‘Huh!, said the attractive woman as she swirled her chilled flute of champagne. “What an interesting concept! I wonder if what they are telling me has any validity?”
As I’m sitting here on my ass (and it IS a very nice ass, thank you very much) sipping my frosty ass BEER, I have been thinking that this is what I would have written in one of my stories. Not terrible, but it isn’t going to win any freak’en prizes either. This realization has been reinforced by re-reading all of the emails, comments, and suggestions that I have received about my stories.
The very strong consensus of all of the responses I’ve received is, “You really can’t write stories worth a shit, Ibea. But, oh, by the way, I just loved you Blog.” Here, maybe an example will help: “I found nothing wrong with your stories, though I do admit your blog seems more interesting to read. Much different style of writing in the blog. Your blog entries have "feeling and emotion" in them, adding that element to your stories may change how some folks read them. Not saying those elements are missing, but they show more in the blog entries.”
Well, sandpaper my ass and squirt it with turpentine, why don’tcha! What a terrible thing to say! I work really hard on those stories! I sweat over them; rewrite everything ten time just to get the wording right; wear out my copy of Rodget’s to find the best adjective; and try really, really hard to ‘create’. I barely know what the word ‘Agnst’ means, but I freak’en have it when I write stories. I try so hard!
On the other hand, writing my Blog isn’t hard at all. I just put words to my thoughts, feelings, and experiences. This isn’t writing, damn it! This is just little ol’ Ibea yack’en at her buds, in a written form! How could ANYBODY prefer this shit to ‘writing’! What? Are you freak’en nuts? (Now mind you, I didn’t go around smashing things after reading the above quoted email. It wasn’t that I didn’t WANT to; it’s that there isn’t anything breakable left in my house, after TDK’s review of my first story. Yeah, I’ve got some freak’en anger management issues – so, bite me!)
Okay, so now, after my fourth bottle of Becks (strictly for anger management purposed – Whoo Hoo! Go anger management!) I’m sitting here on my ass, trying to figure out exactly what the fuck everybody is trying to tell me. So, (because I admittedly am not the freak’en sharpest crayon in the box) let’s list my thoughts, shall we?
1. “Your stories don’t suck, your writing does” - I suppose. I LIKE to tell stories, but writing is painful.
2. “Just LOVE you blog, babe!” - Yeah, so do I. It’s fun to tell you about what’s going on.
3. “Those looking for flawless writing …should look elsewhere.” – Yup. I can’t argue with any of that. It’s the Gospel truth and the man DOES know what he’s talking about…I love his stuff (even if he is a putz!)
4. “If one can look past the technical deficiencies, it's actually a pretty good story” - Damn, guess I have to take back that ‘putz’ comment!
Now, that was fun, wasn’t it? I’m not any freak’en closer to a solution than I was before, damn it! I need to reach some kind of conclusion before my ‘buddy with benefits’ gets here – Crap, and I’m almost out of beer!
Here’s my conclusions: I tell good stories and enjoy telling them in my blog. People seem to like my blog much more than my writing. Ergo, I should ‘write’ like I ‘tell’ in my blog. The problem is I have no freak’en idea what I just said , much less what it means. Let’s try questions then: Would anybody read that shit? How do you transfer telling into ‘writing’? Do I even want to?
I’m going to go now and work some of this frustration out…Come on cowboy, you’re gonna get the ride of your freak’en life! Hope you brought your spurs!!! Yee Haw!
So, I guess I’ll leave it to you to respond and help me out. While I am getting my brains screwed out, I want you guys to think about what I should do.
Okay, I just HAVE to share this with you (you can see I’m excited about telling this can’t you!). I had a gynecologic appointment today. What? It wouldn’t be any big ‘Wow’ if I told you I had a dentist appointment for my mouth – and believe you me there have been as many things put in one as the other!
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I had a gyno appointment today. When I came in there was this conservatively dress woman who gave my shorts and halter top one of those ‘harrumph’ looks. I just knew WE were going to become best friends…Oh yeah, you betcha!
