ma.tric.u.latevb -lated; -lating: to enroll as a member of a body and esp. of a college or university - matriculation /n

The university that I’m planning on attending for fall Semester is hot on the ass of CeCe. Transcripts have been sent in up till now (My Summer classes will end a week before Fall Semester starts so I’ll carry those with me into the administrative office for my first counseling session) and on every single solitary piece of paper I get from these people is the word Matriculation. It sounds painful. It sounds like something you catch after a “everything stays in Vegas” weekend. I had to do this tour earlier before I could even start looking at the Fall Class Schedule. A virtual tour (a 3 hour tour… a 3 hour tour…). Complete with really cheesy video of students asking questions like…”I’m going to be working part time at starbucks - and I’m really worried if I’ll have time to study with all the classes I’m taking. Where can I go to speak with someone who could help me?” I’m not even kidding. Then you have to take your little mouse and point it in the direction the student should go - and then “click” on the correct building. I wanted to see if the college had a sense of humor equivalent to my somewhat dry and witty one, so I clicked on the cafeteria. I figured the dude should just go get a cup of Joe and think about his life for a bit instead of speaking to a counselor who would only tell him to take out another 50 loans to pay for his education so he could stop working for the pusher of crack we know here in Southern Cali as StarBUCKS. Or maybe he could take a walk over to the Restroom Facilities, to the very last stall on the left with the nice little glory hole - and suck a few for 10 minutes - making the equivalent of what he might make working at the fine establishment for 3 hours. But I didn’t. I had to matriculate as fast as possible.

I have a tentative schedule in mind. Will be taking 5 classes - and one of them is Bowling - so I think that’s really only technically four classes, right? Japanese (though I may change that to Spanish cuz Japanese is hella hard…as you well know, DOC!), Intro to Screen Writing, Honors Composition (English class…notice the HONORS part of that class. Yeah. They accepted me into the honors program…woot woo for CeCe!), Intro To Algebra (sobs), and what was the other class? (counting)… oh wait. That’s it. 5. Ok. So now all I have to do is wait for a little email to tell me I can register and that I’ll be accepted in as a sophmore - which should be easy because I have enough credits and have 2 letters of recommendation from the profs from the classes I took this past year along with a very very sweet letter from a past teacher saying how absolutely brilliant I am (I’m so kidding). I should be a “shoe in”. So to speak. In non NF language.

Ya know … back to that boy who was wondering about study time with his job and the little glory hole in the back stall of the men’s latrine… Why does gay sex intrigue so many women? I’m not saying ALL women - I’m just saying MANY women. Like this woma(e)n.

A few months ago I went to this really great gay club with a good friend of mine. I should really call her up one of these days to see if we can go back - I’m in the mood to stare. The club wasn’t in West Hollywood - as many might imagine - but in this really small kinda college-y city West of there, I think. I’m directionally impaired. The club looked like any other 18 and over club - and the parking lot was packed. I could feel the music through my feet as we walked into the club. And the men that were walking INTO that club were F-I-N-E - bold face - HUGE FONT Fine! I mean Gawgous! My friend kept elbowing me, too, because I was practically drooling from so much lucious eye food. Yes. I said it - EYE FOOD - because candy is a snack - but these boys were MEALS! So we get into the club - and make our way with great lovely green stamps on our hands that just screamed NOT LEGAL TO DRINK - and shoved our way politely to the dance floor. And there they were. All these wonderful specimens - all this eye food - dancing with other eye foods. I couldn’t believe it. My friend knew, of course, but I had no idea! And as politically incorrect as this may sound - these morsels of food did not look at all like the types of food that would be dancing with - well - other food. Which just made it all the hotter. My friend explained that this club was infamous for these type of men that did not look the part - most of which had girlfriends at home or wives or whatever - and were at the clubs Saturday nite shaking their groove thangs. There is something absolutely fantastic about gay sex - but even more so orgasmic when the gay sex is between men who don’t appear (and please forgive me for this… ) GAY. I know there is a word for that - and it’s not “butch” - but I can’t for the life of me remember…

