Peace and I are doing something interesting with each other. It seems that our "sex life" is more interesting if the only time we are having orgasms is with each other.
Therefore, we are cutting back to an alarming degree on the whole masturbation thing, to the point where I'm not doing it at all, hardly (from maybe twice a week to once a month), and he's doing it maybe once a month (from daily).
I think I like it.
Hell, BJ and I didn't have even that level of commitment to each other. I'm fairly sure he didn't have much of an individual sex life other than me, but I was more than he could really take care of.... but that's something else entirely.
Fortunately, Peace and I are not being psycho restrictive idiots about the whole issue. We're just enhancing the quality of what we've got by saving up everything until we get to do something together.
...Judging from Peace's reactions on Thursday (!!!) it's working.
In addition to everything else happening on the 16th of October, it's the birthday of this one guy Will o' the Wisp from school/home.
It may also be my parents' anniversary. What with all the synchronicity going on, it's likely to be, and furthermore it's likely to be a numerologically significant number of years they've been married. Let's see, they were married for approximately two years before they had me, either one and a half or two and a half. If I recall correctly, it was two calendar years before they had me, so that would make it their ... 23rd wedding anniversary.
As I walked home Friday afternoon, as I was approaching the place where I cross the street, someone hollered at me from their car. It was a holler distinctly aimed at me.
I look up, see a light grey sedan with one of those increasingly tattered US flags on the antenna, window rolled down, young man with that Executive Clone haircut that was more popular in the 80's than it is today (extremely receding hairline though), white button-down shirt, nice dark suit, no tie.
We make eye contact.
He makes a suggestive gesture at me.
I gesture back.
The light changes and he drives on.
and the innocent bystanders completely miss that it was a kiss I blow at him before the part of my mind that censors can catch up with me. Darkside can only get those unguarded expressions of affection out of me when he surprises me. I wasn't expecting it to be him. We both know he saw it; we both know I meant it.
Fuck each other dammit!
The definition of love that's in the Illuminatus! trilogy is one I like, the lecture on the true nature of what sex should be. If you've read it, you know the one. The one right before the chapter on Snafu that (in my edition at least) has all the fucked up page numbers, repeating pages. They have the lecture on the true nature of sex in there twice; it must be significant.
It's about lowering the barriers.
Darkside and I are lowering the barriers between us. They aren't low enough yet that physical intimacy would be right. It would be invasive, rape. The gentle touches with naked eyes are all we can bear for now.
Everyone else, roll your dice and make vast moves in your campaigns without us. We're just sitting here together, making very precise luck-rolls on tiny things, just to make sure the storyline works out right.
Darkside's of the opinion that I'm completely insane. Of course, he knows that he's completely insane himself, which helps matters tremendously.
if going page by page through my entries, this is where it spits you up to my most recent private entry every time you hit forward. going backward it still works correctly from the most recent.
...and somehow my room has become their parade ground. Time for some housecleaning?
Yes, time for some housecleaning. That at least makes me feel a little better about myself. I've gotten all those little bits and pieces of cords and connectors that were lying about on the floor into the "Box ov Connection" (labeled with a suspiciously Eristic symbol showing a bunch of different connector types radiating out from a central hub. The other spare pieces of technology (battery for laptop, CD player to car tape deck converter, and others) went into the "Box ov Technocracy". Hopefully Votania (Sis) will be able to sort the random things lying around of that nature into their correct boxes should someone take them out and leave them somewhere...
Reading my journals, my roommate and heartsister was stricken by a terminal case of the giggles. After I resurrected her, she requested that she be known by her most common online name, Votania.
I rather liked the symbology of having labels representative of the positions in my life that people held-- Sis, Nephew, Neighbor, Dude, Chick, Biosis, Best Friend -- but perhaps I was the only one who appreciated that form of artistry. With those bland labels, I felt I was doing a little more to create something of some small poetic merit.
With the nameless labels, my journal (in my eyes at least) is more applicable to a wider range of people than just my own small circle of friends. Surely I am not the only person to have a friend that I live with who is as close as a sister? I would, though, be surprised if anyone else were to have a friend-as-close-as-sister named Votania.
Journal writing is an art form to me. I don't know who else out there shares my precise viewpoint on the topic, but I do know what I think.
In any case, "Sis" is now "Votania", though I will probably still use both names.
I'll be OK soon. I've just been temporarily seduced by the cool kookiness of the Chaos Mythos. I'll soon return to a slightly more enlightened version of my former self....
...or not. It depends. I'll find some form of functional balance, though.
Votania went to the store the other day and got the cheapest hot dogs.
She really should not have done this. Now we've got a package of hot dogs that stand a 70% chance of making everybody that lives in this house sick.
You see, my sister Votania used to be able to eat pork. She loved bacon. Her mom cooked pork a lot and she was able to eat it.
Then Votania got religion. This religion is one of the many that has prohibitions against eating the flesh of swine. She disregarded the prohibition for the most part, but soon found that she got physically ill when she ate pork of any form, even to the point of pepperoni on a pizza.
We discovered on the 4th of July that Nephew also does not respond well to pork. When Grandma serves him pork, he turns up his nose and doesn't eat the stuff. Smart boy. But when it's in hot dogs, he often eats it... and if he's feeling the least bit unsettled of stomach beforehand, we get fireworks in the toilet.
I am not entirely immune. While I haven't puked my guts out over pork, I have found that the smell of crispy bacon in the cafeteria in the mornings is no longer half so appetizing as it used to be. I've never been a fan of great vast chunks of cooked swineflesh; the only form it tempts me in is bacon. The taste of pork hot dogs has always symbolized poor quality and poverty to me; I go for the kosher all-beef ones (and promptly make them non-kosher by adding cheese, but that's another story).
