Where pain = sex
Many years ago, I was a devoted gym-junkie. Hard to believe I know, but junkie I was. I would wear the requisite early '90's gym costume of leotard, cut high into the butt, with thick socks rolled down. I was a great fan of Step Classes, and was one of the annoying people up the front who would be leaping from the step and screaming for more. Social outings would be working around my favourite instructor - he took a class on Friday 5:30pm - so no after work drinks for me - just sweating away with Michael on stage and his glistening quads.
I then became a little bored with the world of Aerobics, and began running. I am not aerodynamically designed for running - putting it mildly. Even at my fittest and svelte-est, I am built for comfort - not speed. But run, I did. After much effort, I built myself up to regular 5km runs (on the treadmill) and loved it. I was even crazy enough to enter a fun run. Once.
But, the diagnosis of a thyroid condition in my late-20's put a kybosh on any aerobic activity for quite a while. Following that, a marriage break-up which sapped all my strength. Fitness went out the window, and I discovered a world of lethargy.
Every so often since then, I have once again toyed with the notion of regular exercise. I love dancing, for both its fun and fitness, but found partner dancing difficult because of the politics. So that lasted only about a year, before I moved on from it (after winning a national competition mind you). Then I discovered Tap Dancing, which required no partner, and certainly involved a lot more fun.
But here I am again, now in my mid-30's (yikes!), again trying to brave a fitness regime. With Bond far away, and the need for some physical activity (and certainly not getting the activity I want!), I have decided to take up running again. Of course, at the moment, the running is mostly a lot of walking, interspersed with brief snatches of fast foot shuffling. Nevertheless, I am, for the moment, undertaking regular movement with some cardio benefits. Hopefully, the benefits will not only be distraction from my absentee boyfriend, but some increased fitness and maybe some toning all over. And heck, when I do see him next, I want to be fuck-fit - it will be beyond tragic if after months apart, my stamina in the bedroom is less than sterling!
It seems that Bond has similar ideas about distraction. He, too, has signed up for a gym, and has increased the number of nights he plays softball. I commented to him once that I would have thought that sporting activities would not help his situation. Wouldn't activity stir up testosterone, and make him yearn ever more for rampant and wild sex? His comment was simple. Yes, indeed it does stir it up, but thankfully, his joints are so completely fucked up, that the overwhelming pain that kicks in, takes his mind off any sexual notions.
of course, then I wondered what sort of Pavlovian response is that... think of shagging Cath = mind-boggling pain!
Friday, June 30, 2006
Monday, June 26, 2006
Beware of hormones and technology
It has often been said that women should never go shopping for clothes or shoes when pre-menstrual. Common sense and reason can take a holiday, and curious purchases can be made. I may have regretted some purchases in the past under such hormonal influences, but for me, perhaps I should steer clear of the net and my mobile phone.
My last entry, below, was one of those pre-menstrual emotional out-pourings that sometimes occur. I get teary. I get sentimental. I get melancholic. So in a fit of all these things, I let my fingers deliver to the world the thoughts of the moment. Wishtup commented on the common sense of such an entry, worried that Bond would read it and what his reaction may be. Bond has read this blog, and indeed commented on one occasion, but by his own admission, he doesn't feel the need to read it since we talk daily. I related this to Wishtup, again affirming my decision to have posted that entry, making drastic declarations public.
Until today.
I periodically check the statistics of where my readership is located. Nice to see persons from all parts of the globe dropping by my little segment of cyber-space. Today, I was looking through the most recent visitors when I noted an entry from Vegas. And the ISP was "his" ISP. And he never mentioned any response to what I wrote. Or the fact that he read it. It could of course be mere coincidence - but I tend to not believe in those.
So now I wonder; Am I so bothered because he has read it and knows what I am thinking and feeling? Or am I bothered because he has read it and said nothing at all?
Either way, best comment to make from me is Fucking Fuck Fuck.
It has often been said that women should never go shopping for clothes or shoes when pre-menstrual. Common sense and reason can take a holiday, and curious purchases can be made. I may have regretted some purchases in the past under such hormonal influences, but for me, perhaps I should steer clear of the net and my mobile phone.
My last entry, below, was one of those pre-menstrual emotional out-pourings that sometimes occur. I get teary. I get sentimental. I get melancholic. So in a fit of all these things, I let my fingers deliver to the world the thoughts of the moment. Wishtup commented on the common sense of such an entry, worried that Bond would read it and what his reaction may be. Bond has read this blog, and indeed commented on one occasion, but by his own admission, he doesn't feel the need to read it since we talk daily. I related this to Wishtup, again affirming my decision to have posted that entry, making drastic declarations public.
Until today.
