Aren’t you dying to know what it is? I’ll tell you after 40 successful days. In a row. It could potentially take awhile! But feel free to guess…

So, I went to get tires today. I had to get 2. Which I resent. Why does everything have to be done in twos? Why can’t 1 single solitary thing be balanced. And no, this isn’t going to be a rant on being single and resenting the world for forcing me into a relationship simply to maintain balance in the universe, it’s merely an observation. I wanted to spend money on 1 tire. But I was forced into buying 2. And… AND… I had called earlier to get a quote and was told 66 for a tire, but when I got there, the tire was 77 or 78 dollars instead. One more thing. One single solitary thing in addition to the tire increase (done slyly by an old man who reminded me of my grandfather, so I could hardly give him much attitude), when I got back into my car, my foot rest was just lying on the driver side of the floor. Just chilling there. Like “hello…where do I belong?” I seriously was “what the fuck!?” So I went back to the service desk and asked them to put my fucking car back together again. Who does that? Which really brings me to my main point of this post, I think. While I might have failed in the beginning of my 40 day challenge, I am back on track and not so far away from my ultimate goal of C-O-N-T-R-O-L and world domination, TOYOTA seriously has failed me. If Toyota was a caller, I’d block him. If Toyota was a boyfriend, I’d break up with him. If Toyota were an insect, it would be a termite. Or leach. Or silverfish thing that eats books, and I’d squish it.

I know people whose cars are 10 years older than mine, and they look fairly decent. California cars. Because some of ya all in the winter states can’t compete with cars out here. We don’t have the salt on the roads, and our cars don’t get cancer (rust), for the most part. So, I’m clarifying. Cars in California that are 12 years old look better than my almost brand new Toyota. Their paint has not bubbled and then just flaked off, even though their cars are sitting in the fricken 102 degree heat 3 months out of the year just like mine. The inside of their cars don’t just suddenly fall apart. They don’t drive a long and hear various rattles and other annoying signs of wear and tear. I have an older cousin who has a Honda and that car is almost as old as I am (I’m not lying) and the engine has worn out before the steering wheel cover, the rubber around the windows, the paint, or the little doo-dads in the car like window roller upper thingee and glove compartment handles or f’n foot rest, for Christ sake. Toyota, I HATE YOU and you have a small, insignificant dick.

I once use to think that having a Toyota or a Honda was basically the same thing. But now I realize my horrible mistake and it’s too late to break up with it because I’ve put too much into our relationship already. I didn’t wash my car for the past few months because I didn’t even care how it looked. I was just embarrassed to be seen around town with him, so I didn’t even bother dressing cute, or buying cologne for him during Christmas. I just let him sit around in my family’s driveway, and ignored him, like that older cousin that smokes way too much pot and always says stuff about my tits during dinner. Doesn’t every family have a cousin like that? But okay, today I caved. I have to be able to be mobile, so I sucked it up and bought 2, not 1, but 2 tires. I fucking spent 20 bucks more on the tires, and then even decided to wash the piece of shit, while avoiding the cancerous tumor on the top of my car that will soon start spreading like a venereal disease, I’m sure. While I washed my former boyfriend, I noticed a small patch on the hood that will soon start to fade away and rust, too. An age spot, if you will. Except my car is still in fucking grade school and its balls haven’t even dropped yet. Wait. I’m mixing too many metaphors, huh? Whatever.

So, to end my daily rant:

Dear Toyota,
FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. Big Gigantic Can’t Even Flush You Down The Toilet FAIL. I hate you. I don’t care who knows it. I’ve started a HONDA fund right next to my APARTMENT fund, and when I have enough money we’re done. I’m not even going to have break up sex with you. In the meantime, please sleep on the couch.
Love, CeCe

So I just announced on twitter that I’ll be doing something for 40 days straight. I already want to quit and I haven’t even lasted a day yet. Don’t ask me why 40 came to mind, it just sounded like a nice number. We’ll see how it goes, but I’ll probably do 40 more after a little bit of a break. You all can feel free to guess what I might be doing for 40 days straight. Masturbating? Math? Mayhem? Abstinence? Aerobics? Anal? Had to throw some sexual things in there to keep your interest.

I’m not sure if this is the time or place to mention this, but … (I pretty much know it’s not the right time, but I lost track of my censor 4 hours ago when I should have been asleep. In its place is this now grouchy no filter bitch. My apologies. Before I go there though – Merry Christmas! How were your Holidays?)

My callers have spoiled me. I’ve been on line now for … a few weeks (I AM only 18, you know!) and in that time I’ve acquired some pretty special callers. Namely 2. Ok, 3. And those 3 callers have spoiled me rotten. They usually ask me how I am doing. They always introduce themselves to me, even though I know their voices by heart, they know my secret kinks and collect them in little journals under their pillows, eager to expose me should our relationship take a turn for the worst. I kid. But they do know my secrets. They always say hello – and most of the time say goodbye (some of us have an understanding, unspoken, that should they get cut off during the happy ending, they don’t need to add time to say goodbye. Come on, that would just be silly!). Some of my newer callers lately have found themselves on the other side of my block button. And I NEVER block. But if you happen to be reading this, and you can’t get through to your favorite teen anymore (and really, if you’re reading this, you haven’t been blocked. You know how that goes; the people that need to hear things don’t, and the ones who don’t need to hear all of this will call me, worried that I’m upset with them when they are the “3″ I spoke of earlier. Ok, it’s more like 20. 20 regulars), then more than likely you’ve done one of the following, or in many cases, a combination of 2-3 of these things:

1. Hung up on me after 2 minutes – leaving me to wonder, “Was it something I said?”
2. Called and demanded, quite rudely, that I moan for you, with no “lead up” or introduction. While I realize I work for a service, and you are a customer, you would never walk into a classy restaurant, seat yourself, pat your belly and order the waitperson to give you “some food” with out specifying what you’d like. Ok, maybe you might, but then you might also enjoy people spitting in your food, as I’m sure they would if you ever did something like that in a restaurant
3. Called and said nothing, or whispered so low I couldn’t understand a word you were saying

Now, so this post isn’t totally negative and bitchy, let me explain a few things that will make our calls pleasant for both of us, keeping you off my blocked list.