This hazardous package of turkey/pork/beef hot dogs is sitting in our refrigerator now. I am eating two for lunch.
If I puke my guts out today, we'll all know the most likely reason why.
I think Nephew's finally getting to the age where you can talk coherently to him and receive a coherent understanding of the message you're trying to convey. I may have solved some of the crying at bedtime problem.
Friday night I realized that the vast majority of the crying at bedtime was the lack of hugs and cuddles and "tucking in" before he was told to go to sleep -- I was raised with a great amount of hugs before bed, and the tradition continued in one form or another until I was at least fifteen (FatherSir would read bedtime stories to us, the books getting progressively more and more complex as we got older) until we finally ran out of books that were acceptable to us all.
Nephew just gets told to go to bed, that's it. He was used to Mommy going to bed at the same time with him at Grandma's house, and this new "Nephew, go to bed" thing is alien to him. So he cries, hoping that we'll come in and talk to him.
I figured it out Friday night, and proceeded to hug him. I explained to Votania, and she took over in the hugging department. Nephew requested hugs from Neighbor, who was visiting that night, and got hugs from Neighbor too.
There was remarkably little crying that night.
Today I put Nephew down for a nap, and got the whole wailing fire siren thing the instant I walked out of the room. Rather than letting him cry himself to sleep, I walked back in, gave him a hug, and then told him, once he'd stopped crying, that if he needed hugs before he went to sleep, he should say, "Auntie, Mommy, I need hugs," rather than crying, because crying is more likely to get him yelled at and ignored, and a simple request "I need hugs please" is more likely to get him hugs.
"I need hugs," he said, and I hugged him for several long minutes and then left him to his nap.
It seems to be working, as I've gotten only one small outburst of yelling (when I had to come in and take his automatic weaponry away from him, as machine gun fire in the room is not conducive to napping) out of him so far, which is far better than normal.
He came over. We had fun.
I was surprised to see him when he got here -- he'd left his house without warning me, and just showed up on my doorstep. I dragged him into my room and we proceeded to have fun. Only one orgasm each, but we had a limited amount of time and a limited amount of fuel to work with. After that, we hit the showers, since he did have to head to fighter practice with the SCA after that, and he didn't want to get there smelling like what he'd just been doing. We then had dinner.
Votania dug up a song by Grim Reaper, "Suck It And See," that has enough in common with what Adam and I are doing to make him turn bright red and laugh a lot. After the vast majority of dinner was eaten, I sat on the floor by Adam's feet and let him feed me bits of pop tart. I drank milk out of his wine glass.
There was barely enough time after dinner to run back into my room and exchange a few hurried kisses and whispers. Three dangerous words were said -- I said them first, quietly but not whispered, and he whispered them back to me. I hope to the gods we don't fuck this one up. We're the kind of friends who can say that.
Before we could discuss what this meant, he had to run off to meet his friend to get the ride to fighter practice.
Votania and I ended up hauling our asses and Nephew to the apartment complex gym and lifting weights and stretching out for a while.
Adam gave me a burned mix CD of his own devising, a really lovely collection of the electronic stuff with a few simple words and a driving beat. Votania fell in love with it on the first track and proceeded to declare that this was now our official workout disk.
We both lifted weights and stretched until we were sweating and ready to do as much again, at which point we knew it was time to quit.
Darkside's been after me to work out more, bringing it up every chance he gets.
It is for this reason that I have hope.
You see, back when I weighed far, far more than I ought to (and was far more depressed than I ought to have been), Darkside shut the hell up on the topic of my weight and general fitness. No comment. Very exceptionally gentlemanly, even when telling me that I just didn't do it for him.
Now that I've been losing weight slowly but steadily (and apparently dramatically; I've dropped a shoe size and I can fit into Sis's work shirts now) Darkside's started nagging me about working out. It means there's potential for improvement, a possibility that if I just get that little extra edge honed, I might fall into the category of females who kick in his hormones. (I look enough like Votania to actually be a sister to her, and if I dropped another two sizes I'd look a hell of a lot more like her...) Him nagging me now means he thinks I've lost enough weight to where it wouldn't be a sensitive issue with me anymore. Him nagging me now is one of the best signs for his possible physical attraction to me that I've seen.
I am now the proud owner of 8 shot glasses, the extremely cheap type that look like very small water glasses, only not quite to the same proportions. In my trip for the getting of some groceries and like items, I discovered that they had shot glasses for sale. We had none in this house, before. Since it was the discount store, they had them in packs of four, and since there are so many adults that tend to congregate here, I got two packs so that should everyone (Votania, her Dave, me, Adam, Neighbor, Alan, Darkside [but he doesn't drink], Dawn, probably Sithkitten and Rena and gods know who else) show up here at once, there would be shot glasses for all. ...well, given that crowd, maybe not for all.
...But we didn't have any. And now we do.
....Knowing the households I've lived in, the shot glasses will probably end up getting used for incense holders (for the cone incense, y'know, pesky stuff) and computer screws more than they get used for drinking out of.
I can make Darkside laugh.
It's not difficult.
All I have to do is come up with something that surprises him that he thinks is funny. He's difficult to surprise, but he doesn't know me as well as he could, yet, and therefore I can surprise him still.
I love that way he smiles and laughs when I tell him about, say, stealth condoms, or what Eris should do to the hackers. He's got an odder sense of humor than mine, more apt to puns.
He loves it when I find these weird things for him. He loves sharing the weird things he finds.
He hasn't seen his best guy-friend in a month now.