So after staying up until – I dunno – 3:00AM last night (that would be FRIDAY Nite) I woke up this morning at 9:30AM and made myself a delicious bowl of oatmeal before running into the shower, changing for the gym – and heading off to my study group for Geography. We met at the bookstore down the street and drank a cup of Joe (haha) and studying until about … um … 4:00-4:30? and then ran to the gym where I stayed until 7:00PM. I’m going to say something that is going to shock me. Even though I eluded to similar feelings in this post – what I experienced today was like 10 times stronger than that moment.

I was walking on the treadmill – at a good solid 3.8 MPH and a steep 4.5 incline. I was working in my 80 percent target rate about 40 percent of the time – and in my 70 percent target heart rate the remaining time. I was sweating … like a crazy woman; the kind of sweat that pools in between your tits (okay – guys shouldn’t know what that feels like… ) – collects at the nape of your neck – and starts this steady stream down the back of your tank top. By the time you’re done, you have this band of water around your panties (again … guys…) and the treadmill below you has evidence of your leak. When the treadmill tells me I’ve burned about 500 calories and walked a good 3 miles in 45 glorious minutes, it hits me. This feeling like – PRAISE GOD I AM ALIVE AND I AM HEALTHY AND I GOT PEOPLE WHO LOVE ME feeling. I want to raise up my hands and start jumpin up and down yelling to everyone about how fuckin great life is and how glad I am to be an American. It is at 45 minutes that it kicks in and I start to increase the speed – pushing my heart rate even faster – and feeling like I have come down from the best orgasm with Mr. Hitachi Wand EVER. I LOVE that feeling. I always end on this surge of energy – and an embarrassment that I was going to quit 30 minutes earlier.

The Nazi trainer pushed me so hard the other day (I asked her to because I was angry at the English teacher I once loved. It’s true. Check it out… I actually loved him at one point. How foolish was I?) that I was woke up thinking about her. I had asked Ms. Nazi to push me hard and she was all to happy to accommodate me. It was “leg” day – and I sat and pushed and did abductor and adducters and lunges and planks and … by the time I left I knew she had kicked my ass into a new dimension. But it felt good. So back to this morning – when I woke up – I had to stand in the shower for a good 30 minutes and just let the hot water penetrate the soreness. It wasn’t pretty – but again – I felt really great! So ok – today – I walk for an hour. 673 calories later – I’m HIGH. I feel like nothing can stop me. I go straight to the counter and I ask if there is a trainer available. A sweet guy that I call Scott Baio (spelling?) -the younger years – volunteers to work me out. I am doing pull ups (ok – they cheat and take away half of my body weight but still… !), I’m doing bicep curls and chest press thingees and working my triceps and then I go to do planks and BAM! Right on my face. I had no arms. Nothing in my arms. They were tingling and burning a little – and I felt a little light headed – and it was the BEST feeling (next to an orgasm with Mr. Hitachi Man and ‘you’) that I’ve ever had … EVER. I think it’s happened. I think I’m addicted to the burn.

I told Ms. Nazi the other day that I want so badly to tell her no when she asks me for 10 more lunges while carrying weights across the floor. I so badly want to kick her in the vagina — hard — when she asks me for 10 more seconds while holding the damn plank and I can hardly see because sweat is dripping into my eyeballs and blinding me. I so badly want to tell her to go to hell when she asks me to do step ups on the weight bench while holding 15 pounds close to my chest like am “old friend”. And when she puts me on the stair climber and asks me to walk up backwards to work my ass – I want to kick her in hers. But there is something inside of me – this incredible stubborness that can not say “no”. I say “yes” – and if it doesn’t burn enough I grunt out “2 more!” I have become that gym rat we all love to hate. For years I have been that type of girl who exercised because it was necessary to do in order to enjoy the things I enjoy. But I didn’t like it one bit. I liked the results – but not the process. I swear – no matter how much I complain about the nazi, no matter how much I may hate Scott Baio tomorrow when I try to lift my arms to brush my teeth, no matter how badly I think muscle heads are kinda a little loopy and in a league of their own – and that people who are so into their bodies really need to spend more time with friends and/a social life…no matter how much I might try to say those types of things – or believe in those things – the truth remains: I am in love with that burning feeling.

Who oh that burning feeling.