1. Introduce yourself. Contrary to popular belief, I can not see who is calling me. Your user name does not come up on the screen, so I really don’t know who you are, unless you call frequently – and even then, sometimes it takes me a minute to register who you are. I know. Unforgivable and ego-deflating. By introducing yourself to me, however, I usually can figure out what you like and immediately go into the role play, eliminating potentially awkward moments when you try to tell me how pink ruffled panties draped over your face while watching Happy Days turns you on. Or whatever.
2. Note I said usually. Sometimes I don’t remember callers from week to week. I get a lot of calls, and sometimes just hearing a name doesn’t register with me what kinds of calls we do together. If you’re a regular of mine, then I usually know you and your fantasies right away, but if you’re fairly new to me and we only speak sporadically, then please forgive me when I ask you what we talked about last time.
3. If you keep in mind a few favorite fantasies of mine, that would be going above and beyond the call of duty. But if you want a really great call with me, just mention a babysitter movie you’ve seen lately, or ask me if I’ve gone to confession. ESPECIALLY if you want me to moan or if you want me to be horny. Just hearing the phone ring doesn’t do it for me (I know, I know. So disappointing!). I don’t typically sit around and watch dirty movies and play with myself. When I do, you all are asleep. Trust me. (I just watched a really hot movie 30 minutes ago and none of you called and asked me if I was horny!)
4. I am well known for my realistic fantasies and role plays. So, please feel free to send me an email and let me know ahead of time what you’re looking for and if I’ll indulge you in the fantasy. Anything really does go. Most of the time. Even if there’s something that I won’t do, I will never make you feel horrible for suggesting it. Ask around (okay – you can’t ask…just read my feedback!) I’m pretty open minded and I have a few nasty things running amuck in my head, too. I will never judge you. There just might be some things I seriously can’t get excited about. I’ve only ran across ONE call in the past …um … 3 months I’ve been working as a phone sex operator (haha!) that I’ve had to decline. If you email me and call me to let me know to read the email before you call back, I’ll totally comp you that 1 minute it took to tell me to read my email.

I think that just about covers it.

I’m still not sleepy.

I hope this didn’t come across as bitchy/whiny/or complaining too much. I’ve just noticed myself getting a bit grumpy lately, and thought it might be wise for me to get this off of my 34B chest. Before things got ugly.
I’ll write a properly nice post later. I know you don’t believe me, since it’s been months since my last post. So, won’t you be surprised when there actually is another post and I’m more pleasant?

I’m up until I fall asleep. If you call and I see I’ve missed your call (there are ways to tell, you know. Niteflirt totally documents all my missed calls!), then I will comp you a few minutes for your trouble. I did something similar for a while last year as encouragement for you all to call. I realize it can be quite disappointing when your cock is in your hand and your favorite teen with braces isn’t picking up her damn phone. What a rude, insolent girl!

Talk soon my cuppy cake yum yum apples of my eye!

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.

So this title came to me quite a few weeks ago and I didn’t get the chance to write about it.  But when another incident happened to remind me of that song, I knew that me writing a post called "Don’t Go Changin’" was inevitable. 

We all have taken… wait… let me rephrase that.

Most of us have painstakingly thought about our screen names.  Now that I’m 20 years old I realize I should have taken a little bit more care in choosing my name.  We all make mistakes.  But honestly — I know that most of you have screen names on NF that really MEAN something to you.  Sometimes you’re delighted when a flirt asks you about your name because your name is from a book you love, or a movie character you look up to, or the name of the street where you parked to get your first blow job from that chick you had a crush on or whatever.  The point is – names are special for the majority of you and I completely understand. Hell,  I completely agree.  A name is everything.  I have one "client"/friend/lovah who has my name as part of his screen name.  That is pretty much because, as I explained to him, he’s smart enough to make another name for himself should he ever wish to speak to someone else (LOL!).  It happened a very long time ago and it’s really way beyond even the confines of NF so I can’t even really discuss it that much because I start getting embarrassed and fidget and talk too much.  Let’s just say that it’s a one time deal and I have, since then, separated myself from the practice of informing anyone or suggesting that anyone be CeCe’s ANYTHING.  It’s just a bit too much attention for me, and as much as I am all out there and bold like floats during GAY PRIDE in West Hollywood, I am really actually very shy when it comes to affections.  So – don’t go changin’ – to try to please me.  I love your name just the way it…are.

