December 2, 2002

  • Caught by surprise!  Xanga’s back up, and my pants are down.  Oh the shame, oh the indescribable naughtiness of this.


     


    So let me pull my pants back up, tuck it back in, and attempt description at what’s been transpiring for the last few days…


     


    Lady_Roxy!  oOMisFitOo!  Metaphrontister!  I metup in life ('real'?  -you might wonder, but what other can be embraced?) with these newly-three (to me) from amongst us all in the bloggable raw.  Did I pompously pimp?  Did I serenely trip?  Did I slide into a nor-eastern bank of beckoning virgin-fallen snow?  Did I throng gung-ho as if seeking an advertised Victoria Secrets' thong of culturally pre-disposed expectations?  Say: hell no.   Hell NO!!!  


     


    I traveled from Cleveland, OH to Akron, OH last Friday night to concelebrate with these three:  Roxy as the spirited hostess, oO as the west coast priestess, and Meta as the east coast horizoning wit.


     


    But the travel itself was punctuated: I got 'lost'.  And despite (or because of) getting 'refining' directions--all diverging--along the way from three local gas station attendants, lost, for while, I remained.  Until, finding myself landmarking outside of a Platinum Horse tiddy bar, I decided just to stop once more finally for directional elaboration, figuring that a bar bouncer should be well-trained in directing taxi-drivers where to escort the departing, tiddy-battered senseless.  So I asked the girl attendant at the gate for the bouncer.  But she told me the bouncer wasn't in yet.  When I asked her personally, then, for directions, she said "Oh no, not me, you want to talk to the bartender."  So she buzzed me into the pleasure den, and I assumed the position: sitting at the bar, beer in one hand, and glancing at the dance floor--occasionally.  Hey--but don't get the wrong idea: I was there on a mission (blued and godly).  And indeed, the bartender, when coaxed, proved to be an exqusite mapmaker, drawing directions to Roxy's house so precise that I started wondering if he had ever been there himself.  Of course, I tipped the pretty thing, yonder, stagecast,  in the thong at the end of the song, then...


     


    I arrived like a long-time friend. And into the friendly abode of Roxy I sauntered, and under the roof of whimsy I unraveled.  I was…whoever they hugged, and laughed with, and cheated time with, and with the tantric energy-body explored.   After multiple shots of tequila and herbal indulgences of suchwhat, the challenge of opening spontaneously up on-whatever-level-encountered to one another was enjoined.  


     


    Xanga, though our commonality pro forma, was wee in the conscious consideration.  For we(e) , assembled and precisely vibrant, were real-life grand.  Sarah (oOMisFitOo) began by sequencing our group energy into playful, personally interactive, intimate, non-sexual, self-discovering touching. No, no, no, we did not hold hands!   Instead we touchlessly tossed back and forth soft, selfless balls of energy.  And she and Avis (Lady_Roxy) by their forefingers alone made slalom slopes of outstretched forearms (Don’t even ask!).


     


    What more to say, but that we were children shading in and out of the Light?  Too bright?  Hug me.  Too dark?  Sail free!  Then sinking our teeth all hungrily into the anchovy pizza.  hahayum.


     


    Saturday presented the continuing challenge, to me, departed from the above-mentioned company and once again on my own, to resume the attitude and embrace the discipline of back-to-work steadfastness.  To put it simply: I’m currently, evening and weekends, painting/wallpapering a rather wealthy person’s condo den.  *pats self on the back for job well done*   But Sunday, omg, began with a spirit of reckless abandon (*blacks out*) yet ended, after a stretch of afternoon wallpapering, in an embracing and enlivening chat with a very special friend. 


     


     So there you have it: the mischievous orangutan crawling into the happy howler’s nest to eat the pumpkin pie. 


     


    But remember this: winter serves an alibi for lover’s to rediscover true summer warmth in each others’ entangling embrace.

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