“I’m not gonna teach him how to dance, dance, dance”

Last night, I compiled my fourth playlist since I started up again. The soundtrack to a fake romantic comedy about a girl who works as a barista. Inspired by nothing and everything. I made two copies. One for Angela (I promised her one way before it ever came to fruition), and one for me. A good amount of time spent on thinking about it, I realized that it’s something I may attempt later in the future. I just need to carve out the story a little more, and pepper it with romantic comedy clichés—”[T]his song sorta gives it the kissing in the rain feel. Which, as we all know, is romantic (but not in real life as rain water is really dirty due to all the pollution in the air).” For those of you reading this and wanting to recreate my playlist (I’d totally share it with you if I had the ability and disposable income), I’ll add the track list at the bottom of this post.

Angela's copy
Angela’s copy

For the cover and CD art, I used a collage by Ashton Cutright entitled “Summer Reprise,” which you can buy at Etsy. Ashton and Miranda’s CDs were the first to feature art on the cover and CD label. It’s something I’m probably going to add from now one because, as I’ve stated before, I love making these CDs and creating arte for them adds to the fun. Like scribbling doodles on the cassette tape sleeve.

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Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission
Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission

So the above happened today. Upon receiving my copy of Serving Him edited by the sultry Rachel Kramer Bussel, I noticed the packaged open. No explanation. No attempt to tape up the violation of my package. It’s been some time since I received an erotic book to review in the mail. About a year, actually. Copies have been sent to me via e-mail for Kindle or Nook readers (I have a Samsung Galaxy Tab 3, and I use the Nook app due to Amazon’s tight ass restrictions on their Kindle app). It’s sad that Ms. Bussel may take the same route because the USPS decided to open and lose several packages because they suspect that their media mail service is being abused.

I started the book, checking off Lori Selke’s “What You Deserve.” I won’t review the story here (not yet).

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My coworker told me his creative well has run dry. It’s something I’m familiar with. However, there’s never been a time that I couldn’t write. It’s just what I write isn’t worth reading or worth the time spent writing it. Words, good or bad, never failed me. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through.

I force myself to write something every day. Good or bad, just keep writing and things will get better. I read as much as I write and I’m reading less these days. I need to change that. Need to switch off the TV and the computer once in a while and just start writing.

  1. I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How To Dance With You – Black Kids
  2. Teenage Angst – Placebo
  3. My Body’s A Zombie For You – Dead Man’s Bones
  4. Ah Uh Mi Hed – Shuggie Otis
  5. All I Want – Kodaline
  6. Memory – Sugarcult
  7. I Love Rock And Roll – Zombina & The Skeletones
  8. Recycled Air – The Postal Service
  9. Make Me Fall – Nina Nesbitt
  10. Sideways – Citizen Cope
  11. Breathe – Sia
  12. True Love Waits (Live in Oslo) – Radiohead
  13. Geek Love – Nerina Pallot
  14. Teenage Angst (Piano Version) – Placebo
  15. Swimming Pool – Freezepop
  16. I Melt With You – Modern English


“The Second I Do, I Know We’re Gonna Be Through…”

Lunar by Ashton Cutright
Lunar by Ashton Cutright (purchase on Etsy)

I find myself at a stalemate. Last month, Jeanna asked me if there was someone else. I seemed happier and I’m usually happier when I’m “talking” with someone. “No,” I lied because even though there is someone, I’ve not been vocal about my feelings with someone. She makes me smile. She gets my mind off things. She’s great. She’s sweet. She’s smart. And she asks about Shaun, and that’s a great sign that there’s potential there if she felt the same way for me. Earlier this month, as we were lying in bed talking about her problems, I confessed to her that there was someone who holds my interest.

“Why haven’t you told her?” she asked me, echoing my words five years ago when she left me for the interest of another. She’s echoing Ashton’s words, too. Ashton’s always cheering me on, my hipster cheerleader with a Justin Bieber haircut and a craft that outshines anything I’ve managed to spill out.

“Dude, she likes you.” “You both like each other.” “You should take her out on a date.”

I smile more knowing I get to see her. And I look forward to conversations. And I just don’t know why I don’t just get the courage to say something. It’s high school self repeating in adulthood. I admire from a distance because the moment feelings are admitted, things go south. Should she not feel the same about me, then things get weird.

“They only get weird if you let them, Gil,” Ashton would probably say, even though I’ve stated a hundred times before how I loathe that name (there are reasons, but I won’t get to them here).

“Things get weird because they’re weird to begin with,” I’d reply or some bogus doobie-without-the-doobie philosophy.

“It’s unfair,” I told Jeanna. It’s unfair to the person who’s stuck with me next. Unlike Jessica or those who came before, moving on from this relationship is proving difficult. Is it because I loved Jeanna? After nine years, I’d imagine that love is the only reason I stuck around. Is it Shaun? Is it this feeling that I haven’t had closure because every time we split it was by her hand?

And she confessed something and withheld something and both broke my heart. That continues to break my heart. Then I think about the conversation. And how, no matter the falling down (I’ll explain this later), the nausea, and whatever else went wrong yesterday, I didn’t lose the feeling it left me.