The other day I was glancing through my customers when I see my name attached to a person’s name.  I recognized this person’s name from an order he had placed with me.  Nice fellow.  I rather liked him.  I don’t think ill of him and I wish him well (wink).  He had found someone on NF that … floated his boat, let’s say, and he changed his name to suit his preference which meant that the names on my customer list and feedbacks changed to reflect his newest devotions.  Again – no biggie.  I am not available enough to claim anyone’s loyalty.  And when nature calls us we must answer the call by any means necessary.  I get that.  I am honestly not insulted.  But there is a slight rumor, I think, that is going around the halls of NF that this type of devotion is what some of us ladies love.  A few more of my feelings on using my name as your moniker:

• You can call yourself Tatu, or even Jesus if you’d like.  Just get on the phone and give me a call and have a great time.  You can name yourself MarysJesus if need be – you’re giving me a call and that is what matters to me at that moment. 
• I don’t impress easily.  Tattoo my name on your body and I might be!
• Nothing says devotion like a few dozen roses in her favorite color (I love pink)
• Nothing says devotion like a few gifts off a wish list (I’m thinking that purple Ipod Shuffle needs to be mine).

I believe I’ve made my point.

Earlier today I get an email asking me to break some major rule on NF, and the individual has changed his name to include a part of mine.  As if I’m going to look at that sign of "devotion" and think – hell yeah.  Anything for you, "cece"dude.  It takes seconds to change your name to reflect my name in it, but it takes many days and hours of devotion to earn a place in my heart. It’s far more important to find a place in my heart.    So please.  I beg of you.  Listen to what Billy Joel is saying (WWBJD?) and don’t go changing to try to please me.  I love your name just the way it … are. 

Before I leave you and … pass out, I think.  (looks at time… maybe I can hang for a few more hours….) I need to make a public service announcement in regards to my blog and the comments held with in.  The comments do not in any way reflect the opinions of this chick (points to self).  The comments on my blog (the replies I’m talkin ‘ about) are the individual’s thoughts and as such, I will not be held accountable for anything that anyone says in my blog – and I will not um … how do I say it… ?  If they claim somethin and it turns out to be false… sowwy.  Not my fault either.  (just put it in lawyer speak to make it sound fancier if you’d like).   I say all of this because it has come to my attention that there are people who are afraid to comment in my blog after reading some of the exchanges between readers and myself – or readers and innocent bystanders/commenters.  Many have been bullied by a nazi named Rolf, and  a few have been befriended (Nazis need love, too!).  Some have gotten through the wrath of many of my more adoring ‘fans’, and others have left weeping never to return again.  A few customer’s told me that they would not be commenting in my blog ever — and some of these customer’s are very tough and intelligent people (maybe that’s why they will not comment – ilut!).  One of my customer’s today told me that after reading some of my feedback and comments he realized that he might be jumped into some secret society gang type thing and had a dream that he actually was accosted by one of my submissive fans.  This submissive turned Dom – tied up my new customer, blind folded him, took his wallet and credit card, and proceeded to use his information to pay for his calls to me on NF.  He called me up from his phone, and I laughed at him while being impressed by my submissive turned Dom caller.  My switch customer then later tortured him by showing up at his door in ski masks and the like.  I have to get into it all a little later, but wanted to touch on it today as it relates to my topic.  It does.  The connection is there!   Listen – do not be scared of any thing you read.  I don’t think that any of my callers will hurt you, tie you up and blind fold you, steal your credit cards and use them to pay for their sex calls to me, or anything else.  But just in case, don’t leave your real email address when replying.  And you may want to use an alias.  Just use one with out my name in it because… (sing it with me now!)

I love you just the way you are!

I’m on until 1:00AM or so.  Fading fast though.  Will be back on tomorrow evening — feel free to make an appointment if you need to.

I think if you are reading this blog, you are one of my callers who knows me fairly well. Yeah – we can debate the word “know” and how well do you really know me, etc. etc. but I’m using “know” in a general sense of the word. You may not “know” me in the bibical sense of the word, but you know my little quirks and pet peeves, and you know what gets me off, and what kinds of books I enjoy reading. In the familiar sense of the word “know” you “know” me. What is the one thing I just can not for the life of me tolerate? Besides spiders? (taps fingers against the desk waiting for the right answer…) EXACTLY! I hate SILENCE during phone calls. There are a few exceptions to the rules – and you all know who you are – but for the most part if you are able to have and hold a conversation with me, you best open up your mouth and communicate. It’s not that I think you’re working for me and that I don’t know my place in the phone sex workforce fantasy or anything – I just really need input/feedback/direction so that I know where I’m going and if I’m going in the right direction and if I’m even in the right state! If you let me know what is going on in the beginning of the call – and gently (and quietly if need be) give me a few destinations, I’ll be fine. Honest. I have a really great imagination. I can create things so elaborate that I surprise myself sometimes. I admit that at times I really am horny, too, so I prefer to create fantasies that we both can share and get off on. I just figure it’s better that way. But this weekend I had about 3 callers who really said nothing for the entire length of the call. I literally had to speak to myself for 20 minutes of one call, forcing questions onto the participant (laughing at the word by the way because he wasn’t one!) and going no where quick. I finally just put my head back and moaned for the last 5 minutes praying to the phone sex princess that the call be over. I know this is not the type of thing one wants to read on Monday. I’m probably sinking quickly with my less than popular post on Sarah Palin (Pallin?) and now this one reminding you all of the ills of my “job” – but I had to do it. Because after this I will no longer mention it. Right now it is written forever in CeCe’s Kingdom that silent callers will be dismissed of unless prior arrangements have been made. PLEASE NOTE THAT IF I HAVE BEEN TALKING TO YOU FOR THE PAST YEAR OR TWO AND YOU WOULD CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE OF THE SILENT NATURE – THIS POST IS NOT FOR YOU! If I have spoken to you for the past year – months – 2 years – somethin like that, don’t even worry. We “work” together if you’re silent or don’t talk a lot. Usually this means that you’ve written to me before hand and explained your fantasy to me, your situation or whatever, and we have worked it out. Please don’t get all sensitive on me and think that I mean you in this post. I do not! The people that need to read this probably aren’t anywhere near my journal. Which renders this post pointless. But I will continue and say that I am going to start blocking silent callers who give nothing to the fantasy/experience. I’m not the flirt for you. I will physically come through the phone and shake you awake, and I’m not violent. Often. You gotta say somethin to play with me, boys. If you’re not into talking – then please take a look around my site and click on the “custom recording” section. That is what you’ll want. A custom recording. That way you can sit and be silent and not irritate me. I gotta do something so I don’t go insane. “So… what do you get into?” “anything.” “Um – so what were you wanting to speak about tonight – what gets you off?” “Oral sex”. “Oh! Great. Well… let’s do a role play then! Maybe I should be the next door neighbor or something and I can come over because I want to use your pool and…” (silence) “How does that sound…? ” Silence…then a faint “ok.” “Alright then. Um – I’m going to knock on your door now… do you want me to just tell you the story or do you want to play along?” Silence. “Hello?” Silence. “Hello?!” “Yeah?” “Hon – are you not in a place where you can talk?” Silence.