So I checked in and took my seat in the waiting room. Now mind you, this ‘Lady’ is about my age, but she looks like she’s spent the last six months sucking on lemons – you know the kind I mean? I sat down right next to her and said “HI! Don’t you just love coming here?” The biotch GRUNTED as a response. WTF, Over! I ask a polite question and I get a freak’en grunt… Okay bitch – games on now!
So I put on my absolute brightest smile and told her “Yeah, I just love my visits here. There’s just something cool about knowing that my insurance company is paying somebody to stick his fingers in my pussy!”
The freak’en woman FLIPPED OUT. She bolted out of her chair and told the receptionist that she DEMANDED to see the doctor immediately! Now guys, here’s a bit of info…if you’re a chick, you don’t EVER, EVER, EVER want to piss off the guy who is going to be jamming a big-ass speculum inside you. You want to be his best friend in the entire freak’en world, trust me on this!
The problem was exacerbated by the fact that the receptionists was laughing so hysterically she couldn’t make a coherent sound, much less do as the Lemon Queen had asked. Now, this chick starts to REALLY flips out and yell for the doctor through the window. She raised such a ruckus that the nurse came to see what was going on. Upon seeing the condition of the receptionist, the nurse hurried the poor girl out of the room so she could calm her down and get an explanation about what was going on.
Now this nurse is good…I mean REALLY good. She now knew what the situation was, but with a straight, professional face, she let the Lemon Queen in and started to take her to one of the examination rooms. She damn near made it too. I couldn’t see them anymore but I heard a VERY repressed giggle slip out of the nurse. Of course, the flood gates burst open and she was a goner. Following the first giggle came the expected snort, chuckles and then out and out belly laughs. I stood up to look, and the nurse and receptionist were holding each other, with laugh driven tears streaming down their faces.
The doctor finally came out with his prior patient, who had no idea what the freak’en hell was going on and escorted the now completely apoplectic woman into the exam room.
I heard them as they escorted the Lemon Queen out another door. For some odd reason, she didn’t want to say goodbye to me. I figure that she must suffer from some form of separation anxiety or something.
When it was my turn the doctor wasn’t exactly ‘Mr. Gentle’ with the ol’ speculum’. Ah what the hell, I’d STILL do it all over again…freak’en snooty bitch…
Okay! That’s it! NOW I’m pissed! I just finished reading two distinctly different emails. One was from a frequent emailer; that asshole ‘Anonymous’. I don’t know who you are, sir, but you are a card carrying dickhead! You took the effort to tell me that you thought ALL of my stories “sucked”. Wow! What a deep, profound and concise critique – you putz! Obviously, your communication skills don’t extend far enough to tell me WHY my stories ‘suck’, so that I can work on ‘un-sucking’ them!
The other email was from a very well known and exceptionally skilled writer, whose stories you have probably read. If not - Do so! You’re missing out on a truly exceptional read. For the sake of anonymity, I’ll just refer to this wonderful writer as Lee Chill.
He also had some “suggestions” on how to improve my stories. These suggestions were TRULY deep, profound and concise… for which I am exceptional grateful. I can now take advantage of his skills & wisdom and make improvements.
I fully acknowledge that, above and beyond being morally challenged, I am also grammatically, contextually and punctuationally challenged (and after using the word ‘punctuationally’ I am also ‘dictionarially’ as well). So sue me!
Do my writing skills ‘suck’? Hell yeah! Ain’t no scales on this chicks eyes! All I ask is that, if you like the ‘tale I’ve told’ help me present it better in written form. If you didn’t like the ‘tale’ that’s OK too. Then tell me WHY.
Thanks. I go over here, sit down and shut up now…
PS. To Anonymous: Some day I’ll find you, boyo and you’ll find out what a hundred pounds of pissed off jarhead is like. I’d tell you to kiss my ass, but I reserve the enjoyment of my ass for those who are of help and succor to me – so instead, please enjoy playing with your cute, but tiny little weenie and keep dreaming what it would be like to be with a woman that you don’t need to inflate – you putz!!!
