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


Pour Some Sugar on Me

Okay, pour it on the Sugarbutch herself. I mean, you could pour it on me, and I'd like that, but she's actually invited it for herself.

See, Sinclair at Sugarbutch Chronicles has this nifty contest going on called Be The Next Sugarbutch Star which involves collecting scenarios from readers suggesting an erotic encounter, with the five winning submissions being featured on her site. From the five, a winner will be chosen by readers, with the winning participant, um, winning something.

Because everyone wants to be a star.

The rules are simple: Sketch out a rough (heh heh) outline of a scene you'd like Sin to write. And if you read her blog, you know that lady can write one hot fuck. She offers a sample submission (heh heh) for the contest here. The best part is that you don't have to write anything particularly hot or lyrical; that's her job. Though, that didn't stop me from going full-on crazy with the details when I started writing mine.

Sinclair just gets me hot like that.

Not to worry, I pared it down to essential info and I'm all aflutter wondering what she'll do with it if she chooses to use it.

So, come on! You've got until the calendar turns (That's midnight Tuesday, sweeties.) to get yours in. Read the details, jot off a few sentences and send them to Sin at aspiringstud(at)

Man, now I have the Mary Katherine Gallagher "Superstar!" thing in my head.

*Update: Sinclair's extended the deadline until August 7th. Whee!

18 July 2007


Oh, So Quiet

I'm home from vacation.

While I was gone a set of transformations took place at my house. My friend Lisa the Lesbian Landscaper removed overgrown crap from my yard and put in shiny new baby shrubs and flowers. Red and purple. I have no idea what they are, but they look nice, and I am watering them now. My mom planted pumpkins in the back garden. If I don't kill them, we will have homegrown jack-o'lanterns in October. I bought a hose at the hardware store today. Whoa.

The most significant transformation was my bedroom and bathroom floors, which were refinished and replaced, respectively. Rad. They are lovely and make me smile when I walk into the room. Except that now, I have to replace everything that I'd shoved into the dining room and the kids' bedroom before leaving.

Basically, I'm moving back in.

The boys are with their father for two weeks, so it's the perfect time for organizing a home and refinishing a table, but it's also strange. I am alone, after three weeks of wonderful chaos and togetherness with fifteen other people. I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. Lovers call, write and breeze into town, but I need time to process this trip and its meaning and implications. We are family now–Jefferson, his kin and mine–and it complicates things in the sweetest of ways.

I mean, his father kissed me and said, "You take good care of my boy."

I cried when we left, adding to the tears being shed by his mother and grandmother, who hugged me tight and said, "Love you, honey." Ach, it's so like that.

Joe picked me up from the airport and drove to his place where he seared tuna steaks on the grill, fed me, put me to bed and held me. I was happy to be there, but not quite ready to reenter life. When he drove me home in the morning I brightened, seeing the new life in the garden and the floors so new they shone like mirrors.

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10 July 2007


'S Wonderful

I've officially entered vacation mode. I have no idea what day it is, or whether we went fruit and vegetable shopping yesterday or the day before.

My children are brown, despite regularly scheduled applications of spf 45.

Sunday, while wearing my long white skirt I noticed that my feet are tan. The rest of me, too, but there's something about looking down and seeing the light brown tops of my feet lashed into triptychs by Old Navy flip flops.

That says summer to me.

My sunglasses are sludging along at the bottom of the lake.

Tonight, after midnight or pre-dawn tomorrow morning, or possibly both, I will nuzzle the neck of a blond southern fellow as we fit our bodies quietly together, the way we have done every late night/early morning since arriving here last week.

'S awful nice.

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