So anyways - yeah. The student I helped MATRICULATE looks to be that type - the type you’d never in a million years take for the type that would be in the stall on his knees earning some money for some books. So my little 2 n’s - if you are reading this - THIS will be coming up again very very soon! *wink wink nudge nudge* And for those who are reading over this entry as fast as your little eyes can all the while shaking your head like “nah uh - not for me, dawg!” - I’ll give you this: I, being the now matriculated student and soon to be student in HONORS English can very easily switch around a few things (like the sex of the student for one) and give you a whole ‘nother type of fantasy. Don’t be scared. And judging from the post below and my extreme longing to be out on my own, I probably could be desperate enough (not really - but it’s YOUR fantasy! lol) to visit that little stall in the Men’s Restroom and …

I’ll be up pretty late tonight - I slept like a log after the gym earlier - and have more energy then I know what to do with. Of course I could prepare for my Government class on Tuesday but that would be just too… um. That wouldn’t be me. Wait. I’m responsible and matriculated…

Poli Sci here I come!

I’ve always known … but have mostly quieted the voice that tells me so… that I will eventually be a published author. I’m not exactly sure what I’ll write - but I know that one day I will write something spectacular. It will be read by many and if I’m lucky a few will even identify with it. I like books that are written from one of the character’s perspective. I like hearing how the person talks - and seeing how others react to the main character. I like the dialogue - and novels written in that type of a voice always strike me as so much more …connected and real, somehow. I tend to like movies that are written like that, too. The narrator is always a person in the story. Even though it might be easy for the narrator to know all - she/he doesn’t. They only know more of what they are doing - what is going on inside of their head - and that has always intrigued me, too. There’s always 2 sets of dialogues going on at the same time in all of us, right? That inside more truthful and vulnerable dialogue - and then there are the words that you really aren’t afraid to mutter out loud. The PC dialogue. The relationship between the two - the similarities and the differences - and how they are able to exist inside the same person and both be “true” has always intrigued me.

Perhaps my heroine in my story will be like that, too. Maybe all the things that she thinks will be ungodly funny - but when she speaks she’ll do so with a depressed tone - a quieted voice - a resigned voice that has somewhat accepted her “fate”. I find contrasts like that - erotic.

I thought about this at my geography class. I know that in the beginning of any class, the teacher is suppose to kinda break the ice by having us introduce ourselves to the other kids in class - but not before they step up to the podium of 10 seconds of fame - and put in their two cents about themselves. My geography teacher did this with much umph. She said what her name was - explaining that she was recently married - and made a sound like … I don’t know what. Like a celebratory kinda cheer. She could have done a back flip and then a standing jump or whatever for all the enthusiasm she tried to “hide” inside. She was really excited. I started to wonder if this was her first marriage and looked at her like - um… was it a close call with “Old Maid”-um or what? She looked to be about … I don’t know … 50 something. She wore these jeans that were super tight, though … not to accent her figure at all - but more like just bad fashion sense. But then - what do I know about fashion? Not a whole heck of a lot. I’d prefer to be in a great pair of sweats with my hair tied back and a nice tank top or tee. Bare foot. She had on sandles - and I’m pretty sure she was wearing socks with them. She stood at the podium and talked about her kids, though - and how many she had and where they were. Divorced? One of her children had moved to New Zealand. I couldn’t help but wonder why he wanted to be so far away from what seemed like a pretty cool Mom. My teacher kept on making these animated kinds of faces - the kinds of faces that on a child look cute and entertaining but on adults just look forced and unnatural. I was immediately embarrassed for her. I hate feeling embarrassed for people that have no idea how embarrassing their actions are. I started to - at that moment - write for her. I wrote her dialogue that was coming out of her mouth one minute - and then in another split instant - I wrote what she was thinking, then in another what I was thinking she was thinking.
Like this:

Her dialogue: “So - I found myself with my kids and really wanted to do something else with my life. I thought - why not go to school!”
She thinks: “I know that alot of the kids here are a lot younger than I am - but I only know this one speech, damn it. Make it work… make it work…”
I think she’s thinking: “Shit - why the hell am I teaching Geography - I would so prefer to be teaching Sex Ed or something. Instead I’m sitting here talking about rocks when I’d prefer to talk about getting your rocks off!”