You get the picture.

Speaking of custom recordings … I’m going to be doing one later today (I keep postponing it, hon…sorry!)for a new client of mine. I am so excited. I know that you all can’t speak to me as often as you’d like with things being the way they are in the world…so I’d like to offer the recordings as a gentle weaning of sorts. You can have me in your ear whenever you’d like for a fraction of the price. If you have something specific JUST for you – then custom is what you want. The price will be a bit more – but we can discuss it and come to an agreement. If it’s something general then I can create the recording and set it up on my website where others might enjoy it too. You’ll pay a bit less than you would for a custom – but you’ll still have something that will excite you and tide you over for the twice a month call allowance you’ve put yourself on. *wink*. For those of you who miss me due to my schedule change, this may also be an option for you. You can find the form to fill out by clicking on the “recording” button above in the menu. And for the love of all that is good and holy, if you really are not a great communicator on the phone and can not bring yourself to write a note to me and explain your fantasy to me – or a list of things you’d like me to say/do to help YOU get off, then you may want to consider putting in a request for a custom recording. I promise you I will not be driving you crazy by asking you if you like something – or if you are still there – or to speak or anything like that in the recording. I pretty much know I’ll be speaking to myself and I can sit back and weave myself into a great little fantasy for you. I will enjoy myself – and won’t have to block you for being difficult and driving me to drink. Deal?

This is CeCe – and I approve this message.

Translation: Please don’t call me up and ask me jack shit about politics, religion, or money. I guess those are the smoking guns of conversations. There are a few exceptions to the rule, and I’m embarrassed to state one of the reasons, but for the sake of a post – let me just put it all out on the line. The exceptions are this:

1. If you really want to hear about my opinion on any of the aforementioned topics, please go ahead and ask me. It’s your dime. We can talk about abortion, the pope, ANDDDD McCain’s new running mate all nite for $1.87/minute. No problemo.
2. If you know me like the back of your hand, work for a certain politicians campaign (looks at RockStarBadAss and wonders how he’s doing…you have your work cut out for you, sweets. Make ‘mama’ proud!!) and want to dish about certain speeches, commercials and the like, then we can talk because we’re not going to argue. We can talk about abortion, the pope, ANNNNNNDDD McCain’s new running mate (who just looks like a woman who would have kinky F’n sex with her hubby, don’t she? That little Miriam Librarian Act doesn’t fool me for one minute! God Bless her kinky schoolmarm ass) all nite for, once again, $1.87/minute. No problemo. Hey, even I like to talk to people who think the same way I do, therefore making me feel that much better for my opinions. Sure, it’s nice to hear differing opinions but only so you can laugh hysterically at how absolutely fucked up “they” are for thinking the way “they” do, right!?

Any Questions? Good. Next topic of conversation.

I absolutely LOVE my English class. I love love love love it! I’m so jazzed with my teacher and I’m even happier that he has us keeping a journal for the class. Part of our grade will depend on our journal entries. Disappointingly I am unable to use these diary entries as that type of homework. I can’t even think of having him call up this line and doing a fantasy with him. How funny is that? Reminds me of another “brain” crush I had with someone a while ago (my very first ever brain crush, actually) and I felt the same way about him. There are those crushes that just make you kinda creeped out when you think of having sex with them. I don’t know how to explain it. I just wanna fuck his mind, I have no desire to fuck him like intercourse fuck him. Eeew. I’m pretty sure he’s gay anyway. I couldn’t even think to watching him fuck anyone else – it’s like our relationship has become sacred in less than 24 hours and I won’t allow even my kinky mind to soil it. *shrugs* I never said I was easy to understand. So anyway, as I was saying, my brain crush assigns writing exercises. He calls them “Free Writes” (nudge nudge Frisco!) and gives us 10 minutes to do them. Today I wrote about Pet Peeves. I wasn’t planning on sharing it – but I’m going to. So you know how my mind works and you will learn to revere it. Haha. Seriously kidding. You may run and hide. Or you’ll be highly entertained which is much more likely.