To Lee Chill: Thank you, thank you, thank you. Just so you know I have screwed strong men into exhaustion, made brave men faint from joy, have personally added six new positions to the Karma Sutra and have the face, body and mind of a porn star!. That said, Baby, Any time, any place, any way! This girl knows how to show HER gratitude!
You can tell from a prior posting that I take safety seriously. This installment is ALL about safety. Reading it can save your life!
I was in a VERY good mood last night. I had heard some wonderful news from a dear, dear friend of mine and felt the need to celebrate her success. In other words, PAR-TAY!!!
So, to help me celebrate, I called up a gentlemen friend (with BIG benefits) and he came over with a GREAT bottle of wine. Things progressed naturally (read got nekked and necked), until we decided that it would be a BRILLANT idea to go skinny dipping in my pool. This went exceeding well right up to the time we had another brilliant idea about involving the air filled floats.
Actually the ‘lead up’ to the sex was fantastic. Just floating in the pool… nice little buzz… guy nibbling at all the important body parts…
Ah, yeah, where was I?
Allow me to interject here, that I was not going to have hot, passionate, wild, wet, erotic sex just for my own gratification! No, kind readers! This was research! I write erotic stories and I OWE it to you to do proper research! I was doing it for YOU! Yeah, yeah, that’s it! It was just to improve my stories…yeah…
Anyway, the time came to ‘consummate’ the evening’s festivities. My friend started to do what he does EVER so well… Don’t come misbehav’en if the pool be a wav’en, so to speak.
Suddenly disaster struck!
Just as he was giving the last bit of all that he was worth, the waves hit terminal levels. Now when you get spashed out of a water bed, all you swallow is your pride. When you get splashed off a float in the middle of the pool you swallow water… lots and lots of water – especially if you're in the midst of an ‘orgie gasp’ when you go under.
I damn near drown! My body obviously had its priorities mixed up because it was GOING to finish that orgasm no matter what! Net result is that, if he hadn’t pulled me out, I probably would be dead… and that’s a serious ‘no shiter’.
Though, in hindsight, if HE hadn’t been there nothing would have happened in the first place… and, and, and… if it weren’t for the wine, I wouldn’t have been so buzz’d as to let him take advantage of my innocence! Yeah, it was the wine… Damn it! – it was French wine too…those sneaky, underhanded bastards!
I started out saying that this post was ALL about safety, and so it is:
Rule 1). Don’t screw in the deep end, without proper floatation devices.
Rule 2). Don’t EVER, EVER, EVER trust the French…
As I have mentioned in my prior Blog entries, I am a retired Woman Marine, with 30 years of service to this great country of ours. The USMC has been my life and I have never had the honor of doing anything more enjoyable and important in my life.
This is changing, however. I am now greatly enjoying my new role as a morally challenged, psychotic, nympho slut. Now liberated from the (understandable) restrictions required of a Marine Corps officer, I can let my ‘inner cum-slut’ have free rein - Whoo Hoo! – Boy is she ‘running’!
Because, the Corps gave me so much, I feel a strong obligation to ‘give back’ to the Heroes who have been injured while protecting our freedoms. That is why, I let my skanky, slut girlfriend convince me to become a regular ‘Candy Striper’ at our local Veterans’ Hospital. For those of you that don’t know what a Candy Striper is – they are people who visit people who are required to stay in the hospital. We bring magazines, small gifts and, most importantly, comradeship and conversation.
We went for our second ‘Tour of Duty’ this morning. As described in a prior Blog, my skanky, slut girlfriend and I have a slightly different approach to our ‘duties’ than ANY of our predecessors. Today was no exception. Last time we ended up visiting with a couple of cool, old geezers, one of them was ‘the ancient mariner’ – a OLD Navy guy and one was one of the Navajo Code Talkers, who served in the USMC during WWII.
