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.

I realize I haven’t logged on for the last few evenings. actually I was on late late late last night. Where were you? I’ll be on late this evening into tomorrow morning. Then gone during the afternoon. And then…. (drum roll please) I will be home alone for 3 days!!! So I can be loud. And inappropriate! Yippee!

Gotta run. More later, okay?

Oh, if you let me know what movie/musical my title comes from, I’ll give you a special treat. Call and give me your best educated guess/answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bad thing is, I lined them all up, and even though they are all different colors, when they are in rainbow order, you can’t quite tell the difference between the pinks, the mauves, the reds. I can tell. Sort of. But my papa preaching and judging me really makes all the colors blend into one big fuzzy rainbow. He’s sucked the joy out of my collection. With one look. Just like that.

Damn it.

But as I was running down the residential street, and as my little furry monster ran ahead of me, ignoring my calls for him to come back, I realized that not only am I the parent of a rebellious demon dog, but that I also need to go back to training for the 5K. No one should be this out of breath after 2 blocks. My chest still hurts/burns.

There’s other big news, but I’m not ready to admit it yet. It’s a huge change…and yeah. I just can’t say it out loud yet. It has something to do with classes/school.

That’s it for now. I’m behind 2 posts, huh? I WILL catch up!

I gotta try to get some rest or I’ll be sleeping through the super bowl. No. I won’t be watching. I’ll be painting my nails and talking to those of you who don’t like football. In other words, I’ll be painting my nails and watching USoT.

Trish and I went on a 2 hour walk today along the beach. I wore leggings I could easily pull up right under my knee
(key for walking along the beach and being surprised by the occasional angry wave), an oversized sweater, and flip flops. I thought I could carry them when I walked along the sand and quickly put them back on when walking across the larger pebbles and stone little wall peninsulas. Trish opted for tennis shoes and jeans. The ocean saw this as a challenge, and I could almost hear it laughing as it sent huge waves after her, determined to make her feet and ankles wet.

I didn’t undersand why sea glass was so appealing. I looked at the large stones rubbed smooth by the ocean. In Minnesota they would be called skipping stones. Here in California they might be painted with zen like words on them, then carefully placed in someone’s garden, or a long a path. There are also plenty of quartz stones, and red stones filled with little tiny holes. And shells. Man are there shells. The shells are big, pried open by the water and lie nestled between seaweed and feathers. What the ocean washes up on the shore has always amazed me. But I never stopped to think about sea glass.

The first few pieces sent a tiny little thrill through me. And then I started to find more. Your eye sifts through the sand. The sun makes everything glisten, but then, something catches. And there it is. A piece of sea glass. I found a few blue pieces today. A lot of clear pieces. Plenty of brown pieces. I didn’t find red. Red is seriously rare. I would love to find a piece of red sea glass one day. Sea glass is so much more valuable when you find it. But I picked up a few pieces of glass for Leigh Ann. As a thank you for inviting me.

Several times the ocean took my treasures before I could put them in my pocket. I tried placing my foot over the glass, tried to anchor it down from the wave that wanted to abduct it, but when the water would go down, and my foot was removed, the piece of glass was gone. A few times my flip flop got stuck, and I’d pull up, trying to get my foot out of the sand. The ocean is a bully. But it’s so pretty, it’s hard to stay mad at it. During one of these tug of wars, I lost my shoe, and as the tide went back out, so did my shoe. I tried to lift my other foot, so that I could run after my now floating away flip flop, but my foot wouldn’t budge. So I (I know, I know) removed my foot from my shoe and pretty much ran after my other shoe now several feet away from me, floating on top of the water, pleading for me to save it. By the time I had reached my shoe, my other had been uprooted from it’s sandy nest. I stared out at the waves, expecting to find my other shoe floating. Somewhere. But no shoe. The ocean took my shoe. It didn’t even seem sorry about it. One Old Navy Flip Flop for 10 or so pieces of glass. I suppose it’s worth it.

It’s nearing 3:30 and we’re planning on leaving around 5:30PM. I’ve stayed much later than I thought, but that’s only because once you get here, it’s pretty fucking impossible to leave. I wish I could stay longer. I’d go for another walk along the beach, this time with Tennis shoes. I’d watch the sun set under the waves, and let the wind and salt rub all the stress and rough patches smooth.

I said that I’d log on tonight around 8:00PM, but my family wants to go out to dinner when I get home later. So I’ll log in probably closer to 10PM PST. I’m going to have to listen to the “wave” soundtrack on my iphone radio station thingee in order to sleep tonight. It hardly sounds like the real thing, but we make do with what we have.

