It’s not that I don’t have a lot to write about. I write constantly, sometimes I even get out my computer and type it into my pages or word documents. Most of the writing I do every day is in my head. Which doesn’t do any one any bit of good. But there it is.

I’ve tried to “trick” myself into writing things. Giving myself little challenges which sometimes energizes me sufficiently but by day 10 I’m back to my old tricks. Abandonment. Boredom. Laziness. The Blahs. You know it’s bad when you can no longer trick yourself. Or at least, I know it’s bad then. Really bad. I can mostly fool myself most of the time. Just part of my genius.

This might be another one of those tricks. I’m not going to think about it much because if I discover it’s yet another plan to get me to write more, I’ll rebel, as most teenagers do, and I’ll stop writing again. So I’ll begin (again, Finnegan).

The first thing you should know about meis I have a fear–a horrible fear–of Kangaroos. I’m aware that there are a few of you who already know this fact, and maybe I even wrote about it in the “about me” section of this mostly abandoned blog. But this is the news at 11 story. The feature segment that you stayed up for. I kid. Mostly.

My fear of Kangaroos happened when I was probably about 4 years old. I think that’s when I first saw the picture of the gigantic bunny rabbit. My brothers would often torture me. Mostly kids stuff until you grow up and find out that they emotionally scarred you. My oldest brother have this box of boy stuff. Not THAT kind of boy stuff, that boy stuff he kept under his mattress. And yes. I checked. That’s a whole different thing to know about me. Let’s stay on track, shall we?

So in this box there were a multitude of things. Bee-bees for his gun (mmhm… I said gun), marbles (remind me about those sometimes), letters from his girlfriend (remind me about THOSE sometime, too!) and these really strange photos. One of them was this old postcard of my father’s. It was all yellowed and sinister looking. On the front of this postcard was this picture of a little man and a huge – I mean HUGE rabbit. the rabbit was taller than the grown man, and the man looked tall, too. Over 6 feet tall, my brother told me. Which would make this rabbit about 20 feet tall by my accurate as usual mathematic calculations. It freaked me out. It freaked me out so bad that I can’t even go on line and find you a picture of the thing that I saw. I know it’s out there because the internet has every picture of everything you could imagine (remind me to tell you about that sometime, too!)

My parents have since told me a multitude of times (probably close to 100) that this thing does not exist. But they also told me that spiders do not travel in groups and I’ve spotted several spiders hanging out together on my ceiling.
In my head I connect kangaroos with that huge rabbit creature I saw when I was a child. They are huge (taller than a man!) and they hop. Therefore I hate Kangaroos. I fear them. If I see them in a zoo I’m leaving the zoo. If I see pictures of them I start to whimper a little bit. If I see one suddenly on television, I want to cry and I leave the room. If Kangaroos suddenly became popular in the state of California, I would move and leave my fingernail polish here because I couldn’t get out of this state fast enough.

I don’t care if there are cute kangaroos. I don’t care if you show me a stuffed one. I don’t want it. And you and I will never be friends again. People can do a lot to me and I will forgive them. But giving me a picture of a kangaroo is one thing I will never forgive. I’m not kidding. I’m not even going to talk about the whole pocket thing and having a joey in there. That is just plain creepy and disgusting.

So there you have it. The first thing you should know about me. There’s more to know. Maybe I’ll write about the next thing sooner than later. Ssssh. Don’t say it.

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.

Today’s topic? Parents. They just don’t understand, yo!

So there are definitely secrets I keep from my parents. The biggest one being (surprise surprise) this job. But I have other little secrets my parents don’t know about. One of them is my obsession with nail polish and cosmetics of all kinds, really. But lately my obsession has stuck on nail polish and the monkey on my back hasn’t let go! So my dad made me a nail polish rack for Christmas. It’s really nice, too. Like really nice. I can’t even explain how nice it is. And he was so proud of it, but told me that I shouldn’t try to fill it up completely, since the rack can hold 200+ nail polishes. And I just kind of laughed. Nervously. And while I was breaking out into a sweat, I was trying to figure out a way I could ask my father to make 4 more of those racks for my entire collection.

Yeah. I said it.

And the really crappy thing about it is: the new collections have started to come out, and I already purged a lot of my polishes out. I got rid of tons of my mini nail polishes, and some of my LA colors that I picked up at various Ross’ and Dollar Tree stores. I probably can get rid of some of my Sinful Color nail polishes, because there really isn’t anything unique about a lot of the colors from that collection, and I’m not really married to the idea of picking up any more of them. They tend to release new collections that are basically the same fucking polish they released before, but they just add another name to it. I don’t like that. So … the more I think of it, the more I probably will just get rid of those. I’ll peak at them tomorrow and see if I start to cry at the thought of saying goodbye to them or not.

