“Her knees cinched even closer, pinching her milk-white skin so that the blood stopped flowing to her waiting calves. The rough skin of his hands wrapped around the stem of the glass whispered, “I’m going to take you places you’ve never imagined.” She no longer felt the February chill.”
If you’d like to give Friday Fifty a spin, you must play by the rules as posted at dans les pointes suture darlings. You can leave your fifty in the comments box or post it on your blog and link back to this post.
Twitter etiquette for Friday Fifty on Twitter, then don’t forget to use the hashtag #Friday50. Happy Writing!
I had just settled in with a sweet, juicy, orange, cup of tea, and a totally empty page when there came a very light, very short tap at my front door.
For two full seconds I debated whether to disturb my cozy position to answer, and then popped up to see who was there. No one.
Just a box on the threshold. From the thick black ink used to write my address, I knew that it was a care package from the Amazing Ms. C.
My faithful pal, the Amazing Ms.C is fabulously insane in so many ways, I can’t possibly love her enough. She is a couponer extraordinaire, and has a taste for comical,twisted, jack-ass inspired vengeance that only rivals my own.
I cut open the layers of packing to tape to find a plethora of her couponer-freebies (including amongst other things body cooling wipes for hot flashes, perfume samples, miniature crystal ball decorations, a full-sized tube of toothpaste, laundry and dish soap, herbal tea, and a full-sized mascara which I hope doesn’t give me eye fungus).
Thoughtfully wrapped up in a Virginia Peanut box was a cup and saucer set purchased at a second-hand store. For $2.00 the Amazing Ms. C has given me at least a full month of pleasure.
You see, I’m going to take the tea-cup to work, and teetotal around the office – saucer included – in the most sincere of proper-British-tea-drinking-ways. As a writer, witnessing people’s reactions is my study. The new tea-cup will be an interesting prop. It should distract me from some of the less pleasant realities of having to work for a living.
The Amazing C also sent a total of 22 coupons. 10 for Durex Play lubricant or/Toy. 10 for condoms. I didn’t even know that the local big box store/ pharmacy started to sell sex toys on the shelf. I can’t even begin to express how wrong that is.
I may just leave them at the coupon exchange counter tomorrow morning when I go out to buy my Saturday Globe and fresh baguette.
Perhaps a better idea is to see if I can use them all at once, purchase the Durex ‘toy’, and just see what kind of quality is being offered in over-the-counter sales, next to the opaque caged cigarette display. Seriously folks, we’re being legislated like stepford-citizens…but I digress.
One item included in the package that is sure to garner further posts for my faithful female and male followers alike is a book. The Amazing Ms. C looks out for my intellectual development too!
“Boyfriend Wisdom; Timeouts, Tantrums and Other Tips for Dating Guys Who Act Like Toddlers”, will surely be an intellectually stimulating read for a simple country gal like me.
I have to admit, getting creative with the time-outs kind of has me needing those body-cooling-hot-flash wipes. Yes sirree!
That’s what girlfriends are for – brightening your day. Whenever I speak to the Amazing Ms. C, we share a laugh, and uncensored conversation about unspeakable physical ailments, acts and afflictions.
In your lifetime, you will only ever find a handful of friends you can be so uncensored with, and those friends, my juicy little kumquats, are the keepers.
I offer you my favourite restaurant where you’re guaranteed a wonderful atmosphere to share a leisurely weekend lunch. My favourite spot for lunch is Terroni.
My suggestion is to make your way to Terroni first, maybe duck into a shop or two first so you break the ice a little bit and have a conversation flowing before you sit down.
After a couple of nice glasses of the great wines that they offer, you’ll have two options. If your new love turns out to be a bit of a clod when they’re drinking, you can bid them adieu, and wander the shops yourself.
If things go well, and a couple of drinks loosen up your fresh little love-cannoli, you can carry on checking out the great businesses along the street. Perhaps you might want to pick up some things to snack on later (after your passionate, hunger inducing, wild, passionate love making).
If you’re thinking of ways to extend your time together, and you don’t want to say good-bye until, oh, let’s say, tomorrow morning. I suggest a look around Come as You Are.
It is the most person-friendly adult store I’ve ever visited. Not that I’m an expert by any stretch of the imagination. Wait. That’s a lie. I’ve been around the block a time or two, and this is one little gold mine you don’t want to leave untapped. Pun intended.
Besides discovering a great resource for your sexual development, you’ll have a rare opportunity to peek behind the red velvet curtain of your lover’s intimate preferences. What a gift!
Visit the antique shops and the great Tibetan Buddhist shop before tackling Come As You Are. That way you can take your time.
From your sure-to-leave-you-both-blushing trip to the adult store, I would go immediately for dessert.
There’s nothing but sinfully delicious sweets at Dufflet’s bakery where you can re-fuel your giddy-date engergy by enjoying coffee and a cupcake. You know, for a little tease of sweetness before you go home to unwrap and slowly devour the man-dessert you’ve been craving all afternoon.
I hope this helps. Maybe I’ll even see you there….
The town where I grew up had a population of approximately 500.
I used to ride my yellow bike with the banana seat and white, woven basket on the gravel streets to the library.
After getting the mail, I would prop my bicycle against the white, wooden-sided building that housed both the library and police station, and head on in to peruse the shelves.
