He Just Thought She Was Crazy

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‘She didn’t belong anywhere and she never really belonged to anyone. And everyone else belonged somewhere and to someone. People thought she was too wonderful. But she only wanted to belong to someone. People always thought she was too wonderful to belong to them or that something too wonderful would hurt too much to lose. And that’s why she liked him–because he just thought she was crazy.’

~ C. JoyBell C.

 

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Made for TV Porn by Chowderhead

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Made for TV Porn

Hey there, sex maniacs!  I’d ask what’s up, but I already know the answer to that question: your boners!  I can’t blame you though; a quick skim through Renee’s playground here, and I’m feeling a bit naughty myself – like I just watched my neighbors do the bumpity bump out in the middle of the parking lot…

I spoke with my pal Renee here awhile back, about having her write a guest submission for Chowderhead.  However, I forgot to mention that I’m not a sex blogger, and although I don’t mind dropping a few fuck’s, shit’s, and bastard’s, I try to refrain from topics like bukkake, bondage, and butt sex.

So, after I received Renee’s submission, I read through it quickly and decided that it might be a little too risqué for my standard audience.  My editor (me) agreed, so I decided to trim the raunchy edges a bit, and turn it into more of an ABC Family piece – you know, something a bit more wholesome.

It turned out to be quite a challenge…

We were Enraptured…While we ate Ice Cream Together

He bound me to our bed and began to devour my [ham sandwich that I made for him]. Little nibbles around the lips gave way to him ravaging my swollen [thumb that I slammed in the car door today]. The tongue lashing left me mewling like a kitten. I thrashed my legs about his [lazy boy sofa] and [ottoman] begging him to [make some popcorn for] me. To let me [eat snacks]. He would not honor my fierce cries. As I continued to battle him with my legs, he put [salt on my popcorn] with his [salt shaker]. I embraced the onslaught, without embracing him.

Feeling my [Aqua Net] spray his mouth and chin, it drizzled onto our cotton sheets made warm by the blood coursing through our veins. Without opening my eyes to look at him I knew, he was basking in the taste of my [hairspray].

‘My Love, fill me with your [happiness, not your hairspray], I breathed, my eyes now open, shined only for him.

He looked up at me, and responded, ‘All in due time, my Darling.’

My body responded to the constant barrage of his [funny jokes] and [movie one-liners]. Finally, he allowed me to lose myself in the most exquisite apex. The churning began in my [irritable bowel suddenly] and emanated through my entire being. It seemed that it would last forever. My body continued to quake. His arms wrapped around my legs to hold his [ice cream cone] to me while the storm continued to brew. As it subsided, my legs quivered and I was covered in a sheen of sweat.

I felt him shift his weight and move above me. He lowered his body onto [my sofa again, geez], I felt the head of his [Labrador retriever] brush the length of my [leg]. The sound that emerged from my lips could only be heard by heaven. And him. With a flourish he [thanked] me completely and began to entice me with [square dance] movements I never knew existed.

‘Release my hands so I can embrace you’, I begged.

Continuing to move his [doe see doe] inside of [the gymnasium], he repeated, ‘All in due time, my Darling.’

I moved with him, not against. We were fluid motion and love. His [awesome dance moves] became more intense and my body stalled. Another [irritable bowel movement] erupted within my center and I disappeared into him, only my soul was exposed. So close to death, yet immortal, I trembled with every nuance of my [very unfortunate bowel movement].

I glimpsed into his eyes, and discerned he was close to the end. Reaching behind my head, he released me from my bonds. With a final [clench of my butt cheeks], he poured his [medication] into me. My legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, to draw him as close to me as I could. My hands found solace in the thickness of his hair. Resting his head on my chest, he lazily bit my [finger]. A lone bead of sweat trickled from his forehead onto my body.

His [ice cream] softened and fell from my [cone]. [ice cream] flowed from my [cone]. We laid together, with nothing between us but the memory of our [lazy stroll in the park]. And we were enraptured.

*****

This is the equivalent now of two fully clothed consenting teenagers petting each other in a booth at Denny’s after Sunday mass.  I guess some things are better left uncensored…

Pull up your pants, Chowderheads \m/

**Thank you Chowderhead for that, ahem interesting take on my sexy story. I’m honored, I think. Tongue kisses, gropes, and lots of love from your favorite Rendezvous Girl.**

Bloggers for Movember – My Homey G Chowderhead

My Homey G Chowderhead asked me to contribute my lovely photo with a proper douche stache to show my support for Movember (aka No Shave November, aka Prostate Cancer Awareness). Hey men over 40, get your ass to the doctor, and get a digital violation. It’s once a year and can save your damn life. We women go to the damn gyno once a year and birth children. One finger up the ass once a year isn’t going to make you less manly. Hey, you might find you like it. Hahahahahahahahahha!