I really wish you could have been here. You would have found it just as wonderful as I did. Let me not even talk about the great bed I got to sleep in last night. O. M. G. squared. Stay beautifully rare (like sea glass) until we speak…

I’ve started to write a lot lately, and 2 of my newest bestest friends, LeAnn & Trish are my partners in crime. Soon a boy will be joining us. His name is Sam. Our trio will be disrupted, but I think we will survive it. So anyway, our current threesome writes together every Tuesday and Thursday. This Thursday, LeAnn invited us to her parent’s beach house to hang out, listen to the waves, and drink cheap wine. Oh, and to write. I guess this will be something we will start doing once a month. I was going to log on, but I’m sure you’ll all understand why I couldn’t. Not this time. Maybe next time. Who knows, maybe LeAnn & Trish will pop on and say a quick hello. I’m not promising anything, though. I’ve told them a little bit about some of you and they are intrigued but rightfully cautious.

Tonight the waves are incredibly fierce. And they are loud. At first one might mistake the roar for traffic, but then you remind yourself…that’s the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, over and over again. I’m sitting at the main dining room table right now, looking out onto the Pacific Ocean, and the moon sometimes shines in just the right way, and I can see the white crest of the waves rolling in. Earlier I caught the sunset. I walked to one of the five balconies and leaned against the railing. I could feel the spray from the ocean, taste the salt in the air. Seriously, I’m so close I could throw a frisbee and hit the water. I could spit and hit…never mind. That’s a long shot. And good girls don’t spit.

I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to heaven.

Tomorrow we’ll take a walk on the beach, eat some breakfast, and then sit down and do a little bit of writing before driving back into the city. I hope I find some sea glass on the beach. It will be a great reminder of what has to be, an absolutely perfect day.

I’ll talk with you Tomorrow Evening around 8:00PM PST.

To answer a few questions: Yes, I have watched the movie before. It’s available on any free porn site on the internet. Look it up. That Linda Lovelace was pretty fuckin talented. Yes, I realize that it’s old-school porn and they don’t make them like that anymore. Yes, I’m aware that Linda Lovelace later stated that she was raped during her sex scenes, and that by watching the movie I’m basically watching her get raped over and over again. And yes. I now realize that the term “Deep Throat” didn’t exist until this movie, so thank you Deep Throat writers. I’ve used your methods many times in my calls, and my customers appreciate all you’ve taught me.

So- what about the Documentary? I highly recommend it. No, you shouldn’t watch it for porn. They show a lot of stuff, however, and I was pretty happy I didn’t watch this Documentary in front of my parents or anything (whew!) But you don’t watch it for the multiple (ok, hundreds) of shots of blow jobs, or the occasional sight of cock, tits, or ass. Especially cock, tits and ass from the 70′s. I’m just sayin… Just watch the documentary for some great history of the industry of porn, and just what happens when people start taking porn seriously. Or, what happens when we allow the government to govern our bedrooms…

The beginning of the movie was all “I got a brand new pair of rollerskates” 70′s music, colors, drugs, and attitudes. People wanted the freedom to make decisions about their own actions — I don’t know – I got it. It was more than the whole free love free sex stuff, it was more about men and women’s roles, and just the awakening of a whole new sexuality. A medical doctor testified during the obscenity trial and actually stated that women should only have vaginal orgasms; that clitoral orgasms were dangerous! The documentary focused on the writers and directors not wanting to make money, but wanting to do something different in film. They really felt that this new genre would be competing with the Hollywood movers and shakers. Which is funny, yet pretty tragic. At least back then they had stories in the movies. Badly written, improbably stories, but stories none-the-less. I was amazed by how many directors and film makers started in porn. yeah. I know! And I was even more surprised by how little these women and men were paid in the movie. Linda Lovelace made something like 1200 bucks, and the Dr. guy who discovered Linda’s clit in her throat (haha!) got a little under 200 bucks, I think. So – porn wasn’t about getting rich. It was about getting laid. And yet – there was something non sleazy about that admission, ya know? Maybe that’s why people in these old movies actually look like they are enjoying themselves. (?!).

At first the ending seemed a little bit too preachy preachy for me. Like someone feared the documentary was making porn too fun so they had to bring in politics, the mob, and greed. But I think that that was the point. Porn was too much fun. Everyone was going to see Deep Throat, and no one was making apologies for it. Everyone – stars, comediennes, old people, young people — there was a natural curiousity about the movie that, to me, mirrors what people’s attitudes towards sexuality. People shouldn’t put a label on it one way or another. It is what it is. Take it or leave it… but leave the judgements at the door.

So my final thoughts about the documentary? I think everyone should see it. I think it’s so important to realize what porn was about, and what porn is like now. I think it’s important to remember to not take things so seriously, but to use porn as a way to explore or find out about yourself. I think porn, in it’s best light, celebrates human sexuality. In it’s worse light it smothers (figuratively, not literally – haha!). I learned a lot. It was a great documentary. Great cast, great writing and funny, thought provoking points of view.

And watching Linda Lovelace deep throat definitely didn’t hurt.