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Posts Tagged ‘sex toys’

On hiatus, possibly, from blogging for the week. I can probably do quickie updates, but nothing too involved.

I am in Truro, Cape Cod for the week, no wi-fi at our house rental (WTF?) but a fabulous pool and less than a block from the ocean (bayside).

I have my new point-and-shoot camera with me (you all know the saga of my older point-and-shoot camera with a water-stained lens, right? See any photo I’ve taken and put here on my blog in the last year-and-a-half and you will probably notice); my new commuter bike and paneer; Hubby; daughters; one of their friends; and my mother.

I will be doing a poetry writing workshop with Dorianne Laux each day this week at the Center for the Arts at Castle Hill. I am excited and slightly scared, though these words do not adequately describe the subtleties of my actual emotional state in regards to the upcoming workshop. In any case, wish me well….

Speaking of sex toys, I have forgotten all of mine at home. Fortunately, Provincetown is a den of sin and I think there are at least 3 “sex” shops. The most embarrassing (to me) being Toys of Eros, whose window is smack dab on the main strip (Commercial Street) and generally features its white-torsoed manikins in bondage gear. All these years, I have tried to stay in conversation with the kids face-to-face as we pass. I don’t know what my worry or discomfort is; they’ve been coming up here for 12 years, same as me, and they’ve seen more drag queens and leather boys than I ever did until I was in my 40s.

In the absence of having uploaded any current photos, I give you some from April 2011. Or you can visit a couple of old posts about Cape Cod, here, here, and here.

sculpture in front of PAAM, Provincetown’s excellent art museum

just a little house/building, not too interesting, but I liked it enough to take this photo

That’s all folks, I’m outta gas and outta a desire to sit in this internet cafe/coffee shop (The Wired Puppy)

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Seems like a contradiction in terms, I know, but I am grateful for Ohio

Sun still present at 8:55 pm, sky just turning its oranges and pinks. (New England? By the end of our ride Monday at 8:20 pm, sky almost pitch).

Sun is somehow higher in the sky and less harsh on the eyes as it goes down here. I wish the sky was this high and bright in the Pioneer Valley without the intense sundown/glare. It’s something I’ve never gotten used to in New England. Why is it different between the 2 places? Amherst is only slightly farther north but quite a bit farther east, does this explain it? Oh hell’s bells, why don’t I just google it? No, that yielded no fruit. Help me.

I know Ohio is farther west in the Eastern Standard Time zone, so I get the clock part. But the quality of the sun is also different. I can hardly wait ’til the morning when the sun comes up later than usual. Ironic, isn’t it?

Once at the racetrack in Cleveland, we met a boy named “Sundown.” I’m not kidding. I bet that was 27 years ago. I thought I might name a boy Sundown some day.

Taco Tonto’s

Talking to my great friend, Sheila, on the phone in the parking lot of the Stow Target.

Walking into Taco Tonto’s and seeing 2 people I know well enough to remember all sorts of little details about even though I haven’t seen or spoken with either of them in over 11 years. One is the son of a woman who was at Annie’s birth, almost 13 years ago, and who was also part of the “older kids” component in Violet’s first (and only) play group. Wow.

Kent, beautiful Kent

The blues in Kent, nothing like feeling blue in Kent. Nothing.

Kent, my home for 19 years

My old house on N. Willow St. I drove into town, straight from the airport in Cleveland and pulled right up to the house, got out of the car, walked up to the door and rang the bell. Nobody home. New sign above the garage, the garden beds not looking terribly spiffy (where has all the coreopsis gone?), and some of the brick-work patio all busted up. Still, that is the house where my babies were born and it always will be. Labored there in many ways (“Here I have worked, labored a while,” Christian’s Farewell, Sacred Harp #347).

I suspect this has something to do with ale, but maybe it’s their last name. Do they rent or own? I’ll be knocking on that door again later.

When I left the car rental at Cleveland-Hopkins, I completely ignored the GPS and with no map was able to navigate after 11 years (yes, I’ve been back and driven around, but not out that way and not much with me behind the wheel). God that felt good. I was excited just to recognize I-480 and to remember to go East.

I was thinking of posting about sex toys and air travel, but there’s really no need. Apparently, you can pack sex toys into your luggage without embarrassment. No alarms went off, nobody pulled anything out and waved it around in front of everyone. Like Lucinda Williams said when she was intro-ing The Way You Move, “Nobody got hurt.”

I think it’s funny that sex toys are called marital aids (hey, that’s what O’Brien calls them), but maybe this can help explain.