While I’m not a participating blogger, I decided to show my support by donning some Fuck Me Red lipstick, Pinup style eyeliner and a stache.

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Even Cinders my devil cat decided to show her support. Obviously, she was fucking pissed about it. You should have heard her growling at me. I thought for sure she was going to scratch my eyeballs out when I set her back down on the floor. It was for a worthy cause, so she endured. Kitty bitch didn’t scratch me, but I’m sure I’ll find a puddle of piss on the bathroom floor soon. That’s how she retaliates. With piss. GREAT!

Cinders the Devil Cat

Many of my blogger friends are having Movember contests. Visit them to find out more.

25toFly

Sips of Jen and Tonic

Brother Jon

The Life of JWO

Chowderhead

I’ve removed my mustache and my FMR lipstick. Still got my Pinup style eyeliner on. This old girl has to look pretty when she goes grocery and business suit shopping. Yes, the single life I live is so damn exciting I could pee!

Have a great Sunday my loves. Remember, every day we wake up above ground is a day to be treasured. MWAH!!!!!!!

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Maybe I’ll write some smut later. Hmmmmmmm, we’ll see.

Tunesday-Taylor Swift

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Everything has changed…..

I can NOT stand Taylor Swift!

And I’m a big fat liar pants. I want to hate her music. Tell you she has annoying beady blue eyes and she’s a hack. But I’ve come to realize she is quite genuine. She plays guitar, sings marginally well, and writes her own music. Taylor’s music is a little too pop for me. I want to hate her, but I just can’t.

I listened to the song, 22 and couldn’t help but sing along. As I took in the lyrics, I envisioned myself running around with one of my best guy friends, and acting all kinds of stupid.  However, the little heart sign she makes with her hands in every damn photo, makes me want to slap her.  This self-proclaimed Music Whore is on Taylor Swift crack!

I’m too damn hip for this. Oh my fucking God what’s wrong with me?

I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling 22!

I’m obsessed.  Give me more Taylor, PLEASE!

Awhile back I wrote a Friday Fictioneers story, about a sculptor, seduced by a man she thought loved her. I ended the story with the song, Trouble. The main character knew that the man was no good for her, but she fell anyway. He was trouble, yet she wanted him all the same. My character knew she would be left broken, but she had to try.

The Madness of a Woman Seduced

There’s Mean, Love Story, You Belong With Me, and my all time favorite, White Horse. I can’t forget Back to December either. Yeesh, I’m a sucker for lovely lyrics and a simple tune.

Say you’re sorry
That face of an angel comes out just when you need it to
As I paced back and forth all this time
‘Cause I honestly believed in you

Holding on, the days drag on
Stupid girl, I should have known
I should have known

That I’m not a princess, this ain’t a fairytale
I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet
Lead her up the stairwell

This ain’t Hollywood, this is a small town
I was a dreamer before you went and let me down
Now it’s too late for you and your white horse to come around

Simple words to tug at my sparkly heart . They make me want to write romantic stories about a knight in shining armor that comes to save the damsel in distress. Thing is, I’m no distressed damsel. I’m not looking for a white knight on a noble steed. I want to be my own KISA (Knight in Shining Armor).

Somehow Taylor’s music inspires me, to chew giant wads of pink bubble gum and blow bubbles the size of my head. To wear one of my many tiaras, act like a princess and wish for the age of 22. And to hope that someday, someone will be….Mine.

And I remember that fight, 2:30 a.m.

You said everything was slipping right out of our hands

I ran out, crying, and you followed me out into the street

Braced myself for the goodbye, because that’s all I’ve ever known

Then you took me by surprise

You said, “I’ll never leave you alone.”

You said. “I remember how we felt, sitting by the water

And everytime I look at you, it’s like the first time

I fell in love with a careless man’s careful daughter

She is the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

 

 

Tunesday-Across the Universe

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Words are flowing out like
Endless rain into a paper cup
They slither wildly as they slip away across the universe.
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
Are drifting through my opened mind
Possessing and caressing me.