Where was I?

yeah – so my father has no idea. And he was talking about possibly selling these racks to suppliers and collectors. Cuz it’s an awesome rack (why do I feel like a guy describing some chick’s tits every time I say “rack”?). But he probably will sell it for $200. And I told him that was too much. He needs to make a cheaper one. And he told me that anyone who spends 5 bucks on a bottle of polish can afford to spend $200 bucks on a cool rack to show their collection off. I wanted to tell him I’d prefer to go to target and buy a plastic container, shove my polishes in there, and take the other 190 bucks and buy fingernail polish! But he wouldn’t understand. And he’d probably commit me.

That’s the only thing on my mind, currently. How my father will one day see what his daughter spends her money on and wonder where he went wrong. And I’ll tell him I’m sorry I disappointed him and didn’t become a missionary in Africa like he wanted. But things could always be worse. I could be spending all my money on drugs. Or shoes.

S.N. has heard all about this already and has given me some stellar advice. Which I might take eventually. Especially since my way of dealing with it went so well (end sarcasm). Basically what happened is that my Professor told me that I was brilliant and that a piece of my writing was the best piece of writing she had read in the 10 years of teaching. And then she said a whole bunch of other stuff – basically about my talent and that she hoped I was planning on being a poet/writer and blah blah blah. And then she assigned a poem. And it’s due on Thursday. And I haven’t written anything. Because I suck. Everything I write is coming out like the biggest lump of trite, sappy, cliche bullshit ever written. She said she’d take a look at whatever I had written today and yeah – I don’t have anything to show her. And what I could show her would really make me die of embarrassment. And instead of writing my way out of this block I just keep pissing and moaning about being called brilliant. Which is really all I ever wanted. Imagine wanting to do something so bad and only needing a word from someone whose opinion you value (is that who’s or whose? I fricken can never remember that rule for some reason. I think it’s whose, right? Cuz it’s not who is opinion – it’s whose….let me dictionary.com it.. yep – WHOSE). So you finally get that “yup – this is what you should do” word from a person who knows what the fuck she’s talking about … you – or I – should be relieved, right? Which basically brings me to the conclusion I’ve known for a long time: you really can’t satisfy me. I am unsatisfiable. insatiable. hard to please.

Ok – enough of that.

I’ll get over it. Pressure has always made me shine like a diamond – UGH – enough of the horrible cliched madness, CeCe!

In other news – I approached a guy in my writing class and practically begged him to let me be in his group. He told me that I was at the top of his list. That makes me happy because no one wants to throw themselves on someone who doesn’t want to be bothered and also – so incredibly happy that I’m on the top of someone’s list, too. Shit – I must have blown away some people during our first reading, huh? Sure wish I knew what the hell I wrote that was so impressive…

I actually have a funny story about every class I’m taking. But I have to save something for another day. Let me just say for now that my Poetry class is seriously hilarious to me. There is one girl in my class that will make her way into my novel as the obnoxious typical poet/writer wanna be girl. I just want to be careful because she just might surprise us all with an awesome poem on Thursday while my muddled mess will sound something like a beat up recycled Anne Sexton poem that will make everyone else want to slit their wrists.

More Later.

P.S. Sending out the minutes for missed calls this past week (or two) now. Also for feedback and generally putting up with my whining ass.

But I wanted to update everyone on the goings on of CeCe. I’m going to let you all in on a secret – but I am not looking for sympathy. Really. It’s just a heads up type of thing.

First week of classes kicked my ass. Turns out taking 5 classes (mostly literature) is pretty dang difficult. But REALLY fun. I mean REALLY fun. I’m having a wonderful time. Most of my classes are flowing into the other and I feel like I’m finally getting the whole college experience. There’s been several moments where I have been seriously ELATED to be learning. And I read some really incredible text – that was really difficult to read on a whole comprehension level, you know? And I aced my first quiz and could have written an A paper on everything I had read. I just “got” it. It all started to make sense. All the history and literature classes and PHILOSOPHY classes and Political Science classes – all those classes finally met at one point this semester and it’s like the planets all aligned. I don’t know if I’m making sense but it’s a great feeling to be able to use all this learnin’.

The result is – I’m still trying to figure out where study time goes and where play time goes. I figure it might be another week before I can put up a schedule. I know I haven’t had an up to date one since I was 18 (she says tongue in cheek).