I periodically check the statistics of where my readership is located. Nice to see persons from all parts of the globe dropping by my little segment of cyber-space. Today, I was looking through the most recent visitors when I noted an entry from Vegas. And the ISP was "his" ISP. And he never mentioned any response to what I wrote. Or the fact that he read it. It could of course be mere coincidence - but I tend to not believe in those.
So now I wonder; Am I so bothered because he has read it and knows what I am thinking and feeling? Or am I bothered because he has read it and said nothing at all?
Either way, best comment to make from me is Fucking Fuck Fuck.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Sometimes I wonder how I can keep all these emotions inside. Thinking about him makes me happy. Hearing his voice makes me smile. But I ache for more. I yearn to hear him tell me he loves me. In every conversation, I feel his emotion is there; but just out of reach. I wonder if I shall ever have him truly in my grasp. And every day I long to tell him how much he means to me, and how every day he takes over ever more of my heart. I feel like screaming it to the world; I love him. I want to whisper it gently; I love him. But most of all, I want to look in his eyes and say "I love you". And I want to know he feels the same.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Yes, I am looking after myself.
Over the weekend, I had Ho visiting. We planned to eat, drink, and be generally merry - which we achieved. As part of this plan, we went to the Good Food and Wine Show , which involves paying an entrance fee and then getting the opportunity to sample food and wine all day. In amongst this, there is the opportunity to meet celebratory chefs, which we did. Bill Grainger is a honey - that is all that needs to be said!
The show features a large variety of exhibitors eg cookware, shoes (suitable for chefs) etc, but also including some things that one has to wonder why they are at such an event. Back massagers? Hmmmm. Adult Education Courses? Hmmm. But apparently homeopaths/iridologists are perfectly appropriate. So of course, I had to take up the offer for a free consult - which of course I followed up with handing over money once I was suitably suckered in. I treated the experience rather like when I have gone to clairvoyants. Tell them nothing and see what they can find out! So it came as a great surprise to me when he declared that I have "serious" pancreas issues..... for those not in the know - I am diabetic. For a moment, I thought maybe there was something to this iridology caper. Despite this gentleman's lack of any professionalism, I thought maybe he might be able to help my increased sense of lethargy of late. He quickly scrawled, on some old photocopy paper, his "prescription" for my well-being. Ultimately it involved no alcohol, no coffee, no tea, no pasta, no bread and no rice. No surprise there - these things always seem to be the devils of all modern-diets, despite the fact that people have been surviving on many of these things for eons. He also went on to recommend some magic "powders" that he was selling - funnily enough.
But the final nail in the euphemistic coffin, was when he began to mention my moods and perhaps my need to increase anti-depressant medication. This is of course of great interest to me, and I have indeed experimented recently with increased dosage. I leaned in, awaiting the next great revelation to my health he was about to make; prepared to undertake nearly anything to help rebalance my mental state. He announced to all and sundry that the best solution for my health needs was weekly colonic irrigations.
I had not thought that sticking something up my bum was going to alleviate mental stress, although Bond was all too happy to oblige should this be required!
Over the weekend, I had Ho visiting. We planned to eat, drink, and be generally merry - which we achieved. As part of this plan, we went to the Good Food and Wine Show , which involves paying an entrance fee and then getting the opportunity to sample food and wine all day. In amongst this, there is the opportunity to meet celebratory chefs, which we did. Bill Grainger is a honey - that is all that needs to be said!
The show features a large variety of exhibitors eg cookware, shoes (suitable for chefs) etc, but also including some things that one has to wonder why they are at such an event. Back massagers? Hmmmm. Adult Education Courses? Hmmm. But apparently homeopaths/iridologists are perfectly appropriate. So of course, I had to take up the offer for a free consult - which of course I followed up with handing over money once I was suitably suckered in. I treated the experience rather like when I have gone to clairvoyants. Tell them nothing and see what they can find out! So it came as a great surprise to me when he declared that I have "serious" pancreas issues..... for those not in the know - I am diabetic. For a moment, I thought maybe there was something to this iridology caper. Despite this gentleman's lack of any professionalism, I thought maybe he might be able to help my increased sense of lethargy of late. He quickly scrawled, on some old photocopy paper, his "prescription" for my well-being. Ultimately it involved no alcohol, no coffee, no tea, no pasta, no bread and no rice. No surprise there - these things always seem to be the devils of all modern-diets, despite the fact that people have been surviving on many of these things for eons. He also went on to recommend some magic "powders" that he was selling - funnily enough.