Lucy walked into Starbucks last night and stood before me. For a few moments we didn’t say anything. I hadn’t seen my young twin in almost a year, and here she was. Dark haired, with eyes painted like a classic pinup girl and hair cut and colored like Betti Page. I held her close and took in the familiarity of her form. Statuesque and bony from her straight edge life-style and vegan eating habits. I hugged her for as long as she’d let me. We ordered coffee and the blab fest began.

Jai Guru Deva. Om
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Lucy can be a scared rabbit and it’s hard for her to let people in. Me, she let into her life and shared everything with wild abandon. I was her spiritual sister. Her older twin. She’d often ask if we could build a time machine and rig it somehow so that we could forward and backward in time and become the same age. I told her not to worry, I’d plan on living with her when I was old and we’d do all the crazy things we’d ever discussed. With fear in her eyes, she’d say that the world would never be able to handle it.

Images of broken light, which
Dance before me like a million eyes,
They call me on and on across the universe.
Thoughts meander like a
Restless wind inside a letter box
They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe.

I spoke to her of changes in my life. That I was separating from Roger Darling. She shared that she was moving to another state for a great job opportunity. Her long-term relationship was in transition too. We caught up on all of our secrets, fears and even told each other dirty jokes. Hey, we are strong willed and smart women with filthy, dirty minds. At one point I laughed so loudly, I swear they could hear me in the next county.

Jai Guru Deva. Om
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

Lucy spoke of anxieties about moving away and all the steps she had to take to get settled. She was freaking out, but I assured her everything would be all right. All of the little pieces would fall into place. That the universe would align and all would be well. As our conversation commenced, Across the Universe by The Beatles drifted through the air. It was cosmic I tell ya. Fucking cosmic. Like it was meant to happen.

Sounds of laughter, shades of life
Are ringing through my opened ears
Inciting and inviting me.
Limitless undying love, which
Shines around me like a million suns,
It calls me on and on across the universe

Four hours later, our conversation was still going strong, but my long day was catching up to me. It was time for me to head home. We wandered out into the parking lot. As we hugged each other tightly, we promised to meet again before she left for good. I looked at her, and our history flashed through my busy mind. Even in the bitter yellow of the shitty street light, she looked fabulous.

Lucy and The Sparkly Girl, our universes have realigned, and the puzzle pieces are finally in place.

Jai Guru Deva.
Jai Guru Deva.
Jai Guru Deva.
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world
Nothing’s gonna change my world

I Don’t Get Along With Women Typically

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“I don’t get along with women typically.” -Duchess Bella Lynn De’Lioncourt
Baroness Jade Mira
House of Vega

Last Monday night I sat at a table at Dan’s Tavern with my BFF of 30 years. There were three other women sitting with us. The one seated to my right and I were jabbering away and having a great time. We laughed a lot even though we weren’t particularly close in high school. My BFF was seated to my left. She shook her head at me from time to time while listening in on the conversation that I was having with my new but old friend to my right.

I looked at my BFF of 30 years and stated, ‘I’m a lot like you ya know. Quiet, reserved. A wallflower.’

Her reply, ‘Renee, you’re about as much of a wallflower as an earthquake.’

My BFF of 30 years, new but old friend, the two other women at the table and I laughed until we were nearly in hysterics. BFF was right, I am about as subtle as an earthquake. When I’m in my element. On Monday night, I was not. I still harbor resentment for my hometown and the people I went to high school with. I didn’t fit in then. Don’t now, but that’s okay. It was fun to sit and chat anyway. To get to know someone that I kind of knew. To have them get to know me.

As we were talking I shared a story about an old boyfriend of mine named Brian H. He was the only ‘jock’ I ever went out with in high school. I was a ‘stoner’, ‘drama’, ‘singer’, ‘actor’ girl. The girl who sang in choir, talked too loud, and read books. I didn’t go out with jocks. But Brian, he was nice. And he liked me. He asked me out and I said yes. We dated off and on. Eventually we started ‘going together’. He gave me his baseball shirt to wear. I was a curvy girl, but he was a big guy, so I kinda swam in it. It was the 80’s, I put a belt around my waist and cinched that sucker as tight as I could. I was so proud to be his girl.

