Just a note to let you all know that I will be password protecting some of my posts. I’d like to write here more often, but truthfully, it unnerves me a bit that people who aren’t callers or fellow operators are able to read my more “sensitive” posts. There are subjects I don’t feel as comfortable discussing knowing that ‘whoever’ can happen upon my page and read to their heart’s content. There are certain things I share with you, specifically, and … well… no need to beat a dead horse (god, that’s one horrible figure of speech, isn’t it?), you all know what I’m talking about.

So – yeah. Hope your Easter was lovely. Mine was! I got to spend time with my family and church services were DELIGHTFUL! I seriously love Easter and Spring and new beginnings, and even the gentle send off of harsh winter, ice, and deathly cold. I know, I know, I live in California. But trust me, we all have our winters to endure – no one is immune.

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve updated in here. I’ve been extremely busy. I’m working on a few projects and there’s school and family, and new friends (who have beach houses!). Stay tuned though – lots of changes in my life and I definitely want all of you to be a part of it. :X.

Oooh – there’s my phone! More later! xo.

I’ve caught up! Blog Every Day In February is officially back on track. Hallelujah.

I just got done emailing some of my friends from my last writing class at school. I had to tell them I wouldn’t be returning to campus as a student. I’ll still be doing some volunteer work (because, hey, I need these things on my application for schools!), but I won’t be attending school there. I’ll be working on my math class. Trying to get the damn stuff done already. I have one final math class, and I’m taking it off campus with my tutor.

A few years ago, I came across this porn movie with Gauge in it. She’s this blonde that is exceptionally gifted at anal sex. Actually she stands on her head and gets fucked in the ass which, hats off to you, Gauge, is impressive! The movie I first saw her in had the title Bring em Young. They said it was a university, and I thought it was just a porn thing. Clever, too, I thought. Cuz it actually sounded like it could be a real school. BYU.

Imagine my surprise when my tutor enrolled me in an independent studies class at BYU – Brigham Young University. I told Sarah Nanette last night that I didn’t think it was a real school! As a result, I keep saying the name wrong. Bringum Young. Ugh. My tutor is going to think I’m a bigger freak than he realized.

It was super hard not signing up for any classes. But I don’t need them. I signed up for classes last semester because I needed them and they would count towards my major. But enough is enough. I gotta get out of the small college in this now small town and head for greener pastures. And it’s really scary. I didn’t realize before how much I was clinging to the school. I didn’t realize how it had become a crutch for me. And I didn’t realize how sometimes, when bad things happen, it kind of keeps you stuck. Even if you’re miserable, there is a safety in being miserable and stuck. There are tons of reasons why I want to continue taking classes at my old school, but none of them are healthy reasons, I’ve realized. So… I’m moving on.

What this means for niteflirt is, I’ll probably have better hours. I’ll be more flexible during the next few months. And I’ll be working more because BYU ain’t cheap, to be honest. One class is costing the same as 4 classes at my old school. And that’s not including the books that I’ll need. I’m reviewing a previous class at the moment so I’m covered, but by next month I want to be enrolled.

This is the most adult thing I’ve done in a long time.
And it feels good.

Whew. It’s dusty in here!

I know that I have not been around for years. Or a year. It’s been a hell of a long time. But I made a pact with myself. I’m not going to tell you what that pact is. Because as many of you know, I often make pacts with myself, others, and occasionally the devil, and I very rarely keep those pacts which explains why I have currently have no soul and my first 3 children will be Satan’s. I kid. Sort of.

So here we are again. I’ve missed you. And, oddly enough, I’ve missed this blog. It’s always been a bit of an outlet for me. But sometimes, when I put enough unneeded pressure on myself, it becomes a chore. And then I avoid it. Or, enough time goes by and I forget how cathartic it is to write and then pretty soon it’s been a year. Or, I find myself being extremely negative and really outlandishly rude and debbie downer-ish and can’t stand the words coming from my fingers and make a vow to only write when I’m feeling more positive and pretty soon a year has gone by. It’s amazing how fast time goes by. And it’s just not when you’re old, young people often feel the blur of the seasons, too. We’re just in denial, drunk, or preoccupied on other things and don’t mention it. In my literature class 2 semesters ago I came across a lovely quote: Optima dies . . . prima fugit — “The best days are the first to flew”. Yeah. I’m still trying to grasp the full meaning of that, too. Bonus points if you know which novel has this quote as its epigraph.