I still have my first library card, and occasionally wield it as a small-town-badge-of-honour when my friends of urban birth gape, open-mouthed at the stories of my childhood. My library card number, unlike my current 14 digit library card number had only three digits: 003.
Yes, I was library member three. Quaint and frightening all at the same time. I need not go into the functional literacy rate of the county that hosted this library.
Books were my therapist, priest, and security blanket growing up in a small town. To this day I’m convinced that I was indeed found under a cabbage leaf .
I was a regular at the local library, and by the time I was 10 years old I’d read through the Harlequin’s, and Bob Geldof’s autobiography.
I hated having to give up my precious books. Big bookstores nudged the library out of my life. The seductive ease of ordering on-line became a convenient way to feed my addiction. As a result, I have lugged and moved and rearranged books for years.
I still have some of my favourites from my childhood and university years, as well as a handful of sentimental little board books that I used to read over and over to my own child.
It was a bittersweet reunion when, just over a year ago I re-ignited my previously flaming-hot relationship with the local library. It wasn’t long before I got over the two things that had become irreconcilable about my relationship with the library; not being able to keep the book, and getting the willies thinking about someone else’s dirty hands all over the darn thing while perched a la toilette.
The relief witnessed by my bank account and the ease of placing holds on hard to find books, helped heal theOCD fear of catching germs from a loaned book.
My previous post about parents choosing inappropriate activities for children may have made you think that I’m some sort of child-hating monster. Au contraire my pretties.
The library is almost completely kid friendly. First of all it’s free.
Libraries have programs designed specifically for tots.Children can touch the books without fear of a burly security person dragging them and their parents outside.
Contrary to the environment in which I was raised, I now live in Canada’s most culturally diverse region. I share city resources with people from around the world; some scraping to get by, and others much better off than most. Good libraries offer communities a rich resource to bridge the gap between the 99% and the 1%.
I’m going to ask you to question why you need to own books that you will likely only read once despite your best intentions to re-read them. Come on. Be honest with yourself.
Why not support a resource that exists to enrich the entire community? Why not support a resource that may potentially be the mentor of a young child who has no resources to draw from at home?
Go ahead, rekindle your romance with the library darlings. Who knows, you might just learn a thing or two.
I pride myself in having exposed my child to the world of art and culture our local art gallery. Albeit entirely against his will, and almost entirely forgotten but for the delicious croissants served in the member’s lounge.
I also pride myself in not having had a wild jungle freak tearing art from the walls, fingering Rodin’s Adam, or running his own stroller NASCAR style around the galleries.
Please, I beg of you urbanite, let-them-explore-so-I-can-continue-to-be-a-child-and-buck-the-social-burden-of-parenting, keep your little monsters at home. Unless of course you’ve grown up yourself, and use the outing to teach etiquette and behaviour standards.
Today at The AGO’s Patti Smith, Camera Solo exhibit I had the good fortune of practicing patience and peace. Oblivion-feigning parents (because no one is that stupid) whose children were walking on the lounges, moving the art on the walls, and racing around the gallery granted me a choice; I could either wallop the turds and tune them in about their ill-behaved selves and offspring, or I could take in the exhibit quietly, serenely, breathing deeply and being thankful that I have access to such wonderful art.
I chose the latter, simply because prison orange is not my colour.
In all deep spiritual practice, children are welcomed as a valuable part of the community. So, it leaves me wondering when I’m at a gallery or performance, just what side of the thick grey line do I take when parents (I don’t blame the children), do not respect the space (aural, visual and tactile) of other patrons?
I chose today to attend the local art gallery because tomorrow, Family Day, has been advertised by the gallery as a day to bring in children. I’d rather guzzle a bottle of Absinthe and run the sub-zero streets naked, than dodge bored, whining, sometimes screeching, un-supervised children thank you very much.
Admittedly, it is my generation of parents who’ve got it all wrong. If you’ve committed to children, you’ve sacrificed your ‘cool’ quotient. Parenting is not cool, it is sincere work and bonding. Your children deserve parents who teach manners, get real about what is kid appropriate and what is not.
A children’s museum is kid appropriate. A dinosaur exhibit is appropriate. Watching airplanes take off and land is appropriate. Patti Smith??? Not so much inappropriate as dull as shit for toddlers and babies. Hell, some adults would be whining and picking at your sweater to get out.
I see parents still spoon-feeding their four-year olds, laughing at the little buggers when they press their fingers against centuries old paintings, and letting them run like wild rabbits in places where the only excuse for running or loud talking is if there’s a fire or gun-wielding maniac.
My generation needs to grow up and parent children to become the kind of human beings that other human beings want to share the planet with.
A word to the wise; be sure to visit the Camera Solo exhibit on a weekday to avoid sitting on a muddy lounge, or getting your shins scraped by, toddler-driven strollers.
Valentine’s day, the quintessential ‘Hallmark’, synthetic holiday has arrived!
You, my sweet Georgia peaches, have either chosen to snub it, or to embrace it.
If you’ve chosen ‘snub’ over love, I suggest you pour your lonesome self a big ol’ glass of something delicious (shake up a few actually), and hide away while the rest of us shower love and affection on our friends and lovers.
May I suggest:
“Not Tonight I’ve got a Heartache”
1 part Gin
1 part Campari
1 part Sweet Red Vermouth
Fill a shaker with ice, and pour liquor over ice. Shake until outside of metal shaker begins to sweat.
Pour into a glass and try to enjoy it despite your cynical mood and black as coal heart.