The name of the guy who drove me from the parking lot to the terminal at Windsor Locks? Pierce Pearce. I am not kidding. He looked like Prop Joe from The Wire. Maybe it was Pearce Pierce. I didn’t write it down. Dang.

Look what I looked up this morning. Interesting, hunh?

Susun Weed says the best cure for menopausal women who have low sex drive is 7 orgasms per week. That’s her prescription. She says you can have them all in one day or one a day. Is she just fucking with us on this?

Yes, I love Kent. But there has always been the residual clash between town and University. Literally and symbolically, this has been the fight between establishment and the counter-culture. May 4 was a culmination. The town still bears it. Jerry’s Diner has been razed, but also the entire lot behind it. Gone, nothing, nada. The hardware store, Gone. Unbelievable. That’s why you can get the blues so easily here. Heart and no heart. When a place has this much heart, for some reason, it’s also easy to rip parts of it out. Right, Chrissy? (Oh, hell, I have to apologize. Sometimes that link has an ad; sometimes not. See what the fuss is all about? They are taking over).

I have a poem at home by an old Kent poet, Jake Leed, and the line I remember is

I’ve chipped away a Clark’s gas station

I lent out the little book that poem was in and I never got it back. If anyone out there has it, send me a copy. I’ll pay shipping.

The Clark gas station is still there, on S. Water St. Unbelievable.

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Warning: Salty language and adult themes. Or adult language and salty themes. You decide.

Last week it was bees and beekeepers. Today, something less, um, politically correct; or at least less noble.

Here it is, my newest purse:

It’s a beauty, isn’t it? It’s orange, as you can see. Orange is not generally my favorite color.

That’s another thing I love. Color. Colors. Almost all of them. I love looking over paint chips at the hardware store. I even save paint chips just for the color. I have been known to save a photo from a magazine just for the color on a wall or bedspread. I love looking at yarn at the yarn store. I hate knitting, but oh my god, those colors. So yummy. I don’t have a great memory for many things, but I do have an amazing ability to recall colors in my mind. That and I can remember names pretty well and if I don’t remember your name, I probably remember some strange, minute detail about your life. It may be very personal, like your cat died when you were 7 and in the bathtub at your grandma’s house or you and your older brother shared a room in the attic but now he’s got esophageal cancer. Stuff like that. Because I tend to ask a lot of questions when I meet someone; personal, homey questions.

Anyway, back to my purse. I am not normally attracted to orange things. I can’t really wear the color, though I did buy a fabulous v-neck, cotton shirt at Old Navy in a sort of deep tangerine last year. It almost matches my purse which means if I wear them at the same time I look like a real lunatic. Except that the orange shirt looks fabulous on me which sort of saves me from looking too crazy. I have a decent enough decolletage, and I have taken to wearing v-necks almost exclusively as I advance into middle age. Shit!

The purse has amazing fabric inside. A sort of cotton twill that’s covered in a lovely floral pattern. The purse was made in the USA. Yes. It was not made in China! But it seems Italian. The soft, buttery leather, thin but strong, with a mild crinkly texture. It’s delicious!

I love the sound of people speaking Italian.

But that’s not all about the purse. I got this purse on clearance at Marshall’s for 39 bucks. It’s huge. It holds everything. I can even use it as a temporary shopping bag for little purchases from the dime store (okay, from AJ Hastings, but they do have candy that’s less than 10 cents a piece) and if I don’t have enough bags with me when I am at the grocery store, I can throw a couple of Granny Smiths and a half-and-half in there, too.

You know what Freud said about a woman’s purse, right? Well, I’m sure I don’t really know. Maybe it’s just hearsay. But you could fit a helluva lot of sex toys in this thing. You really could. Are you listening, EOB? Orange silicone ones, purple latex ones. Blue. Stainless steel. Glass. WHATEVER you love.

There is something even more amazing about this purse. Something hidden even from me for over two months of owning it. IT HAS A SECRET POCKET! The coolest thing? The pocket is on the OUTSIDE of the purse’s huge zippered compartment. That means you don’t have to open the purse to access your secret stash of gum. Or Burt’s Bees lip balm in watermelon. It might even be able to hold a pocket vibe. Get it? Pocket, pocket vibe. Funny. As I’ve mentioned, it does hold my CHEWING GUM! Right now, there’s some Teaberry in there and the last of my Dentyne. Also, some TROPICAL-flavor LIFESAVERS. Remember those? GODDAMN IT, this purse rocks out with its cock out.

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