One night he took me to a party to meet his friends. I was scared to death. Me, the force of nature that fears nothing was afraid! I was out of my element and I didn’t have my BFF with me. The only girl I’ve ever trusted with my life. I had Brian though, so I hoped I’d be okay. It was so long ago, I don’t even remember where the party was. As we walked to the front door, the hairs prickled on my neck. Brian slipped his hand into mine and gripped it firmly. When we walked in, I smiled at the girls as they looked at me with disdain. We said our hellos and walked to the part of the house where Brian’s friends were. With the boys I felt at ease. Not because of my boobs, ass or what I had between my legs. But because I could drink, cuss, and shoot the shit with them. It was Brian’s turn to be proud of me. He loved the fact that I was not a girly girl.

New but old friend said, ‘you were the fun girl that’s why Brian loved you, and that’s why the guys got along with you.

Yes, but I’ve always gotten along better with men than I have women’, I replied. ‘I could also drink them under the table too.’

BFF and new but old friend laughed. I teared up a little and began to speak as I pointed to my left, ‘My closest friends have always been men, but that woman right there has been my best friend for 30 years. I would trust her with my life and with every secret that I have to tell. She has never judged me and I’ve never judged her. When life falls apart and turns to shit for either one of us, we turn to each other. I love her beyond measure.’

BFF’s eyes misted over and the rest of us at the table were silent.

‘Now it’s time to let all that old stuff go’, my BFF said.

The unshed tears in my eyes dried and I gave a radiant smile. I realized that she was right, it was time to let it go.

BFF and I know we’ll love each other till we’re dead. Seeing as we both believe in the hereafter, we’ll love each other there too. I don’t know if I’m good enough to get into Heaven, but she is. The woman should be sainted.

As for Brian and me, we broke up. I was the one that broke his heart. I don’t even know where he is.

Even at the age of 45, I find that most of my friends are men. There’s Roger Darling, Harry, Rory, Biker Dude, My Little Work Brothers, my nephews, and even a few from Across The Pond.

Laura calls me an earthquake but she is a volcano. And when the two of us combine, we are a force to be reckoned with.

Memories of The Guggenheim

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When I visited the Guggenheim a few years ago, we were told not to photograph the glass ceiling. They said we could buy a postcard in the gift shop. Me being the rebel I am, took the shot anyway. There was some satisfaction in pulling it off without anyone knowing what I was up to. My Adam Boy knew. He was mortified, and  sure I was going to jail. I assured him I wasn’t going to jail if I was caught. I was creating a memory. Of the glass ceiling, rebellion and my son.

After I took the photograph, I ran up the ramps of the museum. I was morbidly obese at the time, so running wasn’t that easy. I kept up though. I commented on sculptures that looked like copper vaginas and how we could’ve skateboarded down the ramps as we perused the ‘art’.

We tried to lunch there, but it was all gourmet. Our kids wanted McD’s. Hell, Kathy and I did. Yummy french fries with lots of salt. We walked blocks for them. Passed homeless people and gobs of construction.

We arrived at the Golden Arches and I swear, I heard the singing of angels as we opened the doors and walked inside. I was covered in the sweet smell of grease from hot fryers. I took in the scent of burgers and I knew I was home. It was like sex. That smell.

The kids and us chaperones ordered our food on the main level and then wandered up the two flights of stairs to nosh. Oh what sweet heaven those salty fries were. The decadent flavor of that 1.00 burger. Mmmmmmm.

Wandering back to the Guggenheim, I wondered, could I ever fit in here? In the city that never sleeps? No. My home is in a small state shaped like a mitten. No matter how much I dream, my heart belongs here. As does my family, friends, and life. I can’t imagine a better state to be from. I just can’t.

45 Can Suck my Dick!

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Fuck 40. 40 can suck my dick!-Debbie-This is 40

As I tried to drag my tired ass out of bed this morning, all I could think about was the movie I watched last night. By myself of course, because Roger Darling had a stressful week. He’s recently been promoted to assistant manager at the direct care group home where he is employed. I have to say when Leslie Mann bemoaned the fact that 40 could suck her dick, I agreed completely. Of course, I’m now 45. That age can suck my dick too.

What the hell have I become but a hamster on a wheel? I have to work out for an hour to eat a cupcake. Hell, to even take a bite of a cupcake, and not have it go straight to my ass. Forget carbs. A woman my age can no longer even enjoy a fucking bagel without calculating how many miles she will have to run to burn off the calories. This sucks!

I sit here in my workout clothes waiting for RD to get home so I can trot my ass to the gym and run a couple of miles. Of course, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve done any kind of workout. I’ll probably keel over and die on the way home.

