I'm a lesbian with tendency toward pedophilia. Apparently.

Or at least this is what I've concluded from a short 5 minute prompt in Creative Writing from earlier today.

The assignment was to carefully characterize a description from the board, in order to help build our skills for later short story writing.

After debating between the "cranky, spinster, old woman" and the "young, innocent girl", I decided to go with the latter.
Little did I know that I would soon be verbally raping her via pen on paper.

Allow me to share a small, amateur excerpt to better convey the origins of my post title:


"She was at the tender age in which she was quite aware of the attention her budding body claimed but didn't yet know what to do with the strangers gazes and glances that came her way. Her countenance beamed rosy cheeks and bee-stung lips with hair the color of the forest's autumn leaves, and two almonds, swirling all the greens of it's summer beds, flashing beneath a silken brow. Her smile was timid and seemed to make more of a frown at the corners than a grin, still her blushing face glimmered upon every flash of teeth. Her torso moved as though she had just left a meadow at dusk, and it was this air that filled her white linen dress with swaying hips evocative of a grandfather clock's pendulum. Her name was Ava and never before had three letters dripped with such sweetness of breath that perfumed my lungs with glee. After a while my pulsing organ of fire slowed to the pace of her pelvis so that I was synchronized to the beat of her virgin midriff..."

----


Virgin midriff?!
Wtf, Leah. Wtf.


I wonder if this means I'll have to resign my babysitting jobs.
Though this concoction of my imagination is the obvious product of too many Lifetime movies and a long-lasting appreciation for Alice in Wonderland, you know I wanted to get on that shit.

Ah, well at least I found out before I continued down the wrong path of heterosexual exploitations relations. Who know, perhaps I was a Catholic priest in a past life.

Rally

"That's Bullshit,
Get off it.
This war is for profit.
End foreign occupation,
it's not the way to liberation."

This little rhyme was one of the many chants I barked throughout the streets of Washington today.


After waking up at 3:30 am, with only two hours of sleep under my belt, I eventually stumbled my way to the parking lot where a bus was to take me, for six hours, down to Washington, D.C.

Declining the coach bus (because it cost more money, and I'm an unemployed slacker), I headed onto a too-familiar yellow school bus. Because it was 4 am, it was cold, and I was tired.
This in addition to the horde of people loaded onto the bus proved I was ready to embark on a true hippie adventure. Oh, we didn't need any of those state-of-the-art individual television sets or oh-so-handy reading lamps that the yuppie coach riders were provided with, just give us one gee-tar and a bus load of people, and we were good to go.
However by the fifth hour on the springy bus seats that had been abused by classes of kindergartners, my ass and lower back were not so quick to agree.

With this I set off to meet up the hundreds of others for the March on Washington, part deux. After two pit stops, one depletion of my iPod battery, and a whole lotta hummus, six hours later, I arrived in Washington.

It was amazing. Am-a-zing.
Though I am truly not a hardcore liberal, the vibe and power that surged through the crowd was awesome.
Plus, there was a myriad of hot, collegiate, grungy, laid-back men to gawk at.
But since a picture's worth a hundred words and I've been awake for about 24 straight hours, allow me to present a powerpoint presentation of sorts to better convey the day's events:

I attempted to publish some pictures on photobucket, I'm not sure that idea went over so well, but here they are anyway. www.photobucket.com/albums/mindinparadox


The photos are not the most flattering but, hey, you try waking up in the wee hours of the morning and truckin' down to D.C. and back and then we'll see how pretty your hair looks. Mmkay.

Damn Hippies, I know.

This weekend I'm finally putting my big mouth to use (and in ways other than those shown on Queer as Folk) and heading off to a Rally in DC. The 60's are back in, haven't you heard?

I went to DC for a conference something-or-other last year and I am quite excited to be going back. They've got some killer Chinese food there, plus I get to do some anti-war protesting while I'm at it.

As far as attire goes I'm thinking I should go with my "The Only Bush I Trust is My Own" t-shirt. The ensemble should help get me in the right mood and I've been looking for the right occasion to wear the shirt.

So aside from the wardrobe contemplation, I'm very excited that I will finally be able to get out there and voice what I've been satirically and seriously remarking about for these past years.

For anyone who is interested the March on Washington is Saturday the 24th. (I'm leaving from Warwick around 5 am, so we should be getting there at 11 ish. I expect the event to last until late in the evening but I'm heading back home at around 6)

If you're in the area or can make the trek, please come!

