*cre-e-eak...*

Goodness, what a rotten housekeeper I've become. There's an inch of e-dust covering this entire blog.

And how have you been? Do you still have your zest for life and lust?

I've been away... I've been asleep, caught in a dream of a busy (and happy) life where I blended in far too well and passed for "normal." I even missed a great, great opportunity to be published again, and could just kick myself for it.

But the past is speaking to me again. I need to come back. Some things -- like some people -- should never be forgotten.

I need to remember.

Unexpected treasures

One of my geeky hobbies includes self-educating about art media I'm less familiar with. For example, I get a kick out of learning about film, often by watching iconic works and reading about them.

This weekend I caught a "blaxploitation" film called Coffy, a 1973 vigilante tale. Pam Grier (who was, and of course still is, beautiful) plays a nurse who infiltrates and takes down a bunch of crime lords, seeking revenge for her younger sister's drug addiction.

It was fascinating. But I won't rattle on about the sociopolitical study here. What I do want to point out is this: there were boobies all over the place, and not a single implant in sight. Natural bodies! The breasts all moved and behaved like real breasts! It was awesome!

Great moments in flattery

Last night, I learned that I -- more specifically, my dirty-pillows, my twin gazelles, my twins, my hoots -- have inspired a breast fetish in some lovely chap. He claims that the fetish wasn't there before I came along.

I usually think of them as average, ordinary, everyday breasts; you know, things I just ended up with genetically, and am tasked with managing in the long term. But apparently they have magical properties. Perhaps they're like the peppermint hot cocoa one can buy at (forgive me) Starbucks during the holidays: a taste of that stuff just makes the whole day a little more sparkley.

I shall have to exploit this.