Keep in mind that these little exercises don’t really “care” about punctuation, spelling, or anything like that. So I am going to try to duplicate the writing exercise the way it is written in my journal. Here it goes:

I have several pet peeves. A lot of them. and honestly I do have A.D.D., so having a lot of choices really freaks me out. Freaks me out in that I don’t know what to focus on and so my mind just spins around and around out of control (where it stops? nobody knows). But I’m on medication so let me just focus for a moment. Ok. Pet peeve #1: I absolutely hate the fact that my family can not pick up after themselves. Ever. They leave all kinds of stuff laying (learned the proper use of that word today!) around. I can tell exactly how it happens, too:

They got up in the morning – probably late. They made toast – left the bread bag open. Put butter on the toast – left the butter out. Thought to themselves that Jam must sound good – dipped the knife into the jam haphazardly, spread it on their toast – oh, opps, some of it got on the counter – oh wait, I’ll make some eggs. I want some milk. I’m so late. And two hours later when I emerge from my haven of sleep and perfect order, BAMMMM!!! Their shit hits me in the face.

For next week I need to write another exercise. I’ll let you know how that goes and I may post it. I may not. This could get pretty intimate. Much more intimate than knowing who I plan on voting for and how I feel about gun control, Iraq, or even abortion. ‘Cause um – while all these things always mean so much at the time, they seriously aren’t as important to me as just what type of person you are and how you treat the people you love and how you demonstrate that you care about them. Fuck a “Party” – who are you? Seriously, who ARE you? Oh, and do you pick up after yourself. I could love anyone as long as they just pick up after themselves.

I’ll post my schedule some time this weekend. I’ll be up tonight for about 3 more hours hopefully. On Saturday I will be logged in during the late afternoon and again in the evening. Sunday we’ll play it by ear. Monday … um … haven’t thought ahead that far. I’ll keep you posted. Okay?

Talk soon.

I feel that if I write anything right now it will truly be on some cryptic level, and there is nothing wrong with cryptic except everyone will wonder what exactly I’m talking about and it will seem like some juvenile cry for attention. Girls know what I am referring to. It’s that completely aggravating way some girls have of showing you they are distraught – the tears and sniffles and catches in their voice, but when you ask them what is wrong they look at you sideways and say so unconvincingly, “Nothing…” God – I wanna slap girls like that. Hard. I have no desire to be one of those cryptic losers – and yet I have nothing else inside of me that is fighting to get out right now except for that. And I can’t write a letter about it. I’ve done that. I can’t even vent to people about it because the people who I can vent to have already told me, in no uncertain terms, that I would be best to just let this all go and be happy.

And I am happy, by the way. Really happy. I have started school again, I am still smoke-free, I am so incredibly healthy and full of energy because of my pact to walk 10K miles every day (and yup – I did it! I actually averaged 11K steps last week. Go me!) and eat healthy, balanced, non processed meals. It’s a wonder how much better I feel after having started this new way of living. I also have been reading quite a few books about being present and living in the now which is a fancy way of saying don’t have regrets. All in all my life is going pretty damn good. I could complain, but what would be the point? Not to mention, I’m learning this year that nothing is perfect. You can never have a day that doesn’t hold some challenges – and life is all about how you deal with those challenges, those things that come up unexpectedly that threaten to steer you off course.

But I have a twinge of unhappiness. A lot of disappointment, actually. And I’m trying my best to figure out how to deal appropriately with it. I want to give myself permission to feel it, but I don’t want it to turn into bitterness and hatred as those things surprisingly do nothing to the person who you’re disappointed in – and do everything negative to you: tearing your insides up, keeping you up at night, giving you something to worry about, etc.

So that’s where I’m at on a personal level. Just thought I’d share.

In other news, Happy Birthday to Chris! I checked your comment to me and then looked back at my feedback and sure enough, there you were celebrating your birthday with me even back then. I’m happy to be one of your traditions. Have a very very happy birthday and good luck with that other thing that we were talking about. I’m sure you will have a lovely time (or else she’s a fool!)

I’m going to close up shop and head off to bed to write a bit of my story for writing group tomorrow. I will be on late tomorrow evening, but will do my best to log in a little bit before I leave for class. I have a lot of things to squeeze in before I leave for group, and it’s just nearing 3:00AM here now. Forgive me if I can’t log on any earlier than 11:30PM (or so). I’ll post a bit more about my schedule this weekend later today. Stay tuned.

Talk soon!

Anyways – my friend, who I shall not name but anyone who knows me knows whom I am speaking, calls me up one day and is way upset. When she gets excited/mad her voice always raises up 2 more octaves and she sounds even more like Minnie Mouse with a ‘tude from the Bronx. It’s adorable.

“CeCe! He’s doing it again!”

“huh?” I ask – immediately turning down the volume on my phone to compensate for the volume of my friend. I turn it down to 5 and then after a moment turn it down to a two. It’s definitely sounding like a two volume conversation.

“He’s humping his pillow.”

“Ok – well … I guess these things happen.” I tell her in my most authorative voice. I remember reading something in Human Sexuality Class about masturbation in children – but not sure exactly what I read. Was it bad? Normal? A sign of something to come? (no pun intended)

“He’s doing it in the open in front of everyone.”

“Well… ok. Well that’s not so good then.” I say delicately while holding back my laughter.

“It’s not funny!”

Busted. “Ok – well – maybe you should just tell him to go into his room and do it.” I have no idea what the hell I’m talking about really. But I know my friend and she is upset. She probably said some things to her son that will forever scar him and I’m trying my best to do intervention with out sounding like I’m a know-it-all because I know nothing at this point. I’m not a Mom. Or I wasn’t then.

“I fuckin’ told him to stop fuckin his pillow!” My friend exploded. “His sister started laughing at him and told him he was gross.”

“But…” I interrupted passionately “He’ll get a damn complex! Do you want him calling up those lines and talking to a Mistress who will make fun of his thingee because that’s the only way he will be able to get off and it will all be because you made him feel ashamed of what is just natural?”

“Shut up, Ce!”

