of dealing with it or I would have shut up.
In my defense, I must say that I was the victim of a pre pro porn feminist mentality. Because, to quote Gord Downie “She says, Why are you partial to that Playboy con? When you can see me naked anytime you want?”
I figured that one live me was worth more than, ow, I don’t even want to type this, I am compelled, o master stop the pain,
Every Playboy published up until 1979. All of them, stapled navels and all.
I made my first husband get rid of his Playboys. Can you believe it? Can you understand why I can never run for public office? Most Canadian men would read this and go, sorry, you’ll never pass MY background check, ya silly twink. Okay, enough true confessions. I’ll say one last thing in my defense. They took up a LOT of room and it was a bachelor apartment. But that’s a women’s excuse, so I expect no mercy from the men who used to be my friends.
But I do stand up in support of Romanian lap dancers (I just typed tap dancers!) so maybe I will survive this confession. Isn’t a goil allowed to smarten up?