Her dialogue: “So I took a class - and I stumbled upon Geography - and I really liked it!!! (bright big smile inserted here). I took a few more classes and my professor told me - Hey… why not MAJOR in Geography. And I told him NO WAY - I’m not smart enough! He said … well - what are all these A’s???!!!”
she thinks: “Geography is so damn interesting - I know that I can express just how interesting it is to these kids. I hope they caught that part about how brilliant I am - and how I got all A’s!”
I think she’s thinking: “Am I connecting with these kids at all? They look like Geography is the last thing on their minds - and did that kid in the last row just pick his nose and eat it. I’m going to vomit!”

I realize that I write like this often… sometimes - as insane as this probably sounds - I do this to myself, too. I try to remember what I think and what I actually say - and I try to determine and then later remember if the two are related (even somewhat) to one another. Maybe I’m trying to, for the sake of my own sanity, determine if these two voices can be contained with in the same … I don’t know the right word/idea for it - PSYCHE? perhaps? I’m not sure if this is a sign of craziness - or brilliance. I’d like to think brilliance. But then I remember that alot of insane people think they are brilliant and they are just plain nuts.

But yeah - I’d like to write.

I don’t say it often. But I’ve always known it. Always. I’ve always written things like I mentioned before. Started when I was little with some neighborhood girls and my best friend, and continues here - on line - and in my journals that I collect and then eventually abandon when a prettier journal comes along. I taught myself to type - really fast - so I could keep up with my brain that seems to be on speed lately - jumping from one topic to the next like mighty mouse on crack. I’ve kinda played around with writing erotic for the time being - but … truthfully - unless it’s something that comes out of my head naturally - writing erotic can just seem so - typical, really. Doesn’t it? I’m not sure I’m witty enough to write for an advertising agency - and besides - I think the pressure of coming up with something witty is close to the pressure I feel writing something on an online diary read by a few die hard fans of CeCe. I don’t think I could handle that pressure. Maybe a novel or two or three. Maybe a television sitcom - if I could just give an idea to someone and collaborate I might be able to withstand the pressures/rejection. Maybe I could write a screenplay - or a play - or a one woman show.

I would just like to be published. To be heard. To have a diary page that could go on for hundreds of pages if I wanted it to.

Wow. A big smile just came on my face.
She says: “I would like to tell some stories”.
She thinks: “I would LOVE to tell some stories!”

*walks to the podium with thunderous applause echoing in her ears*
Thank you. Thank you very much. Today I would like to talk to you about my wicked thoughts. *CeCe clears her throat nervously and tries to focus on her notes swimming on the yellow legal pad* Um. Yeah. So Anyways. Thoughts. I have them. You have them. We all have them. *CeCe notices the crowd - filled with men with their pants around their ankles and their hands around their cocks are growing restless* Um. I have naughty ones. *she notices a few men pulling up their pants, putting their bottles of lotion away, standing and walking, defeated, to the exit.*

No - not a dream, really. Just a thought that came creeping into my mind as soon as I sat down to write this post. LOL! The PRESSURE.

So my family and I are going to see Wicked tonight. I’m not sure what it is about - except that it’s about Glenda the good witch - and the bad witch whatshername. Ethel? LOL. I don’t know. I’m really excited going, because it is a Musical. And we all should know just how much I love musicals. If you don’t know … now you know.

I just crawled out of bed not too long ago though and got to thinking about the whole wizard of oz thing. And instantly - like I usually do when I’m a bit on the horny side, I guess - started thinking about making the wizard of oz into a type of naughty fantasy. I started thinking about me - auditioning to be in the wizard of oz - and getting the play. The director - a kind elderly man - is obvious and rightfully enchanted by me - but he is also majorly impressed with my acting skills. During the dress rehearsal one evening I notice that the director of the play has pulled everyone, but me, aside and has spoke to them at great length. I think that maybe it’s some added direction - and await my turn - which never comes. The play is going well during the rehearsal. I’m remembering all my lines - and my voice - I have to admit - is SUPERB. When I find myself in front of the great and powerful OZ - things start to change. While the OZ is speaking to me about getting home - lines start coming out of his mouth that don’t sound quite right. He tells me if I want to go home that I will need to fuck my way back and tells me that I need to start now. I look out to the director who has suddenly disappeared from his seat. I feel the furry hands of the Lion around my waist - pulling me downstage and laying me on my back. He pulls my legs apart - reaches into his costume and starts pounding me right there on the stage while the Tin Man lubricates my little tits with his oil can.