But the final nail in the euphemistic coffin, was when he began to mention my moods and perhaps my need to increase anti-depressant medication. This is of course of great interest to me, and I have indeed experimented recently with increased dosage. I leaned in, awaiting the next great revelation to my health he was about to make; prepared to undertake nearly anything to help rebalance my mental state. He announced to all and sundry that the best solution for my health needs was weekly colonic irrigations.
I had not thought that sticking something up my bum was going to alleviate mental stress, although Bond was all too happy to oblige should this be required!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Where I prove yet again to be high maintenance...
Following on from my last entry pertaining to my state of pubic hairy-ness, I am happy to report that I have seen to the topiary and am now sporting my usual Brazillian-esque stylings. But I am bothered by their state.
I have been going to the same waxing girl for some time now, although I will stress that I have no particular affinity for her work or the rapport we have. There is little happy banter, which would certainly make the process somewhat less clinical, but maybe that is just me that desires a "connection" with someone intimate with my nether regions.
The issue with my pubic mound surrounds their symmetry. My preferred state of my parts is not completely de-nuded, but with all but the token landing strip removed. That said, it is a given that the landing strip is to be located centrally. It is also a given, I think, that the landing strip would line up with one's anatomy. Putting it bluntly, wouldn't one assume that if one were to extend an imaginary line from the line of one's labia superiorly, that that line would bisect the remaining hairs? Surely, this is not difficult geometry to manage.
But it seems that it is either too difficult, or my vadge is askew. Looking at my coiffed thatch, it definitely seems to veer left-ward - which bothers me greatly. Am I crooked? Or is her eye-sight flawed? So now I am contemplating, prior to my next waxing visit, making some marks on my skin, landmarks if you will, to help the waxing mistress in lining up the lay of the land. I am starting to feel like a theodolite and flags are going to be required for future pubic topiary work!
Following on from my last entry pertaining to my state of pubic hairy-ness, I am happy to report that I have seen to the topiary and am now sporting my usual Brazillian-esque stylings. But I am bothered by their state.
I have been going to the same waxing girl for some time now, although I will stress that I have no particular affinity for her work or the rapport we have. There is little happy banter, which would certainly make the process somewhat less clinical, but maybe that is just me that desires a "connection" with someone intimate with my nether regions.
The issue with my pubic mound surrounds their symmetry. My preferred state of my parts is not completely de-nuded, but with all but the token landing strip removed. That said, it is a given that the landing strip is to be located centrally. It is also a given, I think, that the landing strip would line up with one's anatomy. Putting it bluntly, wouldn't one assume that if one were to extend an imaginary line from the line of one's labia superiorly, that that line would bisect the remaining hairs? Surely, this is not difficult geometry to manage.
But it seems that it is either too difficult, or my vadge is askew. Looking at my coiffed thatch, it definitely seems to veer left-ward - which bothers me greatly. Am I crooked? Or is her eye-sight flawed? So now I am contemplating, prior to my next waxing visit, making some marks on my skin, landmarks if you will, to help the waxing mistress in lining up the lay of the land. I am starting to feel like a theodolite and flags are going to be required for future pubic topiary work!
Sunday, June 04, 2006
All this pain - for what?
Now that I am about to undertake a mortgage (well, sort of, the apartment is yet to be built), and am living sans flatmate, I am of course trying to re-establish myself with a budget. So, making lunches to bring to work is back on the agenda. Actually looking at the price of things before just throwing them into my shopping basket has again become a feature of grocery shopping. I am sure I will contemplate many more frugal ideas to help with savings along the way.
One thing I thought I could "cut back" on was my pubic grooming. A Brazilian every few weeks does add a certain dent to one's finances. And, given that my boyfriend is in another country, I thought that this could be one area which I could leave untended until his visit, or my return. But, alas. Apparently, Bond considers it almost one's civic duty to maintain oneself "neat and tidy down there", no matter what. So now I am going to making and keeping my regular appointments, but with the thought that NOONE is going to see the result of the pain.
Now that I am about to undertake a mortgage (well, sort of, the apartment is yet to be built), and am living sans flatmate, I am of course trying to re-establish myself with a budget. So, making lunches to bring to work is back on the agenda. Actually looking at the price of things before just throwing them into my shopping basket has again become a feature of grocery shopping. I am sure I will contemplate many more frugal ideas to help with savings along the way.
One thing I thought I could "cut back" on was my pubic grooming. A Brazilian every few weeks does add a certain dent to one's finances. And, given that my boyfriend is in another country, I thought that this could be one area which I could leave untended until his visit, or my return. But, alas. Apparently, Bond considers it almost one's civic duty to maintain oneself "neat and tidy down there", no matter what. So now I am going to making and keeping my regular appointments, but with the thought that NOONE is going to see the result of the pain.
Friday, June 02, 2006
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