I put every bit of anger I had into those weights and treadmill today — and I only partially still want a cigarette. Which is really good because usually cigarettes are the only things that make me feel better when I’m that mad. And that’s another story for another day (the reason why I was mad…) – it’s 1:34AM and I’m way tired. I’m going to drink tons of water – take some Advil and get up so I can … yup… go to the gym. Hopefully I’ll be able to get some energy and then I can come back and talk with some of you. Unless there’s football – in which case I’ll do some studying – then come back later and play with you.

Even “The Burn” is no substitute for you guys! Come on! I’m not cumming on the treadmill or the weight machines. The gym just supplies that after sex shudder – that aftershock. Nothing but sex can deliver the true Earth Shattering Experience of an Orgasm. Well, except for Mr. Hitachi wand. And a really great shoe sale. And getting an A on a final. And realizing I have only one more class with Mr. AssholicalExtraordinaire.

And a nice marble. *if you don’t know – you should ask me!*

but yeah. The burn has nothin’ on you. But it is a rather nice discovery.

It’s official. You are hearing it here first. I am no longer a teen. I turned the big 20 yesterday and sorry for not making a big deal out of it – but I just felt that it was an ending of sorts and definitely not one I wanted to face. I’ll try to explain a bit later in this post, but first I do need to say thank you for the boys who actually did remember my big day with out my typical pomp and circumstance I usually throw around here on my bday and Christmas’. I say that somewhat sarcastically… I just have not been one to announce the big day like that. It isn’t even a chance to test you guys to see if you will remember – I just think that bdays aren’t that big of a deal anymore – and I actually feel funny asking for things on that day, especially in today’s economy and so close to Christmas. I figure I’d prefer a Christmas gift anyway (grin). That’s what my family basically did: waited until Christmas and then made up for there somewhat pathetic bday gifts, always done at the last minute while shopping for the turkey. Not that I’m complaining. Much. So thank you: Tiffy, SBJ, Karl (VERY sweet gift, sweetie!!), Uncle Randy, and those of you who wished me happy Bday on our calls together. **MUAH**

But this year it was really one of those things I did not want to mention on here because I knew that if I announced it, I would have to figure out what I was going to do about the big departure from TEEN wet dream into the world of just wet dreams. I thought for awhile that I would retire once I reached the point where I could no longer call myself a teen. And I’m aware of the fact that there are some characters on Niteflirt who never age, and no one really cares … but just as my braces will eventually come off (less than a year and counting) so must I lose the “teen” in my name. How will it sound when someone calls me up and asks me how old I am, and I say “twenty.”? *click* I figured that retirement was as good an option as any. I wasn’t going to go suddenly. I would have had a party. Balloons, ice cream cake, a big candle in the shape of a penis. You know the kind. *wink* But yeah, I figured turning twenty was a sign to hang up my phone and headset and go into retirement.

I’m not going to retire. Come on. I’m not even done with school now, and there is a recession going on out there — and retail is not having a great time. Retail is what I’m best suited for, being a ‘young adult’ and all. So I’m going to sit still for a bit longer. I may change over to a different domain, but more than likely that will happen once my braces come off and I’ll turn into a young adult and leave the teen thing behind me. Even Peter Pan had to face growing up , you know.

So school is going. I got a perfect score on my Geography Map Quiz by the way. Ask me where the Canary Islands are. Go ahead, ask me! Geography is about to hit an intense level. We’re learning all about currents and wind patterns and other stuff I can’t even repeat…that’s how lost I am. But as lost as I am, I’m still getting a solid B+ in that class. After our field trip this weekend, I’m sure I’m getting an A+. We went to see the butterfly um .. what is it called? Farm? Reserve? and it was by far the prettiest thing I had ever seen. Then we went and looked at wave patterns on the beach. I’m not lying. We looked at wave patterns and then we also picked up rocks and tried to figure out what caused what topography. I kept on looking around this certain bend after hearing that that is where Santa Barbara University was. Can you imagine going to school on the damn beach? Come ON! Is it possible to get any work done at all? I saw quite a few students out tanning and surfing that day and also quite a few walking through the forests where the Butterflies hung in their little pods from the Eucalyptus trees. I have to go back there with Jackson. He’d freak out over the waves, but he’d really dig the Monarch butterflies, and the hike would wear his ass out big time!