I could hear her softening on the other end and I continued carefully, “Masturbation is natural and it relieves stress! He just needs to do it in a more appropriate place. Can’t his daddy talk to him about it?”

“Shiiiiit” My friend sighed. It was a defeated “shit” though. Her anger was subsiding. “Maybe I should take his pillow away from him.” She considered.

“He’ll just find something else – and then he’ll learn to hide it and be ashamed of what he is doing instead of understanding there isn’t anything wrong with masturbating – he just needs to find a private place to do it because not everyone wants to see that kind of thing or somethin’.”

I was sounding more and more like a child therapist as the conversation went on. My friend must have thought so too – because she told me she would consider my advise and try harder to not freak out when her little boy was masturbating against various stuffed things in the house.

Before I took away Jackson’s manhood he was providing me with a certain sick sort of entertainment. He would take various stuffed animals – attack them – grabbing bits of their soft furry flesh in his teeth and shake the victim back and forth while making growling noises. Once he was sure they were …um … tamed (?) he would mount various parts of their bodies and go to work. Remembering my earlier conversations with my friend I decided to casually move the stuffed animal ala Jackson to a secluded part of the living room and go about my business. He would eventually stop and move on to other activities. I spoke casually about it to the Vet, relieved that he wasn’t humping people’s legs or other dogs in the doggy park (such things carry a serious stigmatization that aren’t easily discarded!) The vet insisted that once Jackson had the operation
he wouldn’t feel the need to do that often/ever. I had hope. At 6 months Jackson had the surgery and after he stopped glaring at me and his stitches healed he was back to doing the humpy dumpy. He had his favorite mates; The Zebra – an old child hood friend he hung out with, a toy bunny that he also had since he was 8 weeks old. Not “had” in that sense. Then there was the huge stuffed dog that I bought because I thought it would be cute if my little tiny doggy cuddled with a stuffed animal 5 times his size. Jackson prefers humping one of his legs and basically doesn’t even do the post-coital thing with the dog. He’s a love em fuck em and leave em kinda dog – what can I say?

I dealt with Jackson’s horniness because it was well contained inside of the home. No one knew that behind his little furry face that housed the sweetest, loving eyes and mischievous grin, he actually was Ron Jeremy to the stuffed animals in the house. I swear I fond a few of them hiding, fearing the way he casually tossed the others to the side after he had had their way with them.

A few weeks ago something happened – something BIG – and I realized that something had to change. I had a big decision to make. Only I could make it for him. I was the adult, the Mommy – and I had to really take my role in Jackson’s life seriously or he would harm himself.

Jackson’s penis got stuck.

All I remember is that he was having his special time with Ms. Zebra and um … he stopped – sated – and went about his business. I don’t look down there all that often because it’s his privates you know? And he gets shy sometimes. But I did happen to notice that there was something there that was kinda stuck. It usually goes back after a few licks or whatever (sorry – it’s natural!) and so I didn’t really worry about it. *sigh* This is a NF friendly blog – so please read that last sentence as it was intended: JACKSON licks himself and it goes back. Thanks. As I was saying… I wasn’t worried. But the next day I saw that it was still kinda peeking out as if to say “Hi – where’s the Zebra bitch – I’m ready for round 2 DAWG!!!” I quelled my fears and went about my business. I took Jackson for a walk where we ran across (of course) the adoring public who immediately wanted to pet my dog until he rolled onto his back displaying for the whole world to see his little Jackson. “Hi…” it said. “Where’s my Zebra bitch?” Embarrassed and shamed I quickly escorted Jackson back home and headed towards Google.

“My Dog’s Penis is stuck – what do I do?” Come on. What did you think I typed in there?

Minutes later I knew what I needed to do. I had to wade through ALOT of advise too. Butter, Neosporin, to massage or not massage?, until I finally stumbled upon the one thing I knew I could do. I had to ice my dog’s um “balls”. Carrying Jackson to the kitchen I opened up the freezer and grabbed a few ice cubes. Grabbing some paper towel I placed the ice cubes in it and turned Jackson onto his back, cradling him in my arms. His tongue escaped to give me a quick kiss.

“You’re not going to wanna kiss me after this…” I muttered and gently applied the ice.

Jackson’s expression shifted from curiosity to absolute disgust. “I don’t have any balls, stupid.” I heard him say. So I shifted the ice cubes up a bit to the base of his …”Oh – you’re the meanest mommy alive!” his eyes screamed at me and he started to squirm and close his legs at the same time.

“You need to stop humpin the dry ass animals!” I told Jackson.

“Um – I make do with what I have you cruel heartless woman!” He replied.

Looking past the Brawny that was now mush I saw that Jackson’s thingee was still out saying hello to the world. Considering butter for a brief moment (didn’t know where the damn Neosporin was!) I set Jackson down on the floor to consider my other options. I could call the Vet in the morning and HE could put that thing back in. I could try to push it back in…eeeew. No. I could … ‘Damn’ I interrupted my own thoughts, ‘I can’t believe I fuckin was icing my dog’s dick!’ Ok – so – the vet. I’ll bring Jack to the vet!

“Jackson!” I screamed suddenly. “Don’t lick it it will NEVER GO BACK IN!” I Rushed to Jackson to pick him up and interrupt his masturbatory experience – but as I got closer I noticed… The thingee was back in. My nightmare was over. My baby was going to live another day! And most importantly – I didn’t have to take him in to the vet to get his penis put back in.

