~ awesome vid off of YouTube from Midhue ~ I post this video because of my pal Laura’s recent experience with these little creatures. In a perverse moment I thought she’d enjoy this. In reality, she did not. It is still a great video for perverse people.
I have decided to make a commitment towards dropping my one habit. The one that gets me into more trouble than anything else.
I don’t know if I can give up the kick I get. I dig feeling ‘the power’ surging through my veins when I unleash a profane word bomb. Maybe I should reconsider this commitment?
Well, if I analyze it, I would likely come up with some sort of Freudian determination about myself. Yeah, this habit might really be a veiled short-old-redheaded-gal-goes-potty-mouth version of a Napoleon Complex.
Well, damn, I suck. It would definitely be cooler if I shamelessly did something more along the lines of old-potty-mouth-girls-gone-wild. The hormonal charge from youthful exuberance would certainly counteract my dismay every time I gaze down upon my sagged away breastage. An area that once was glorious.
Cursing like a sailor boy isn’t really all that exciting. It’s fun though. And sometimes cathartic (I am just putting that there because I feel I should be responsible to the therapeutic community.)
In retrospect, you know, I really loved having a career that didn’t look down upon me and my brethren gals because we would loudly say things that included ‘that as@@@@e was such a perverted co@@su@@ing fa# mo-fo…and he tried to run away when I was cuffing him, really dude?!’ And then, after stowing our gear, we would go home and kiss our children with that same mouth.
See? I an glowing with prideful esteem. I did very well. I didn’t actually TYPE out one single naughty word. That shit works!
Crickets….frogs…..chirpin’ and croakin’….with the soft roar of the ocean off in the not too far distance….
So, it perplexes me a little, this thought process that is sitting like a warm pancake on my mind. I am not sure why, but I have an overwhelming urge to lick sea salt right out of the palm of my hand. I do. Badly. Now. Post haste. And I am sitting at my desk. This is really odd.
Of course, if I actually did go for a little ole’ lickey loo…hmm. Let me think about it a little. Starting with the reach into my desk drawer, then comes the clutching of the Sea Salt cannister…shake shake…the clever little idea of my own salt lick begins to pique after I dump a few grains on to my hand. I gaze lovingly at it and think, ‘what a pretty little clump of white.” Leaning over I slowly start sticking out my tongue, leaning, whistfully swiping away each, mmm, and every, mmm, little pungent, mmmmmm, crystal….mmmm. The anticipation of that sting of pre-tequilla sodium starts to intoxicate my brain.
Mm..[SLAP] the milisecond of joy is abruptly spanked away by a gagging hold on my throat. Gaaaghhkk….fear and anger is triggered by the smear of a chemical gloss across the surface of my mouth. It pungently tortures…confusion sets in…there is this intermingling and simultaneous warring sensation of the taste of oil, salt, metal and the smell of sicky sweet flower nectared purfume that doesn’t match the message my brain had previously begun to process.
Agghhhgk, gag, the lotion, ‘Tahini Sweetie’…all over my hands. F*$# ME! I hate being so forgetful!
Maybe I better return to the task that initially bored me into this salty fantasy. Its gotta be safer planning a yardsale.