English is a joke. I had mentioned once that I loved my teacher, but that love has quickly turned into a hate I can’t even express. I’m going to mention something in here now knowing that my readers will be sensitive and not ask me to do some sort of warped fantasy. I can do a fantasy about any other kinky freaky professor except for this guy – because it’s just too real to the truth. This is what happened. I wrote a paper about milk and how it’s not a good thing to drink. It’s an argumentative paper, I’m not going to get into it because I’m bored with it already. It’s a good paper but … yeah. Anyway – so I’m talking about milk and the milk commercials and I mention that it’s kind of sexual in nature, the whole milk above the lip thing and sexy models in these tank tops and fit bodies drinking it and blah blah blah. I don’t mean anything other than “sexual” in a very LOOSE term. Why the fuck did my teacher write on my paper “some people call it cum shots?” ???!!! Why???!!! Can anyone tell me in what world is that appropriate? I’m so not even lying. Not only did he write this on my paper, but then he announced it in my class that he wrote it on my paper too. While I was busy trying to figure out why the fuck he felt he could write something on my paper like that (to my knowledge he is not a caller!) I started to feel the eyes of every fuckin male student in my class looking at me wondering what it is that I knew that made the teacher write something like that on my paper. Seriously, I could feel them assessing me – checking me out in a very uncomfortable fashion. There are fantasies and then there are realities, and this, my friends, is a most creepy and gross reality. Before that gross comment my teacher has had other stupid things to say, too. About the Holocaust: “Get over it – lots of people have suffered.” About Koreans, “I didn’t know my son was mine … he ate so much rice I thought my wife had an affair with the postman … he’s Korean.” About Black people, “I told my friend once – hey – at least I can change color!” you get the picture. I was getting a C+ in my English class after I got straight B’s on my papers and Essay – but then I missed handing in a paper and got a C+. I handed in my paper last week though and I got a A- on it, but got counted down to a B+ due to it being late. Hey – I’ll fuckin take it. But I won’t take comments of cum shots on my paper. I still feel dirty – and I have done/talked about far more dirtier things in my life, trust me. Just somethin’ about a comment like that outside of niteflirt makes me way uneasy. Strange, huh?

In order to process all this stress of school and work and life and the uncertainty of our futures – I’ve taken my stress to the gym. I hired a nazi, let’s call her Elsa, and she kicks my ass 2 -3 times a week. I went to see her today and my finger tips hurt. I stepped up and down on a platform holding on to a weight that made me immediately decide against breast implants. My goodness – I practically tipped over holding onto 10 pound wheel of a weight. How ever do you big titty women keep your balance? Elsa says things to me like, “Do you want the easy way to do this next exercise, or are you ready for a challenge?” Damn her. How quickly she learns. All you have to do is put “easy” in front of something and “challenge” in front of the other choice – and you know I will do it. “So CeCe – do you want to deep throat me on your knees which is the easy way? Or do you want the challenge? You’ll be on the bed – on your back – with your head over the edge – and I’ll lower my 10 inches down your throat and you try not to gag. Which way do you want?” Shit! 10 inches of course!!! lol. In all honesty, though, I’m competitive as hell. It’s a good thing most of the time, but often I just set myself up for pain. Which I am experiencing now. But I love it. I absolutely love it. I love lifting weights, and doing girl pull ups, and doing balance work and core work and going 4.2 MPH on the treatmill on a 6.0 incline for 45 minutes. I enjoy sweating like a pig – walking out of the gym past all the muscle dudes, and knowing that I kicked my own ass and that I’m strong and capable and sweaty! It’s a great, great feeling. It’s also a great way to release a whole lot of worry, anger, grief, pain, etc. with out hurting anyone!