I haven’t even finished the fantasy in my head yet - but isn’t it exciting so far - (or is it just me? lol!). I know at the end the director has his way with me and before he sends me home wishes me luck for the performance. Of course I tell him that I won’t tell my parents a thing about what happened if he promises to do whatever I say for a very very long time!

Ok. I gotta run and masturbate now - wish I could wait for you to call me so we could do it together - but I’m not going to be on until later on this evening and I can’t - I simply CAN NOT wait that long!!!

Uncle Randy did it again!!  I got the cutest package today with all things silver and delicate wrapped up inside!  A few little silver nose rings um… Yup… I’m considering getting my nose pierced!  And also the most beautiful necklace I have ever seen!  I also got a simple yet beautiful thumb ring, too.  I love ALL my presents, Uncle Randy!  Thank you so much for cheering me up with your thoughtfulness and generousity! *smoochies*

I also got a great CD from the musical My Fair Lady from my sweet Doctor!  I haven’t talked about him much here, because, well, I’m protective of him.  But he is a very good friend of mine - and spoils me more than I deserve.  Yes - I am very much aware of his generousity and know that often times I do not deserve his gifts! I put my necklace on today - and as I was riding to the gym I put in the cd.  I sang, “I could have danced all nite” all the way there.  People must have been looking in my car thinking I was totally and completely strange - but man!  That Julie Andrews sure can SING HER ENGLISH ASS RIGHT OFF can’t she? 

Speaking of musicals, I feel I should explain/defend my choice to obsess over every great musical ever made.  My grandmother was a pianist, singer, and also a theater geek.  I think I get a lot of my theatrics from her.  My father’s mother, it also drifted down on him.  Our home is constantly filled with all types of music.  We don’t discriminate.  We listen to everything from country to rap music in my house.  As long as it’s good - and entertaining we’ll give it a go.  But back to my grandmother.  When she was alive, I would bake with her.  And while we would bake she would put music on.  We would sing at the top of our voices all kinds of songs, but her favorite was Julie Andrews.  I LOVED Julie as much as my grandmother did, maybe more.  It wasn’t just Julie, though, it was Shirley Jones, and Ethel Merman, and Lucille Ball (in MAME) and Jennifer Holiday, and Diana Ross, and Marnie Nixon - and just EVERYONE!  I’m now a bit obessed with the idea of collecting everything that Julie Andrews ever was in.  After I satisfy that obsession, I will collect probably all the great broadway musicals - and then we’ll go from there.  I can sing and carry a tune - but I think maybe my secret dream is to be on stage or something.  I dunno.  But there you have it.

Oh - and while I was thinking about Julie Andrews I suddenly remembered something else.  I have the disturbing quality of turning even the most innocent of situations into naughty disturbingly naughty fantasies.  So I was thinking of The Sound Of Music.  I was thinking of the nun - locked up in a convent - not quite ready to be a nun.  And maybe that nun sneaking out to run around in the mountains and sing … when suddenly she runs across a young sheppherd - with his goats - and while she’s skipping rocks in the stream - he approaches her and tells her that she’ll never make a good nun - especially after he takes her virginity.  Who ever heard of a nun who fucks strange men by mountain streams, he tells her, while forcing himself on her.

Then I started thinking about Leisel.  Who never really looked so “young” to me.  I thought of the actress who played her - and the Captain Von Trapp.  I thought about maybe between takes the captain and Leisel fucking in the gazebo - while Ralph watched with his “telegram” in his hand.

*sigh*

Something is definitely WRONG with me!!!

So where was I?  Oh yeah… Santa.

There is one…

I wonder if it’s only cookies he sneaks while delivering his presents to all the good boys and girls. 

See what I mean?