This is what I’m going to do in the meantime: I’m going to log in when I get a chance. I don’t know how long I will last – but I will be sending you free minutes if I miss a call. and don’t go fibbing because I get a report of who calls and who doesn’t answer! So please don’t hesitate to call if you see me on. If I don’t answer I’m probably drooling on my pillow, in class and forgot to turn off my phone line, grabbing a quick bite to eat or something like that. Again – if I miss your call I WILL send you a couple of minutes for next time as an incentive to try me again the next time I’m on.

I got to lay down for a bit. This up at 7 and to bed at 2:00AM is beginning to take a toll on my eyes! But tomorrow today is my last day before the weekend so it’s going to be PARTY PLAY TIME at CeCe’s for sure, though!

Hope to talk/play soon!

So yeah- I own a lot of porn. Actually I don’t own a LOT anymore because you can get it for free with out subjecting your computer to serious venereal diseases/trojans and the like. No membership fees, no discs to hide in your documentary DVD cases in an obvious attempt to disguise them. Yeah – I know all about that. I’ve babysat before and all babysitters snoop. And eat all your good food in your pantry. And let your kids stay up way past their bedtime and eat tons of sugar and pizza. What? I had to get job security somehow!

I’ve seen my porn tastes develop and bloom over the last few years. At first it was enough to look at a picture, or even read a story. But now I like the actual sounds and the action. And before I enjoyed a great babysitting movie just like the next …uh…girl. But now I have an insatiable crush on Dirty Harry. And there are other things that I’ve developed a liking for, too. But they are private and I’d like to know who I’m confessing to. Although I do have a “going-to-go-to-hell-for-this” fantasy including confessionals, too, come to think of it.

The other day I was speaking to a new caller named Chris. We’ve talked a couple of times and I’m JUST getting to know him a bit better. He’s a gentleman — the rare new caller who asks me what types of things I like so we can both have a great time. It’s not a requirement — I definitely get pleasure when hearing you guys pleased. But it’s nice to have someone genuinely care about your orgasm and get paid for it. So we’re having some pillow talk and I mention my porn collection. I know that when you die things really won’t matter. I mean, you’re dead. But I’ve seen Ghost several times. And I believe there will be some Whoopi Goldberg that will be hired by some person in my life to contact my spirit that is just hanging around and thanks to that bitch I’ll have to sit around while my family members discover my huge collection of porn, vibrators, and .. yeah – compromising pictures of me and text and audio, etc. Not to freak anyone else out, but I think about shit like that all the time. Well, not all the time – but often enough that I sometimes lose a little bit of sleep over it. I think about it enough to have recently taken a close look at my diet and exercise regimen. I gotta stay alive as long as possible. At least to outlive my parents.

Well, Chris understood what I was talking about. And he mentioned that I need a porn buddy. I think that was the term he used. Not someone who sits around and masturbates over porn with you, but a buddy who will clean up your … um … messes when you die. Someone you can entrust your computer to when you’re gone. They can come in and manually douche out your cache and files and – take your hard drive and bury it with you or something – I don’t know. I suppose you can specify exactly what your porn buddy’s duties will be. This of course should be done prior to your untimely death. It all makes perfect sense! What a perfect answer to a most terrifying question that has been hanging over my little head for years!

I just wanted to share this with my callers in case they hadn’t thought about this option. And, because we’re all in this together, I wanted to offer my services, free of charge, really, to be your porn buddy. You can bequeath me all of your hard drives with all of your various porn and I will keep it nice and safe for you – far away from suspecting friends and family and your reputation will remain untarnished. I will destroy all toys, dresses, lingerie, wigs, etc. I will destroy all real dolls, pocket pussies and fleshlights. I will be your clean up woman, baby, ensuring that you will really rest in peace. Now who will be mine?

I have lots of things to do before I “sleep” though – so enough about all this morbid death talk. Although one should always be prepared for events that are unplanned, right? If you need help with any of it, or care to confess about why you would even need a porn buddy – give me a call.
You’ll be glad you did!

This is really just a quick little post in between things – I’m about to go to a meeting and before that I need to shower and change. My friend and I (who lives next door) have been increasing our exercise quite a bit. I want to walk a half marathon this winter and I’m trying to get prepared for that. We’re up to five miles right now so we have quite a bit of work to do! On the days we’re not training for our marathon we’re biking. I’m finally putting my pink bike to work – and with out the basket for Jackson. He has to wait until I’m finished with my ride before he gets one! We biked for 10 miles the other day and at first I was kind of laughing at how easy it was. But I ride a bike with no gears (it’s a pink cruiser) and there were quite a bit of hills along the way. I got home and I walked like I had been fucking all morning. Use your imagination to give you whatever visual works for you! My thighs are still a little sore today.