There are so many ways that we can deal with discomfort, hurt, stress, anger – and most of these ways that we use to cope will land us in the hospital soon enough. Cigarettes, overeating, stress, tempers, destructive lifestyles, not asking for help (or directions), etc. are just really counter-productive. One of the ladies I met while working at the gym a few years ago was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. I house sat for her – and she was so alive and energetic and … I can not even bear to call her up and talk with her. But I know I need to because she’s not going to be here for long. I promised myself that I would not be one of those x-smokers who nagged people to quit, and I’ve really kept that promise. But today I’m just going to end my long waited for post by saying that there are other ways to relieve stress. You could go look at some monarch butterflies or take a walk on the beach if you live in sunny southern California. You could join a gym – all the money you’d spend on cigs will surely pay for a membership, won’t it? You could also masturbate to a favorite movie or pictures (I will be updating my galleries very soon!!! I mean it this time!!!) or even call me for some release. However you decide to release some stress – I hope that you are able to release some so that you are more able to enjoy this holiday season coming up. You’ve all been such great gifts to me this year and I appreciate each and every one of you. Even calls that weren’t “perfect” or “five star” quality taught me a lot about myself and helped me to grow into the mature 20 year old I am today. Happy Holidays!! May your days and nights be Merry & Bright!

Tuesday: 11:00AM – 3:00PM, MIDNIGHT – 3:00AM – (later if needed)
Wednesday: 12:00PM – 3:00PM, off and on Wednesday evening – Thanksgiving preparations under way.
Thursday: Will try to log in once everyone passes out from the Turkey – but no promises. If I can make it it will be after 7:00PM PST.
Friday: TBA
Saturday: TBA
Sunday: TBA
*Feel free to make an appointment or email me if you need me to be available during a specific time for you. I will do my best to accommodate. *

Update to schedule: 11/26/08 — my late nites and school is catchin up with me! I’m actually going to take a nap. Yeah. A nap. It does a body good! I will be logging in and out intermittently throughout the next few days – but will try to keep you abreast of my comings and goings. How much innuendo can I use in a sentence?

Just a quick note – then back to studying I go (can anyone tell me the way to Maldives Island? Anyone?  Bueller?).   I completely realize I have treated you like red-headed step children for the past 3 months now.  My posts are pretty non existent, my updates are a joke and my scheduling promises read pretty much like the campaign promises of future/past/present leaders.  Because of this great track record I can’t even say "I’ll do better" with out sounding a bit like some babby daddy on the Maury Povich show (yeah – I watch, and?). 

But I promise I will do better. 

This is what we’re looking at for today’s schedule:

1. Geography Test soon – and studying and shower.  Not necessarily in that order – or I’d be pretty much one failing stinky student.
2. Work out at the gym tonight for 45 minutes (brisk walk while listening to some pretty happy energetic music on my Ipod and reading cspan on the televisions.
3. Limp to my car, drive home, log in and work on various projects I have going all at once in true A.D.D. fashion.
4. Consider blogging on these topics of interest while logging in to take calls around 11:00PM (perhaps sooner – but you know how Tuesdays are for me…):

   My Bday

    My C In English
    My Schedule for the rest of the week
    The Nazi at the Gym
    Retirement

5. Take Shower – floss – waterpick – french braid hair – say my prayers – and go to bed.

So … that is my plan. I need to go now so I can do the first thing on my list… studying.  So far I figured out my countries (just ask me where Myanmar is… go ahead – I’ll show you on my handy dandy map, I will!) but I have islands left to do and about an hour in which to do them.  Wish me luck … we’re heading towards the finish line and I’m running neck in neck with a Kenyan (Did you know, Obama, I ask him, trying to distract him.  He puts his fist in the air, I raise it in solitude – lose my pace, stumble, and fall even further behind.  Sneaky bastard, I think to myself, wondering where Kenya is in comparison to Sudan which is ON my map test, today…)

Talk to you soon.

Ok all my loyal wet dreamers Hey – gotta use that somehow … that’s pretty catchy, right?

anyhowwww – this is CeCe signing in for the evening. Except I’m not actually signing in. I’m going to go take a shower having walked a few miles, went to the gym AND had dinner with a great friend. I’m somewhat sore – sweaty – and a little in need of some tender lovin care. Hopefully all the great sweet gentle men with nice strong hands will be around to give my body the tender lovin care it deserves. *grin*

I’ll be fine, sweeties! No massage needed – just a little bit of forgiveness for making you wait another 45 minutes for my arrival. I will be here all ready for you at 10:45. That leaves me a little under 42 minutes – so I best be running/limping to the shower.

Talk soon.

Her last name had cock in it. But somehow her name escaped the taunts of highschool children. It was as though she was protected with a fine layer of repellent that nothing evil could penetrate. Everyone loved her. I was no exception.