The very next day I knew what I needed to do. I picked up all his “girlfriends” threw them into the washing machine on delicate and put a bit of wool light in there to make things all nice and soft. Once they were all washed I placed them all on the picnic table in the backyard to dry. I was planning on packing them up after they were nice and dry and giving them to Jackson on “special” occasions. I figured he could have a date night and he could go at it for a bit and I would then pick up the girls and put them away until next time. *sigh* Once the girls were on the picnic table though, Jackson wouldn’t leave me alone. He would go to the table – look up at the nice pieces of ass that were laid out there – and cry, whine, claw at the table legs and attempt to jump up to get them. After hours of this I finally relented and gave him his pieces of ass warning him to not get anything stuck – I still hadn’t found the Neosporin and I wasn’t in the mood to ice his nether regions again. He ignored me and went to work. Luckily nothing got stuck. I kept an eye on things.

So my big decision still is upon me. Do I take away Jackson’s … um … girlfriends again? Do I take away the only thing that brings him pleasure? Do I rob him of his sexuality just as I robbed him of his balls? Shouldn’t a little white Doggy have a little bit of boom boom if he wants it? Who is he hurting? The zebra really isn’t complaining. But if I let him continue to hump dry ass stuffed animals, his penis may very well get stuck again. He’s sort of asking for it by not using any lubrication, don’t you think?

I haven’t made up my mind…and I’m open to suggestions. I really am. A parent needs to do what is in the best interest of their child, you know. I’m suppose to protect him from the harsh realities of life – which I assume means stuck penis’.

My momma definitely didn’t tell me there would be days like this!

This disappointment though – didn’t devastate me as much as the big disappointment a few days earlier.

Ok – so most of you probably did not hear but – I belong to a dance studio that had the absolute most amazing opportunity to work with a Choreographer from the hit television reality show (emphasis on REALITY) SYTYCD. Knowing that many of my readers probably have no desire to watch that show… or maybe some of you do (wiggles eyebrows up and down) … I will key you in on the big time disappointment I had this week: The show is absolutely not even realistic in regards to dancers. It is absolutely not the REAL deal and it does not bring honor or class to reality television. It is pretty much like American Idol. Paula, Randy and Simon suddenly become the only vehicle one can take in order to achieve stardom. Using this same fricken narcissistic attitude – Nigel, Mia, Hyena Mary Murphy, Debbie Allen, et al. are driving the only vehicle one can take in order to become true dancers. And I “know” one of those teachers – and actually looked up to her and felt her (sigh) God like in a way. To hear the amount of shit come out of her mouth tore me apart. I’m really not being dramatic here. It was not enjoyable at all.

So let’s just end there with my examples and get to the point: It appears that I have a sort of problem here. I have really high expectations – not for people mostly… though if I’m hurt I can definitely take my disappointment to a black/white/live/die sort of place… but I have high expectations for things/people that I am very excited about.

A while ago I heard some news that Julie Andrews was an absolute bitch to work for. I know – I don’t believe it either. But let’s just say it was true – and I happened to find out about it because I was hired through some great turn of luck to be her maid or something… (I’m serious – I would scrub Julie Andrews toilet and be happy about it… and not for the “against Niteflirt TOS” kind of reason). If I found out by working for J.A. that she was indeed a royal bitch I would be crushed. I’m not being dramatic. I would want to die. All this time I have thought of her as Maria Von Trapp – and wanted very badly for her to be my governess. I would not handle it well if I found out she was a bitch. Not well at all.

Oh – another example!! Oprah Winfrey. I really use to like that woman. She had (I thought) really great books – and I really enjoyed her mind. I didn’t have a brain crush on her really (I currently have one on Marilyn Milan from People’s Court… I really wish she was my mom. Don’t tell my mom I said that – but she just seems like she’d be way cool and we’d have a blast looking at boys and getting our nails done and shopping and stuff…) but I really did admire her. A lot. And lately she is just …becoming human, I suppose. Though I would like to really fight that by stating she is really quite self centered and doesn’t appear to be half as generous and selfless as she would like us to believe she is. Not that my opinion of her is going to really matter to her or not – but just trying to illustrate my issues with “hero worship” – I think that is what it is. I build things up – and people up so high that they have no choice but to fail miserably.

Now – I don’t do this with everyone – I don’t think it matters much if the person is a close friend of mine … or if the person is just an acquaintance. I think what matters is that I somehow have assigned this person/friend/event some huge expectation and sometimes they/it lives up to it – but more often – the reality of the moment/situation/person is never quite as good as my imagination/expectation created it to be.

I notice when people have some unrealistic feeling about me – but I’m not so good about letting go of my unrealistic attitude/feelings, you know?

Truth is – we’re all trying to figure this stuff out. Some of us get way in deep right away …. maybe drive the rest of you all crazy because we “think too much” or whatever. Maybe some of “you” drive “us” crazy by not ever really taking things as seriously as we would like – or not seeing the “bigger” picture or ruminating on things the way some of us live our lives doing. But the point is (yeah, I have one) we all are trying to figure it out in our own little ways. We all should be so lucky to have someone patient and understanding next to us. I know I have several people who can most definitely do that for me. I really really hope that I can start doing that for someone else.

For now – to whom it may apply: accept my apology. I expected it to be great – and became disappointed with “good”.

Oh – and to my “goods” – thank you so so so much for the gifts, notes, and emails. Thanks Mr.T for the gift certificate. you lifted up my spirits a hundred-fold.

But anyways – back to this clutter thing because it is the CLUTTER that kept me up so late – honest. If it weren’t for the clutter that is permanently attached (apparently) to my ass – I would be asleep right now after reading all about my little genes and diploids and protein synthesis. But instead – here I am … writing (yet again) about clutter.