As usual my cellphone has contracted syphilis and is currently displaced but if I find it by Saturday the number is 845.590.4842
If you're interested and need further directions don't hesitate to call, I'd love to see you there.

Weird. So I found this post unpublished in blogger from spring break of last year. I figured better late than never, so here's a rather belated ramble

...Granted there was probably a reason I never got around to publishing it.
Like if it had absolutely no purpose or greater moral value.
But let's face it, I don't think anything I've posted here has been of the utmost importance.
Well maybe aside from that picture of the guy decorated with a dragon tattoo on his penis.
Anyway, ramble circa 2004:



I'm what you might call the "anywhere but here" kinda girl. Traveling is my passion, guide, and on occasional savior. Granted, I haven't been out of the country since I was nine. But it's all about imagination.

Spring break is one of the most popular times for people to gather round and fly to exotic locations like Cancun, Aruba, or Kuwait. Oh sure, lounging and tanning all day, getting absolutely plastered at night sounds like a good time. But I bet those kids didn't get to go to not 1, but 6 museums in one of our nations most historic cities, Philadelphia.

Pft, I didn't think so. While they were out tempting melanoma and sipping umbrellaed beverages, I got to enjoy an 2 and a half hour seminar on the significance of the crack in the Liberty Bell. This is what they call "getting cultured".

After a 23 women long bathroom line and a 62 people long entrance line I got to see one of the most remarkable exhibits ever.

Señor Salvador Dali's 18 room, over 200 work exhibit in the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Dali, though greatly recognized, is usually the stereotypical favorite artist of teenagers and new wave adults. Usually, people brought up on the classics are often confused with Dali's bizarre yet infatuating world of surrealism.

However after a two hour stretch of standing on your feet staring at a piece of paper with some paint hung on the wall, one might begin to feel differently and start to look at his works with new eyes.

Some may call the man, Dali, a megalomaniac, a fool, and quite eccentric, but standing 2 inches away from his Persistence of Memory, the only word I could think to use was genius. At first I was jaded as the piece had almost become a cliche. Afterall, I had seen in countless times on posters and websites, but after taking a step back I realized I was looking at the actual masterpiece, the same one he had stood before and painted and my appreciation for it was renewed.

Alright, now enough of this passionate artistic appreciation nonsense.

After such a long day spent standing on my feet and staring at some of the best work of the 20th century, and most likely all of history, I was a little woozy. As having to absorb so much visual stimulation in a limited amount of time always leaves me a little off-kilter. Though drinking anywhere from 5-9 shots of vodka also seems to have this affect.

So, in closing, all I can really say is Dali is the shit, Philadelphia is a fantastic place, and my feet hurt.

This quiz is cleverly entitled "Favorite Song..."

Only a year on blogger and I've already succumbed to the filler lists. Ah, well.


Favorite Song...

to play air guitar to: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen
to strip to: If Lovin' You is Wrong by Faithless
about war: For What it's Worth by Buffalo Springfield
to hippie out to: Woodstock by Joni Mitchell
that makes you wish you were alive for the sixties' concerts: Freedom by Richie Havens
to have stuck in your head: Such Great Heights by The Postal Service
to sing while drunk: God Loves a Drunk by Richard Thompson
that makes you wish you're from Manchester: Love will tear us apart by Joy Division
to make out to: May This Be Love by Jimi Hendrix
to feel angsty listening to: Star Power by Sonic Youth
to perk you up: Little Dawn by Ted Leo & the Pharmacists
to blast in your headphones: Holland, 1945 by Neutral Milk Hotel
to listen to on a road trip: Roadhouse Blues by The Doors
to listen to while smoking up: Box of Rain by The Greatful Dead
for feeling in the 80's: Take on Me by Aha
for feeling in the 90's: Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana
that you've overplayed: Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie
that's cliched but still meaningful: Imagine by John Lennon
to listen to while bowling: Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leopard
to relax to: Sugar Mountain by Neil Young
to keep on repeat: A.M 180 by Grandaddy
to wake up to: Spiderbait by Calypso
for girl power: Respect by Aretha Franklin
to listen to in a park: The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel
for nostalgia: Ruby Soho by Rancid
that tributes other bands: You Were Right by Built to Spill
that's not in the genre of music you usually like: The Seed 2.0 by The Roots ft. Cody Chestnut
best song to Karaoke: I Would Walk 500 Miles by The Proclaimers
to fall alseep to: Talk Show Host by Radiohead
best song to fuck to: Big Dumb Sex by Soundgarden
best song to make love to: Ai Du by Ali Farka Toure
to fall in love to: God Only Knows by The Beach Boys
to listen to after a break up: You've Got to Hide Your Love Away by The Beatles
of the last year: Inertiatic Esp by The Mars Volta
of this month: Wave of Mutilation by Pixies
that's a cover song: All Along the Watchtower by Jimi Hendrix/House of the Rising Sun by Bob Dylan
to crank while driving at high velocities: Another One Bites the Dust by Queen
to listen to alone in silence: Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven
to smile to: Three Little Birds by Bob Marley
to get dressed to for a date: Sunshine of your Love by Cream
that's a one hit wonder: In the Year 2525 Zager and Evans
that tells a story: The Origin of Love by John Cameron Mitchell (Hedwig and the Angry Inch)
to slow dance to: Ballroom of Mars by T-Rex
yesterday: Can't Stand It by Wilco
today: Wake Up by The Arcade Fire
favorite song ever: I can't really answer this question