We checked in at the Nurse’s Station and the Duty Nurse (not the same old ‘wildebeest’ who was there last time) grinned at both of us and told me, “You were REALLY a Lieutenant Colonel, huh? Wow! Who’d a thunk it!” (She later told me that the Head Nurse had pulled my records and “about shit nickels” when she confirmed my rank). With a BIG ‘fellow conspirator's’ grin, she went on to tell us that the whole Ward was excited about today’s visit. The WHOLE ward?, I though, as I gave her the ‘ole raised eyebrow’. She laughed and said, “These guys have been the happiest I’ve seen them; ever since you two last visited – “Hell, Ladies, I’d give you a room to screw in, if I thought that it wouldn’t kill half of them. These guys are HEROES. They all gave a hell of a lot more than they should have to this country; so you two can ‘cheer up the troops’ any way you want to!”
The ENTIRE world needs Nurses like her! (Even though I’m retired, I still have some connections. That wonderful Nurse who freak’en ‘gets it’ is going to receive a very complementary Letter of Commendation!).
When we walked into the Day Room, “Chief” as he likes to be called, was there waiting for us again – this time with a truly “shit eating grin” and EIGHT of his buddies. “Chief” obviously REALLY enjoyed what had happened last time and had been talking about it for the last freak’en week!
I was VERY tempted to slug him a good one when he introduced me as his new “Squaw”, but he was so pleased with having me there that I just couldn’t (he later told me that the Diné [Navajo people] didn’t have squaws, but nobody would know because all ‘them’ round eyes were stupid – don’t cha just love him!)
So much like last time, we talk and talked and talked. I really should say – THEY talked – we listened. What an absolutely fabulous and rich history these guys had. WWII; Korea; Vietnam and, from a shy, young guy who had lost his leg from the blast of an IED outside of Bagdad - Iraq.
‘Bobbie’ nearly broke my heart. He was a Marine Corporal that they had put in the Geriatrics Ward, due to lack of bed space in the Regular Wards. He had been scheduled to return state-side in two weeks; before he was injured. He told us that he figured that he had served his time for his country, now he would get out to get a job; get married; have a bunch of kid – all the things that he had been fighting to protect. “Chief” put his wrinkled old arm around young Bobbie’s shoulders and gave the young man a squeeze, “and damn it, boy – you still are gonna do ‘dat’! You don’t need two fuck’en good legs when you got a good heart,” he said as he tapped his own chest. Both my girlfriend and I started crying and I could see a few glistening eyes amongst the others.
Almost like it had been arranged beforehand, those that could stand and those that couldn’t all gathered around and we gave each other a big ‘ole group hug, with Bobbie and “Chief” in the middle. (I’m still crying now as I type this, but I know Bobbie is going to be alright with those guys looking out for him... he’ll be just fine…)
That group hug did do some wonders for the morale of those fine men. By my count there were eight of them. During that hug I KNOW I felt at least sixty-four hands copping feels of my boobs and ass! It was like a group hug with eight, horny octupuses. (I know, it’s suppose to be octupii, but that word just sounds too freak’en stupid and I’m not gonna use it!)
Almost reluctantly we eventually said our good byes and promised that we would be back next week. We each gave a hug and a kiss to our eight new friends (and yes, I gave “Chief” his little ‘remember me’ squeeze).
We’d just said our teary good byes at the Nursing Station (that sweet Duty Nurse was even crying with us) when my girlfriend turned and ran back to the Day Room. She came trotting back with a big ass “cat ate the canary smile” to a chorus of hoots, hollers, laughs and shouts of “my turn”. I could see on the Nurse’s face that she was thinking Oh shit, what the hell did she do? My girlfriend said, with the world’s most innocent face, “What? All I did was give Bobbie a little ‘in your face’ glance at what he’d been fighting for”, then she proceed to straighted her top (of course, the slut never dreams of wearing a bra). “And, by the way, his plumbing seems to have survived, intact” she said as her grin got even bigger. The Nurse was giggling and shaking her head as we said our good byes again.
I’ll be going back there next week… Semper Fi.
(Todays Blog is dedicated to the loving memory of Dennis Patrick O’Brien, Senior Chief Petty Officer, USN ret., who passed away in his sleep on on July 11, 2008 - God Bless You “Ancient Mariner” – calm seas and smooth sailing, my friend)