The past few months – ok…the past year has been filled with many things obsessive. Many of you probably already are familiar with my obsession with all things cosmetic. I kind of OD’d a bit on the whole make up thing, although I will willingly take any Inglot palettes anyone wishes to donate to the cause. I sort of found myself in a nail polish flurry the past few months where I found my modest collection of 20 nail polishes proliferate into a collection of just about at last count 600. A few days ago I stumbled onto a new obsession.

I’m not exactly sure how it happens – these fetishes. I find it insightful, alluring, entertaining, intriguing, …. to ask my callers at times where a particular “like” came from. It seems obvious for some things – a panty fetish is revealed to be connected to first seeing panties and instantly sprouting a hard on connecting the two things together in fantasy matrimony till death do you part. Other things a bit more complex. Balloon popping? Gas Pedals? asphyxiation? I can connect every thing I’ve wanted to collect into a single solitary moment, suspended in my mind by pleasure seeking threads. When I was quite young I remember having dreams of colored tights in my dresser. Every night I would go to bed and dream of them – pink, yellow, blue, every color of the rainbow. I would wake, run to my dresser, and to my disappointment find that my dreams never came true. When I see make up in rainbow color order I feel powerless. I need to have every color, regardless if it’s in my right color group or not. If I start collecting a specific brand of nail polish, I have to have ROYGBIV colors first before embarking on the other glitters and other spectrums of colors. It’s a rule – one that my friends find amusing but that I find a bit like being in a self inflicted expensive prison.

A few days ago I remembered playing on a friend’s typewriter she had “inherited” from her grandfather. It was a big, clunky black heavy thing – and we would hunt and peck out silly words on pieces of white construction paper, not knowing any better. When a mistake was made we would backspace backspace backspace and x, x, x over the offending word or words and then start over. Our typed words became a sort of distressed piece of art I suppose, but to us it was just a funny, old thing that smelled like mold, that would make funny click clack ding noises that we would play on. Until a few days ago.

In my creative writing class we had to come up with an author we wanted to study and then we were to research him or her and write like them. I picked, of course, Carrie Bradshaw. She wrote on a MAC lap top in front of her window of her New York Brownstone Apartment. And she wrote about sex. It really was a no brainer. But I still looked up other author’s I admired – real authors – not figments of the author’s imagination, as Carrie Bradshaw is to Candace Bushnell. Some wrote long hand on yellow legal pads (Toni Morrison). Some wrote on their computers and others, like Hemmingway, Burroughs, Plath, wrote their masterpieces on manual typewriters.

And so the search has begun. I’m determined to find a manual typewriter. Perhaps a Remington. This one has colored glass keys. She’s lovely!

Or maybe a Royal.

There is, for me at least, the holy grail which is the Hermes 3000, a mint green manual typewriter, rumored to type like a dream.
.
I’d like a few electric typewriters from the 60′s or 70′s, too. Something that might sit on the desk in the office of Madmen, perhaps.

I have no desire to have a typewriter that doesn’t function. I don’t want it to be for looks. I want to use it. I want to hear it. I want to smell it. So there you have it. You’re the first to know of this new collection that I have been drawn to. A door in to my newest fetish. I figured I’d invite you in, as many of you have invited me in through your front doors to your fetishes through out the years. Take your shoes off. Stay a bit. Let’s talk of the best days. Before they flee.

I’m pretty sure that I went an entire month with out writing on my blog. An. Entire. Month. That’s just shocking. Seriously. I LOVE writing. I love writing so much that I’m intending on making a career of it. But yet I have not written in a simple blog for an entire month. Longer, actually. But no post whatsoever for the month of November. Which happened to be my birthday month even. But since I’m no longer getting older in the magic world we call “Niteflirt”, not calling attention to my birthday actually worked in my favor. Yup. I’m STILL barely legal and still just 18! Tah Dah!

I could write a post about that. But I won’t. Although at this point, I’m sure many of you are just happy to be reading anything I write about!

What I want to say is that I’m knee deep in finals week. Today will be my very first final. And if you all could just take a moment out of your day and say a little prayer for me (Dionne Warrick style) around 1:00PM PST, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be attempting to write 3 short essays in about 80 minutes for my English Literature class. Hopefully I’ll be successful, but I’m not good at writing under pressure (obviously).

