Cupcake Lust

How can I long for a girly pastel frosted cupcake from The Magnolia Bakery in New York City when I’ve never had one? Damn you Carrie from Sex and The City. Instead of having a crush on a movie star like Matt Damon, I have a crush on a cupcake. I’ve even downloaded pictures from the Internet, wondering which would taste better, the pink, the yellow, or the green frosting. It’s sad to think that instead of writing a story in which the heroine has fantastic sex in the big city with a Matt look alike, I’m trying to come up with an idea in which she gets to eat her cupcake first.

Ice Queen

If Fiona (the guinea pig) were a porn star, she would be an ice queen, who would only let a select few people rub her the right way. She would look at them in a manner that would make them feel like she wasn’t really looking at them, and if they touched her too long, she would cast them aside with a hurried rush to get on with whatever her next agenda was. I’m not sure how much money or how many films she would make with that attitude, but ice queens know that people usually want what they can’t have.

Slightly Subversive Friend

I wish I still had a slightly subversive friend at work. Someone to chit chat about things like Bettie Page, tattoos, piercings, a little d/s and writing erotica. I miss the days of going to Borders after work and studying tattoo magazines over coffee, or helping to replace a bead in a belly button ring in the bathroom at work, or listening to stories about going to after hour clubs in Detroit, but friends move away. Emails drift into blank screens and silence.

Now I’m left with tolerating Crazy Jane, and I have the occasional conversation with a girl named Daphne, who works in another department. She fully understands what it is like to have a twisted, dysfunctional family, but the raciest thing she’s ever done was to dress up like Trinity from the Matrix at a Halloween party. She looks like Jessica Simpson and loves horror movies like me, but I just can’t imagine telling her about the things I like to write about, so I’m lost in a sea of conversations about gardens, soccer practices and bake sales. I feign interest, and everyone thinks I’m a nice girl, which isn’t a bad thing, but it does get a little lonely and boring.  It makes me wonder if anyone else has ever felt like this.

A great big stack of porn books

I frequently go to the library. Mostly to check out audio books of British chick lit because they are too expensive to buy, unless I can find them cheap on Half.com. There is a room for the Friends of the Library, where they sell donated books to the public to help fund special events. Seeing how I’m a book freak and my house is occasionally overrun by books, I feel the need to make a contribution, which I did today, only I made a mistake.

I gave the library a great big stack of porn books.

I didn’t mean to do it. They were separated into two bags by the back door. In my hurry to get my errands done today, I swept them both up. I didn’t even realize what I’d done until I came home and saw the missing bag. Good grief! We are not talking romantic erotica with beautiful sunsets and movie star kisses. We’re talking about feisty heroines who like to stick their fingers up other people’s butts while doing the dirty deed.

What could I do? I couldn’t march back in there and dig them back out of the huge canvas bin. It might look like I was taking money from a donation jar, or what if a librarian came over to help me. It is one thing to write porn and read porn, but I don’t want to be caught cradling it in a public place where children run about or where I could run into someone like one of my teachers from elementary school.

Not knowing what else to do, I drove back into town to get a decaf Café Breve from my local coffee shop to calm my nerves, but afterward, I only ended up back at the library, sitting in my car in the parking lot, sipping my coffee, listening to ABBA and stewing about my dilemma.

I ended up going home and doing nothing. Hopefully a sexually repressed librarian will find the books and take them home, the subject matter setting her free to explore her sexuality, or maybe a teenage boy will find the books in the trash, thus beginning a long and formidable addiction to porn.

 I’m just happy that I don’t write my name in books.

Tattoos

At work today, Crazy Jane asked me why I haven’t been wearing walking shorts to work like everyone else, because the dress code has been summer business casual. With my office being so conservative, I could hardly tell about the tattoos on my legs, which include Bettie Page, a cute angelfish with a purse, a heart with a rose and a sword, a sunflower and the four Pop Chalee horses wrapped around my ankle. So I told her that I have white legs like a vampire (Something my sister has been telling me for years) and left it at that.

More Barbie Issues

I was thinking about staging another Barbie photo shoot for my web site, and I was trying to decide what the girls may or not be wearing when I realized that my Barbies are better dressed than I am. When I was a young, my single doll only had a couple outfits. She made a quick change, and she was ready for her newest adventure. Now my dolls are laden with more outfits than Sarah Jessica Parker.
 
You know your dolls have issues when you can dress them in themes. Examples include two types of pajama parties, sexy or cute, The Sex and The City girls, snow day, shopping spree day and hookerville.

Pink Polka Dot Dog Totes

I went to the pet store to buy some pellets for my guinea pig, Fiona, who happens to think she is British. I came across some dog carrying totes. Now mind you, these aren’t the ones I’ve been having girly shopping wet dreams about with the faux pink polka dot patent leather and silver hardware that you see online for around $300.00 or more. This was a $20.00 canvas tote, but it did have a little piece of carpeting in the bottom for pooch to stand on.
 
For a moment, I actually considered buying it for Fiona. I imagined us having a big city girl type moment, but then I realized a Midwest suburban girl carrying a guinea pig in a canvas tote just doesn’t have the same cache as a fashionista in Manhattan with her miniature Yorkie. In addition, Fiona probably wouldn’t like it. She doesn’t like to be picked up that much. She only likes to be admired from a distance like the diva she is.

Crazy Jane and The Big Carrots

My co-worker, who sits across from me, is named Jane. I call her Crazy Jane. No one gets along with her because she is so nosy, condesending and abrasive. One person said having a conversation with her was like rubbing a Brillo pad on a bruise. I don't think she is a mean person at heart, but she says she does write down the license plate numbers of motorists who run over squirrels on the road for her big day of vengance.

She is thrifty beyond the normal human endeavors to save a penny. She always uses the libraries for books and movies, so she is talking about films from two years ago as if they are new. If anyone makes too many photocopies, she yells at them about wasting paper. She saves slivers of soap and puts them in old water bottles to make dish soap. According to her anything can recycled for another use.

Her boyfriend is never making her happy in the bedroom department so it makes me wonder about the huge carrots that she brings in to work for her lunch. Has she used them before?

Bookstore

Last night, I went to a bookstore in Ann Arbor. I wanted to check out the erotica section, but there was an imposing brute of a man standing in front of it. I tried to wait him out by the humor section, and I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was taking down every title, reading the back cover and then flipping through the book. I thought it was nice he was so interested in erotica, until I noticed he kept adjusting the change in his front pocket or so I thought. As the minutes passed by, I wondered how long was it going to take to get his "browsing" done, so I wandered off to give him a minute alone.

Fifteen minutes later, I had three new chick lit books in my hand, that I just had to buy, which now gobbled up my book spending money. I had promised myself no more chick lit in an effort to control my lust for girly adventures in big cities and look what had happened. I blamed him. Even from the checkout line, I could still see him, sliding his hand in his pocket.

Barbie Photo Shoot

Yesterday, I thought about having a Barbie photo shoot. Maybe post some erotic Barbie images on my website, but I kept over exposing the pictures with my digitial camera and the Barbies wouldn't cooperate. They just weren't in the mood for sexy posing.