Now anyone who may have stumbled upon here should make up your own compilation. It's actually pretty interesting.

A Little Diddy of Se7en Things, Compliments of Rebekah

Seven Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Travel to many exotic places. (Most of which are currently afflicted with civil strife.)
2. Fall in love. (I'm a woman. It's the damn pheromones, I can't help this.)
3. Do something extraordinary. (This seems to be harder than I had originally thought)
4. Get a Shiba Inu and name it Wolfgang.
5. Maybe pop out a few kids. (I've got some time to waste and the world isn't quite enough overpopulated yet)
6. Get my Zen on. (This entails making peace with myself, the men in my life, the world, and possibly smoking a bit of the Buddha in the process.)
7. And perhaps the most important yet daunting task is to finally complete one of those damn Rubik's cubes.


Things I Can Do:
1. Collage. (It's my thing)
2. Repetitively doodle an eye on most paperwork that comes my way.
3. Cook, clean, do laundry and master many other domestic privileges.
4. Make too many hemp necklaces.
5. Batik.
6. Wear a lot of jewerly.
7. Snuggle. (Yes I blame it on the female thing. But this is one of the less tedious and much more fun things I've inherited through the x chromosome)


Things I Cannot Do:
1. Sing.
2. Control my tendency to blush when I'm in an uncomfortable situation, namely when doing an oral presentation in Spanish class.
3. Dance.
4. Comprehend what people mean when they say, "That George Bush, he sure is a good president."
5. Go for an extensive period of time without affection. (I like to hug. Be forewarned.)
6. Blow shit up with advanced psychokinesis. (Though that'd be cool)
7. Refrain from laughing at inappropriate times when inspired to do so by my particularly close and amusing friends.


Seven Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex:
1. Intelligence.
2. Wit.
3. Eyes.
4. Manner of speaking.
5. Caring, Creativity, Cunning Charisma, and a bunch of other traits beginning with 'c' (cunnilingus not excluded).
6. Big sense of humor.
7. Nice teeth. (I'm all about good dental hygiene)


Seven Things I Say Most Often:
1. That's cute. (This is a very versatile response and can be used sincerely or sarcastically)
For example: "Look at my new dress I bought for prom." --response, "That's cute." or
"I get off watching small children play on tire swings."--response, "That's cute."
2. Yep, I'm pretty drunk.
3. I love you.
4. Fuck. (alternatives are fuck me, fuck you, fuck it, fuck this shit, holy fuck, motherfuck)
5. Hey You. (If I say this to you while deviously grinning, chances are, I want to bang you. If not, why am I saying hello to you anyway? go away)
6. Actually, I'm quite drunk.
7. What are you up to? (AIM greetings are always good conversation starters)


Celebrity Crushes:
Sadly I certainly have more than seven of these. But I'm an American, it's my obligation to support the celeb-obsessed culture that our lovely media bombards us with in hopes of taking our minds off the fact that we are all lazy, obese, STD-ridden rednecks. Plus, come on, these people are some foxy ladies and gentlemen.


and so:

Johnny Depp, Joseph Fiennes, Kate Winslet, Scarlett Johansson, Ethan Hawke, Edward Furlong, Christina Richie, Jeremy Irons, Brendan Fehr, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Johnny Whitworth, Chan Marshall, Sufjan Stevens, Gale Harold, Katherine Moenning, Jeremy Sisto, Edward Norton, Jack Nicholson, Devendra Banhart, Jeff Buckley, Asia Argento, Tim Roth, John Cusack, Gael Garcia Bernal, Guillaume Canet, James Spader, etc.