All in all, this semester of school has gone extremely well. I’m sitting on a 100 percent right now in Math class. Yeah. 100 percent. Which means on every test I’ve done I’ve gotten 100 percent on. Can I say that any more times? Meanwhile in my upper level English class I’ve received a B on my last essay. Which really isn’t THAT surprising considering I suck at essays. Well, I don’t suck, they just aren’t my ‘thing’. I’ve really enjoyed this class though, and I’d love to nail the final and walk out of the class with an A. I deserve it. And then there’s the Anthropology class, that even with an excellent tutor (thank you Dr. Benway!) I’m still struggling with all the terms and stuff I’m forced to learn. Axis. Coccyx, Tarsus, Occipital, Gracile, Robust, Sternum, Calcaneus, phalanges, metatarsals, temporal, deciduous… seriously. It’s a damn 1 credit lab class and I feel like I’m in medical school. Haven’t been surrounded by that many skeletons and skulls in – well, forever, really. When I’m done cramming all of this information into my head I’ll impress you with some of the things I’ve learned (do you know why your clavicle is S shaped? I do. ). It really is fascinating, this human body. And I am really (despite my bitching and complaining) so excited to be in a position to learn all about so many different things. Going to school is by far one of the smartest things I’ve ever done and I’m so absolutely blessed and thankful to have a ‘job’ that allows me to continue my educational goals. That was what I would have written in November. A big huge Thank You to all of my clients and friends.
But yeah… I didn’t.

So I’m almost done. And then I’m going to take a little bit of a vacation. Twice. But more on that later. For now know that I’m thinking of all of you, and even though my schedule is a bit fucked at the moment, it should get a bit clearer in less than a week. I am still logging on during the evenings, and lately I’ve been staying on overnight. I can’t promise I’ll hear the phone ring at 3:00AM, but I have been getting up regularly around 5:30 thanks to my alarm clock (wink wink nudge nudge to you know who for being my alarm clock every morning practically!) I’ll update some things around here after Thursday’s last final and settle down long enough to put up a working schedule. At least. I hope.

Oh, and Manic Make up Monday became more of a Manic Finals Mayhem. I’ll postpone that until maybe next Monday. Or not. It’s Christmas time, maybe I’ll have every Monday in December be Make Up Monday! ahaha. Remind me to tell you all about my massive makeup collection. I make it seem all innocent and cute and in some little make up case with a zipper, but in reality my make up collection takes up more drawers than my t-shirt, panty, bra and sock drawers combined. Some people collect cars, dolls, coins, stamps, or bones (that’s a small nod to my Anthropology Professor who I think has a crush on me. She’s a girl. More on that later!). I collect lipstick, nail polish, eyeshadows, and other stuff. *shrugs* What can I say?

I can say bye. That’s what I can say. Gotta run and prepare for my final, and go to my prep for my math final that I can fail and still get an A in the class. It’s the small light at the end of a long tunnel – like many of you have been these past few weeks of cramming and studying and crying and moaning and screaming and … oh – wait – that was my last call. My bad. But in all seriousness, thanks for all you have done to make this semester a great one. You’ve kept me sane. I’ll make you proud.

Driving to the location of the castle took far less time than I had anticipated. Carrying only my book bag and computer bag (I would go back to my car to pick up my overnight bag) I walked towards the door where the doorman eagerly opened up the door for me. I couldn’t help the smile that came over my face. I know in NYC doormen are common – but in Los Angeles, or at least where I hang out, doormen are as common as carpoolers. I walked through the door, laughing at the automatic doors that slid open grandly. If you listened closely you could hear Bach’s Fugue playing in the background. Teasing. But it was dramatic. To the front desk I announced who I was – a few clicks of the computer and the studious, business face turned into a welcoming host. “Miss CeCe” he said smiling, and “Welcome…” With the key in my hand I walked to the elevators, growing a bit dizzy from the carpet pattern, slight cigar smoke drifting through the halls from the patio across from the bar, and pure excitement.

“Are you going up?” A kind older gentleman asked me from a elevator.

“Sure!” I said – lightly jogging to the doors, my computer bag thumping gently against my thighs.

“Floor?”

“Um – 5th, please.”

He pushed the button next to his 4 and the doors gently closed. I didn’t know what kind of room would greet me when I stepped off the elevator. Holding my card that would be the key I walked towards my room and stuck the card in the little slot. A red light blinked back at me and I jiggled the handle of the door. Turning the card over I tried again. Several times I wiggled and jiggled that card in the slot before finally glancing again at the door number. Walking down the corridor I tried again. Green light. Entrance was granted. Hopefully I didn’t freak out the person in the other room too badly. I hurried through the door of my room just in case.

(Read on …)