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Je veux être la fille avec la plupart de gâteau. Regardez-moi dans la glace.
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15 February 2007


Bon Anniversaire à Moi

Today is my real-life birthday. Also the birthday of my late grandmother. Also of my cousin Dan, who was born two hours before me.

I will be baking cupcakes for my party this weekend and opening the giftbag my boys tied shut this morning, making me promise not to open it until dinnertime. It's something from Bath & Body Works; I heard Miles reading the package to Jack in the bedroom just after they asked me to cut them a length of ribbon.

Rather than beg for gifts (Ahem!Hitachimagicwand!Ahem!) from you, dear readers, I thought it would be nice to give you something nice to gaze upon.

You like?

I like.

Since I decided to accept advertising, I've wanted to change the layout a bit to give the people who pay me to link to them a better choice of space. I also wanted to keep the text and ads balanced, pretty, and you know, uncomplicated. The three-column template was designed by Pam Blackstone, modified from the original Minima by Doug Bowman. I took my own liberties and voilà!

You'll notice some additions, and a few tweaks which will happen in the coming days.

See those two grey spots with entreaties to place Your Ad Here on Madeline in the Mirror? Click on the links and submit your ad for products or services via BlogAds. Or, if you'd rather, take a cue from and become a sponsor. Email me and I'll tell you how.

If you don't have anything to sell, but still would like to help support this site and pad my masturbation and travel funds, you can always donate via the Send Money button.

Oh, and there's a new profile pic.

Now, to commence with my birthday celebrations! There will be snow, cupcakes, fancy panties and a French bistro. Black boots, cigars, bourbon and, well, spankings.

Of course, Lolita gave me my first round of birthday spankings earlier this month, as seen in this photo. She's the "lucky sod holding the switch" as my friend Mon so eloquently put it. I happen to think that I was the lucky one. Well, me and the Fanboy.

I want to thank my friends for being consistently awesome; I promise to write about you soon. I especially want to spank thank Miss Meg, who held my hand as I entered the scary world of hand-coding templates and CSS and said, effectively, "Mads, just get it up already."

She's the sweetest, most fabulous friend and painslut ever.

Speaking of getting things up, I believe I'd like to take you back to the lake--lo, these many months ago--for some fine kissing and the most languorous of blowjobs.

They don't call it the Deep South for nothing.

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14 February 2007


For Miles

...And I dont know how I survived those days
Before I held your hand
Well I never thought that I would be the one
To admit that the moon and the sun
Shine so much more brighter when
Seen through two pairs of eyes than
When seen through just one

Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful
As a face in a crowd of people
That lights up just for you?

Have you ever felt more fresh or wonderful
As when you wake
By the side of that boy or girl
Who has pledged their love to you?

Well I have known all these things
And the joys that they can bring
And now every morning there's a cup of coffee
And I wear your ring

~Cowboy Junkies, Anniversary Song

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11 February 2007


Non Li Amo

You call and ask if I’m free tonight, “…a long shot, I know.”

I’ve just been fucked like a bitch by my love as three others watched and came, their come swirling together, homogenizing in a pool at the small of my back.

I do not return your call.

I return to our bed where life is still and time is heavy haze, where cunt swallows cock. I breathe the air from his mouth, making it mine. When he dies I will pull his last breath deep inside me, imprisoning his soul within my ribcage.

He fits me. Loves me.

Quietly rocking, writhing, bending, pulling, stretching, gasping, squirming. Content. Senza voce.

I do not love you, because when we fuck, I am discontented. Impatient. Growling.

When we fuck, my hand does not move to your cheek, tracing its thumb across your brow. You do not shut your eyes and turn into it, kissing my palm.

Because you do not love me.

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08 February 2007


Spank Me

You know how it is with two-year-olds.

People call them the Terrible Twos, but I think that's just dumb. I think that two year-olds rock.

No longer babies, two year-olds crave independence and take chances, figuring out how things work and how they fit in.

Twos build their confidence by making mistakes. Trying new things. Making shit up as they go along and faking it 'til they get it right. Making messes. Negotiating.

Biting. Being bitten.

How appropriate. Today is my blogoversary.

Today I am two.