She taught a bunch of subjects in our tiny little school (English, Voice, Psychology) and had gone to a college that only the finest teachers had attended. It was a well-known Minnesota college – Lutheran and liberal arts. My father had attended that same college – and his siblings – and virtually everyone in the little town of less than 1000 people. The fact that she had gone there just made the college (not her) that much more revered. At least in my 13-year-old mind.

I sought to be involved in everything she was involved in and that included an after school activity I didn’t even know if I was good at. I ended up winning two state titles. My name and picture were in the little town’s paper – and that was a big deal. I use to save all the clippings but have since lost track of them.

She had the neatest writing I have ever seen. When she wrote on the whiteboard it was as though she were drawing flowers and stems and leaves instead of words like Freud and Cognitive and Self Actualization. I would sit in her room during lunch period while the other children consumed heavy amounts of cheese the consistency of paste and pasta the texture of rubber. She would grade papers and I would pretend to read. I would look up from my desk and just stare at her frosted blonde hair and her blue blue eyes and love her. I simply worshiped the ground she walked on.

She was my very first friend. My best friend. And when I later moved, she wrote long letters to me in her flower cursive. I would read the letters over and over and over again and I would rub my fingers over the part that said she loved me as though the words themselves were made out of silk.

It had been awhile since I had had friends as important as she was. Women friends. I sometimes catch glimpses in friendships I’ve developed with men, but they always seem so much more complicated than the one I had with my English teacher. Even though I was in love with her, you see, I never thought of actually fucking her. It wasn’t that I wasn’t attracted to her. It was just that our relationship was so much deeper than a physical relationship. I wanted to crawl up inside of her and just stay there forever – I didn’t want to actually kiss her or have some physical relationship with her or anything. I wanted to be near her. And I envied her children because they got to be tucked into bed each night by her – and kissed awake by her in the morning. I would often wonder if they knew how lucky they were.

I quit the gym the other day. I just couldn’t take it anymore and it was clear to me that they just had other ideas about me – and how to run the place that didn’t go along with what I thought. It’s a rather long, complicated story that right about now (at 3:14AM in the morning) doesn’t seem to matter that much. But I went back to the gym this afternoon so that they could kiss my little ass. Afterwards I worked out a bit – and talked to the ladies there, reassuring them that I would know if they were working out and to not use my leaving as an excuse to get all out of shape and weak again. Little ladies just grabbed me and held onto me and squeezed my cheeks and told me how wonderful I was. Other women slipped me their business cards and told me to call them if I needed anything. Other women called me and asked me how I was and if they (the management) had mistreated me. Still others called me up and invited me to bar-be-ques that would be held in my honor. I received letters and note cards and little gift certificates from women who just wanted to tell me how lovely I was and how much I had helped them while I was there. They urged me to keep in touch with them and to let them know if I was going to be in the area and we “could do lunch” and just “catch up.”

So I have this fascination with girls. And women. I like looking at them – but they have to be a certain type. I don’t think anything turns me on more than self confidence, tenderness and . . . brilliance. I don’t entertain fantasies of fucking women. I know that people find that hard to believe – or I should say – I know that men find that hard to believe – but there it is. I don’t. I don’t get off on watching women fuck each other, either. I’ll watch – but I can’t ever sit there and masturbate – I just watch like I watch Hell’s Kitchen. It’s entertaining and a bit mystifying, really. But I could totally have a relationship with a girl. I would even sleep with a girl IF there was some sort of spiritual bond or something. It wouldn’t be about sex – but more like wanting to climb inside of her soul – and realizing that maybe if I placed my tongue on the most intimate of her parts I just might get there quicker.

I don’t know what made me write this entry. Well, maybe it is because I know that by not working at the gym and working with the women I was working with I’m giving up quite a bit. There was a sort of . . . community that was so drama free it was scary. We had stuff that went on due to management stuff and an occasional tiff or whatever – but overall – we would just bond together. Talk about our lives – children – school – boyfriends – husbands – recipes -politics – the latest movie and the last book we read. I’m going to miss that tremendously. And even though I plan on working out there and joining another gym with a few other women – it still just feels slightly different and I’m a bit scared that I’ll lose that part of me that felt confident and competent and able to stand tall among other women. I’m afraid I’ll start thinking like so many other women I see – who doubt that that type of honest, true, and just really tender relationship can exist.