I'll have a cosmo

Sometimes I really hate that I let so many real life people (i.e. and especially my spouse) in my main/original blog that I really can't espouse anything too personal or revealing there. It's lost its role as a diary or journal. Granted I should just use a *gasp* real pen and bound paper to record my private thoughts, but all this journaling was born out of some narcissistic addiction to having people read them, so... plus I still am not comfortable having such a book exist in my home lest my husband choose to seek it out and read it, again.

Then comes the dilemma of coming here to unload, given the type of baggage it was born out of. But what the fuck? Am I going to open yet another anonymous account at LJ or Blogger? This is here, might as well use it. And I have that added edgy, masochistic thrill of knowing a link to it is tucked away. :p :p ;-)

So here's the "I am naughty" thought of the day: I went to the big box electronics and appliance store today, to scope out a new refrigerator. The sales boy, and I mean boy because he couldn't have been more than twenty-five came up to offer his assistance. I would have blown him off, but he was so confident, congenial, and cute I was amused. God help me he had this little Mona Lisa lilt and smile I found it attractive. Maybe I was just enjoying having male attention payed to me. Because a woman knows when a man is noticing her. Then of course I had to go and read Cosmo while I was waiting to get my nails done. There was an article about the top voted sexual positions by readers. The first one had you laying back on one of those exercise balls and I thought I was going to orgasm right in the chair just thinking about it. I mean shit, that is hot. I actually had a gym fantasy once, but it just involved the weight bench. I am so boring.

I make it sound like all I do is shop and get my nails done and that really isn't the case. It's just only when I'm free and out on my own doing things like that my mind wanders and the bad Sabine comes out, then I think about writing about it.

Should I mention I visited Cosmo.com later that afternoon when I got home?

He actually did touch me last night, in an affectionate, dare-I-say-physically-suggestive-sort-of-way last night. I want to get my hopes up, but much like I can't get too excited about this new house yet because he keeps ruining it for me, I am afraid to. If I thought we were heading in that direction I'd email him the Cosmo article. LOL
That's dark, self-depreciating humor by the way.

I am all alone this evening, which is really wonderful. I need some down time. I have a morning tomorrow where I can sleep in and not have to get anyone on a bus or to the mountain. It's an estrogen fest! I had dinner with two girlfriends tonight out at this great Vietnamese place, which is BYO, and tomorrow a bunch of us are heading to the Cape for a girls night sleepover. It's so funny I can't read these women sometimes. The last email we got from our hostess said this:
I told Sue people can share beds but there is also the fear of creating lesbianism (is that a word?) which was a big theme in some of our books this year. Also I don't like to sleep with anyone but Peter and sometimes not even that!!)

I wasn't sure how to take that. I mean, I have never been involved sexually with a woman, but I can see it, and understand it, (even more so lately) and it doesn't repulse me. Not to mention sharing a bed has nothing to do with sexuality and it seemed a bit sophomoric to even make that joke, no? I replied all that I was comfortable enough in my "womanhood" to share a bed, and I promised I would keep my hands to myself. LOL

I have a date with iTunes to make a kick ass playlist for the drive, (three of us are going in the BMW and the stereo rocks) then perhaps a pink, battery operated device. *weg*

She knew it was time to send them back. The caterpillars softly wiggled in her hand, spelling out "goodbye"

My heart was so full yesterday. My daughter, 11, is involved in a creative writing project at school called “The Mystery of Harris Burdick.” Without having to copy and paste the entire forward from Chris Van Allsburg’s book, (but do visit the link, it's a great story) briefly, Harris Burdick was a writer and illustrator that once visited the home of publisher Peter Wenders with fourteen drawings, and said he has stories that went with each one. Wenders loved the pictures and wanted to read the stories. Burdick promised to return with them the next day, but never did. Attempts to find him led nowhere. Since then though, the pictures have inspired many people, adults and children alike to create their own stories based on the images and the caption that accompanies each. Allsburg published the pictures in a book to inspire others to write and has started a website in honor of them, and there is currently a contest being held for children grades 2-8 to submit stories to be published on the website.

Now, my girlie girl is already quite the writer. A while back I thought it would be her brother to inherit all of his mother’s creative genes but apparently not so. Her school actually has a writing class that goes along with her English and language arts class, in 5th grade! Isn’t that awesome? (I think the schools in this hick town are the state’s best kept secret, and another reason I don’t wish to move.) I love reading her assignments, she blows me away with the stuff she comes up with. She is so excited about this contest. She asked me if I knew about Harris Burdick and when I said no, she told me the whole story, lol.

Now, I am asked to read her drafts, but I am not allowed to get all critical about her grammar! She just wanted to know “what I think about the story”. The problem she was having though, was the maximum word count was 250. She was well over that. I was allowed to give her suggestions on where to cut words. She worked on it until 10 o’clock at night, then in class the next day. She was so proud of her final copy, and I have to admit, she did a great job of editing and still keeping the story intact, as she wanted it. Her story was based on this picture, and she wrote about a little girl who lived alone in the woods with mean parents who were criminals. She woke one day to find these caterpillars that could spell words with their bodies, and they made friends. Until her mother found them and made her get rid of them. So the little girl ran away with the caterpillars. She left the ending dark and hanging. I know someone who would have loved that.

I remember so well writing challenges, and prompts, making careful word choices to move souls and capture feelings. I loved doing that so much. Maybe I should look at Harris Burdick’s drawings myself and have a go. I miss writing. But I still can’t seem to do it. I’m not on an even keel emotionally, and I don’t want to go down a road that requires drawing from within.

I’ve come to realize that what brings me the most pleasure in life is being able to create with my hands. I’m not sure how music ties into that though, especially if my instrument was always my voice. Though I did play guitar. I love baking, and playing with dough. I love chopping and cooking. I love working with yarn now. All of these things, even writing since I must use my hands to transcribe these thoughts bear a tangible result, something to touch, wear, smell, hear, eat. It’s funny how I ended up choosing a career in science.

I’m waiting to hear about a house. It’s so much bigger than our current one. I’m convinced he doesn’t want the deal to go through, even though he went through with the offer. But, I’m sick of his passive-aggressive shit. And he’s the one tired of waiting and tired of looking, so he has to suck it up and deal with what isn’t perfect. And if he tries to hold it over my head in years to come that he never wanted it and it was all me, I will personally put his bags on the lawn and say, “fine, go find a nice townhouse with a pool closer to Maine and the office. See ya.” Well, I probably wont, but I’ll want to. Who knows, maybe by then I’ll have the balls to.