I miss the days when Diet Coke and a cigarette were dinner. If I did that now, my blood sugar would plummet and I’d end up in the ER. This getting older shit ain’t for sissies. I swear to you I’ve seen more wrinkles appear on my face in the last six month than I have in the past few years.

No more complaining. It’s time to get up off my ass and head to the gym. Drink more water and eat healthier too. Just once I’d like to go back in time and slap the 17 year old me and tell her to lighten up. To have more fun and run more. To go to college. Not to smoke! Don’t worry, I quit that habit years ago. I had to because I would lose my breath when doing the dirty, dirty, and no one wants that!!!!

I’m not looking for positive comments and ah grrrrlllll, you can do it pats on the back. I just wanted to bitch. As the title states, 45 can suck my dick!

Off to the fucking gym!

Love,

Sparkly Girl

I March to the Beat of a Different Drummer

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“If a man loses pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured, or far away.”-Henry David Thoreau

I prefer not to hitch onto someone else’s star. I want to make my own way. When I was growing up, I always did what I was told. I kept up appearances. Followed the crowd. Er, as far as my family knew, I did.

At the age of 45 I prefer to march to the beat of my own drummer. I bang that drum loudly. On a daily basis. I’m not a typical woman, and I never want to be.

When it comes to this writing thing, I prefer to make my own way. I have no idea about sentence structure, word meaning, or even punctuation. I don’t know what makes a good writer. I want to tell a damn story, and tell it well. So my readers feel it.

I’m going to keep doing just that. With the help of other writers, a thesaurus, an easily broken-heart and a good editor. As I said, I prefer not to hitch my star onto someone else.

Happy Birthday to me, and may the next 45 years be as adventurous as the last 45. God willing, there will be that many more.

XOXOXOXXOXOXOXO

Sparkly Girl

Holy Shit I’m a Romance Writer!!

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If I ever get a book written, I’m going to be like the chick in the tub. Smoking, drinking champagne and speaking Italian. Giggle, snort!

When I first started blogging, I wrote a post called Steamy Windows and Nineteen. It was a favorite memory of mine. Kyle told me in an email that I wrote very well, but my best stories were about love. The more tragic, the better. I’m sad he doesn’t blog anymore. He taught me how to write erotica. I miss him.

I loathe most romance novels and writers. Nicholas Sparks, Danielle Steele, Nora Roberts, Stephenie Meyer, Robert James Waller, etc. Dear God, if I type any more of the author’s names, I’m going to hurl.

I’ll be happy to write like Robert James Waller though. I read The Bridges of Madison County and I swear to you I cried so hard, part of my heart broke. The damn thing won’t ever heal.   The movie? Fahgettaboutit. I could be in the sunniest mood when I first start viewing it. By the end when she grips that door handle, I’m sobbing like a lost child. I swear to you I am pushing against that door with all my might.  I want her to run to him. Even though I know she won’t. I pray that the story will end differently. I know it’s where I got the idea for the ashes of the woman to be buried with her writer in The Ghost of a Great Love.

I’ve written happy stories like Sunrise, Coffee and Sanctuary. Some of my stories have to have happy endings. Most don’t though. And that’s okay. I think I was supposed to write the tragic love story, like The Chill of Autumn and The Death of a Love. A little poem titled, Raindrops and Red Lipstick was one of my saddest. The angriest story I’ve written so far is The Madness of a Woman Seduced. I have to say it’s one of my favorites. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned!

I’m not trying to tout my work. Be all stuck up and snobby, like my writing is exemplary. Far from it. What I’m  trying to tell you all is that I’m super frustrated by the revelation that I am a romance writer. I wanted to be deep. I wanted to be all cerebral and shit. It ain’t gonna happen though. This silly blonde woman wears her heart on her sleeve. I always have. Always will.

I have a fantastic editor. I won’t tell you his name, because he asked me not to. Plus he’s mine and I don’t share well with others. I’m working on getting published. I’ve found a couple of writing groups that I’m going to join. I’m even working with a local publisher/editor. I’m praying that something good will happen with this writing “thing” as an ex-friend calls it. I tell you though, if all I ever do is write on Rendezvous, that’ll be enough.

The image below is my  1/2 sleeve tattoo. I’ll be getting it soon. Starts at my left my shoulder and wraps around my elbow. See, I really will be wearing my heart on my sleeve. For everyone to see.

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