So I’ll be logging in after my meeting – probably will log in around 8:00PM – 8:30 at the latest. After my bike ride tomorrow I’ll be hanging out so I hope to speak with some of you then. I’m off and biking/walking by 7:00AM PST these days so I know I’ve missed quite few of my morning guys. I’ll try to make it up to you on the weekend!

Hope your summer is ending on a great note. Stay cool (or dry!) and try to stay out of trouble unless I’m on the phone!

Come dream with me … you’ll be glad you did!

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.
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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 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.

So – I started school since the last post (I think. I mean I think I hadn’t posted since I started school, not I think I started school…). School is, once again, kicking my ass. But the good part about it is that, for the most part, I’m enjoying the ass kicking it provides. My sleep pattern is all messed up (um – it’s 4:00AM currently!) and I have homework up the arse, but I’m enjoying my classes (most of them) and enjoying my teachers even more. I’m taking an Anthropology lab, Algebra, and English Literature II. Thankfully I have tutors for Anthropology AND Algebra (Karl and Doc B.) so I just might pass those two subjects (haha!). Actually, let me stop pretending to be the typical “dumb blonde” and fess up. I’m smart. I’m not always LOGICAL, but I can apply myself to subjects I don’t excel in if I put in the time and effort, it’s easy for me to express myself so I do well in the humanities I also do well in English classes, I know how to apply my stubbornness and make it work for me, and I can charm the socks off of any professor if need be. I’m also learning to finally apply myself to things from the beginning instead of petering out towards the end when things get tedious and a bit boring. Sound familiar? I’m not always good at gauging how long a task will take, and so I’m often times overwhelmed by the amount of homework or reading I need to do, but I’m getting better at managing my time. Sometimes you just don’t have time to do EVERYTHING in your life, but I’m learning to make decisions I can live with. Like I said, I’m pretty smart. I get it.

So like I was saying before I side tracked myself, I started school. And with school comes schedule changes and messed up sleeping patterns, and later hours, and multi-tasking, and shortened patience and fuses, oh my. I can’t do it all so I’m not going to try. But I AM going to have a good year. I’m going to get A’s in all of my classes (yeah, even Algebra) and I’m going to enjoy my free time when I get it. So, give me a little bit of time (a week or so) to work out how everything is going to fit together. I need some time to know how many hours I need to complete my homework –especially my reading assignments (my English Lit class is no joke! I already read Huck Finn, 10 Emily D. poems, A Henry James short story, and my all time favorite poet Walt Whitman!, and it’s only the 4th week of classes!). I also totally believe that a social life is crucial for — well anyone with a pulse! All work and no play makes for a very dull and scripted phone sex girl. If I don’t go to the mall how else will you get the pleasure of hearing about my make up hauls? If I don’t ever go the DMV – how would you ever be blessed with my fantasies I create while waiting among California’s finest (ahah!). If I never go to a sing-a-long, how will you ever have the pleasure of hearing me sing Lonely Goatherd? All these things contribute to not only my sanity but your entertainment. Imagine how dull and boring I’d be if I never stepped out of the house or associated with the rest of the world? Yeah, I know, sex slave tied up in the basement sounds strangely erotic to me, too. But it can’t be. Yet. In a few weeks this schedule should be clearer to me and I’ll set times that you can definitely find me. For now – here’s the tentative schedule for the rest of the week. As always, if you happen to find me not on during these times, send me a message. There’s something in it for you if you do!

Wednesday: Noon-3:00PM. 10/10:30PM – 1:00AM (or so).
Thursday: 9PM-2/3:00AM (Earlier Evening Hours Available by request)
Friday: TBA. Will log in during the morning, and will log in during the evening hours as well. If you’d like to set up a specific appt, please email me and I’ll make arrangements to be on at a specific time for you.
Saturday: OFF Looks like I will be unavailable for all of Saturday. It’s possible that I’ll have a few hours in the later part of the morning (10:30AM/11:00AM – 2:00PM) but I’ll probably only be able to log in late Saturday night/early Sunday Morning…
Sunday: 1:00PM-10:00PM.

I have a busy weekend ahead of me and it looks like Saturday will more than likely be a day I take off completely. If you want to catch me this weekend you should aim for Sunday afternoon or Friday evening/early Saturday Morning.

Ok – this “quick update” ended up being a regular blog post. It’s 4:41AM and I should try to get a few minutes of sleep before I get up again and get ready for the school day. I am logged in now for some sleepy morning sex, but you better hurry while I’m still sort of coherent. Sleepy sex in person is pretty hot, but sleepy sex over the phone might be more of a study on dreams and sleep talking than getting any sort of sexual relief. Just sayin’.