So let me start from the beginning. 2 days ago Oprah had on her show the ultimate pack rat ever known to man. This little lady had a 5 bedroom, 3 story, 2 car garage house – a total of 3200 sq feet. The clutter that they removed from her house (75 tons) was able to fill a 10,000 sq ft storage unit. I can not even tell you how many pairs of shoes this woman had – how many bags – how many “gifts” that she couldn’t even find to wrap with the hundreds of rolls of wrapping paper that she hoarded in her home. There were little pathways around the house that she could walk on – and her husband (God Bless Him) was not even able to sleep in the master bedroom with her due to all of the stuff. Her adult children finally intervened and filmed the disgusting mess and sent it to Oprah who quickly sent out Peter Walsh (remember one of my brain crushes from last year?) who, with a team of about 100 people, came to the rescue.
This “Clean Sweep” took 2 days to complete by the way … first the emptying of the house then another full day to clean out the mice nests, black mold and other biohazards and rebuild new walls, and flooring for most of the house.) By the time that the show had ended ( and the lady was all crying and claiming that she was cured from her Compulsive Hoarding Disorder), I had serious hebejeebes about my own clutter. I was sure – absolutely positive that in my own bedroom there were mice, black mold and other things behind all the stuff. And I don’t have a lot of stuff – honest. I just have the typical American “stuff” that liters my life and that occasionally I tackle and throw out or give a pile away to Good Will. But after that show – I knew that I had to do something about my own mess. So I started to clean. I cleaned out every single drawer in my dresser – throwing away all those little “well – maybe one day I’ll wear this again” items. I rummaged through boxes of all that “software” that came with the Windows 98 computer that you no longer have – but …who knows … ONE day you just might need it when Vista takes over the world and you rebuild your old system. I even went through Jackson’s clothes – because – let’s face it CeCe – you’re not getting another little puppy any time soon so those cute little puppy baby clothes can go too. And then there were the little containers filled with all that hair stuff that one day you just might need – but one day never comes. Except for THIS day – and all those little items found their way to the trash as well. With each item I threw away or gave away I felt the mold dissipating. I didn’t come across any mice and nothing crawled out and said hello. Not that my room was that cluttered, you understand – but there is something really fucked up about watching some woman in a home with 150,000 pounds of shit. It does something to you. It did something to me. And I wasted no time in taking action. I refuse to grow up into that little old lady down the street whose house smells like cat pee that no one sees for 13 years. Hey…every town has one.

So… I’m almost completely finished with my clutter be gone mission 2008. I am pretty sure I’ll go through this again in 2009 – but I hope that it won’t be so extensive. I have to go through my wish list because there are clutter traps hidden behind some of my wants and desires. Of course – many of the things I want isn’t really “stuff” is it? Books, Videos, that type of thing I really DO want to surround myself with. And there is something to be said about “entertainment”, however, I have some makeup on there that honestly – I don’t need yet. I still am using a lot of the makeup that I have received and I don’t wear make up all that often. I also have some perfume on my list – and you know what? I don’t wear it. I wear ONE fragrance for special occasions (Heavenly) but I “want” other perfumes. Why? I have lotions and things like that – and I already have plenty right now. When I finish some I will put up another one – but nothing like that is coming into my home with out me first getting rid of something to make room. And Jackson will suffer, too, unfortunately. He has 50 bajillion toys right now – that I haven’t exactly gone through to see if they are still usable – but I went through a period where every week I had to buy him another squeaker toy. And he still prefers my socks. Go figure. (and so does SBJ I hear…) So I have to clear that up, too. So for now – books, movies – dvds – and music are still perfectly great gifts to give me. In a few days I will have weeded out the other things on my list and left only the things that will TRULY delight me and not things that I think I “should” own because of some fucked up American Ideal – you know what I mean?

So – that is what I did today. I dealt with my own personal detritus. I did some spring cleaning – some purging of my own. Thanks Oprah and Peter Walsh.

So … here is a challenge that Peter Walsh says that we should take (those of us who have those “junk drawers/closets/rooms/houses/wherehouses”, etc.) : Every day go through your home/room/closet/etc. with 2 bags in your hand (garbage bags) – Fill one up with all of the “garbage” – and fill the other one up with stuff to go to Good Will. In no time at all (unless you are like the friend of ours on Oprah with 150,000 pounds of crap) you will have cleaned away all that clutter. You will be able to breathe better, you’ll be able to display all those things that are important to you and have true value in your life, and you will be taking a stand against this thing called materialism that drives pretty much every single one of us. I swear I’m so fuckin’ inspired that I want to go around the entire state with my garbage bags to help everyone out!

I better go to bed – but thanks to all of the calls today – to Rolf for the gift certificates so that I could buy a few of my favorite books – and to SBJ for the gift that is soon arriving I hear. I have PLENTY…I really do. Thank you all so much for helping me to surround myself with things that matter, giving me courage to rid myself of useless things all while encouraging me to reach for things of value.

Remember tomorrow there will be a power outage where I live and I will not be logging in after 8:00PM. I think I will probably log in for a bit during the afternoon and then for the rest of the evening I will be speaking to a few special close friends of mine (in the dark) and reading a chapter or two in one of my many books I’m longing to read (by candlelight.) Speak soon!

**edited @ 8:31PM 3/27/08 – Apparently the notice said AM and not PM – so I am currently on for a bit reading some poli sci and drawing some mitosis and meiosis models. You should see my Protein Synthesis drawing. It’s TRULY amazing. I may have to scan it on in so you can be as impressed as I am! *wink* /end edit**