An Erotic Ode to Spray Cheese

Unapparent, yet fervent need. I sit quietly wanting you.

There is nothing else in this moment I desire more. My thoughts seek you out.

I imagine you hard in my mouth. Savoring the taste of your warm spray on my tongue.

I crave you like nothing else. My lust for you consumes me. Come to me...

Everything is here for you. All you could possibly need. Even whole grain crackers.

Fill my mouth and then my body. I want to taste you so badly..

Come to me you cheap fucking bastard whore! Fill me again and again.

I am ravenous. I want you so much...

spray cheese.

Neurotic-ca! (The song Madonna would have written if she was me.)

Submitted for your approval, or at least analysis. One woman, plagued by many neurosis. You have entered "The Neurotic Zone".

My top 20 list of neurosis in no particular order.

1) Clowns!! Clowns are a big one for me. I remember being approached by a clown as a little girl. He had offered to make me a balloon animal "Any kind of animal I wanted." Before I could answer, my grandmother grabbed me by the arm, drug me away and yelled "Get away from that clown, he's going to rape you!" Thus my fear of clowns was born. Plus, they're just plain creepy.

2) Needles!! There's just got to be a better way.

3) Any kind of change! We aspies like our routines and what to expect. When something changes, it shakes our whole world. I want the same thing, every time, the same way please as much as possible. Routine is comforting, change freaks me out!

4) Do not, under any circumstances watch me while I eat. I mean, ever! Please, keep eye contact with me as minimal as possible if you are my dinner companion. There's no rationalization of this one. I just generally feel judged while eating. As if people are thinking.."Yeah, shovel more food in heifer. Your ass is getting fatter by the second." Eating out, I will find a spot as far away from people as I can get. If my back is turned to the room, even better.

5) Are people mad at me? This is a big one. Overall I was not socialized as a child. Add to that, the Aspie inability to decipher people and you have one very lost person. I expend large amounts of time trying to understand others. I find I get it wrong, very wrong much of the time.

6) Magazines in the bathroom with celebrities on the cover. I always have to turn them over and if that doesn't work put a towel over the magazines. I worry that the celebrity pictured will suddenly get an image of me on the toilet if I don't do this. Just imagine, Bob Dylan, he's having a lovely meal and all the sudden "Ack! there's that girl on the toilet again! Why!!" Even though I do know that this is unlikely I prefer to spare Bob Dylan the discomfort, especially since I do have a rather small bladder. I also do not like being stared at.

7) That last bite of banana. No spider is going to lay eggs in my brain thank you very much!

8) Any large gathering of people for unknown purposes. Crowds in general make me uncomfortable. However, if I know why they are gathered together it does offer me some security.

9) Samples in stores that are handed out by people. I prefer the samples to just be free floating. I don't want to have to muster the courage to get free cheese. I would like to just have the cheese and not have to force myself to be social.

10) Confrontation. I am wet myself scared of confrontation. In a cape I do better, but not by much.

11) Too much of the color brown. I don't like the color brown in general. Large concentrations of the color brown can be very unsettling to me.

12) Certain public restrooms. If I have to go in public I prefer it to be at a bookstore.

13) Random pains. Is that cancer? Is my pancreas shutting down? Never go on webmd if you are at all neurotic. Seriously, don't!

14) Cell phones or any other cordless phone. I don't trust technology.

15) White colored vehicles. My eyes don't see white very well. A white vehicle in front of a white building can be virtually invisible to me. Not a good thing. So far no wrecks, but many near misses.

16) Centipedes. I was once told by my mother that if a centipede walks on you it will rot little holes in your skin. I have since found this to be untrue, but the repulsion to them remains.

17) Time. It's a concept I struggle with immensely. It goes at a snails pace for me. One day can seem like a week. I have to really stay on top of how much time has gone by. If forget I get panicked about bills not being paid, people who haven't written me (are they mad at me?) etc..etc.. This is a particular problem in my work. People want estimates of time their pets will be done. I am obscenely horrible at this. If forced to select a time it's chosen purely out of the air with no expertise at all. I then panic, skip lunch and end up rushing through my day to find I finished the pet 2 hours ahead of schedule. I always feel I am grooming too slowly. It is only my concept of time that makes me feel thus.

18) Food that has fallen out of it's packaging in the refrigerator. I was told as a girl any food out of it's packaging was full of worms. I can't shake it to this day. I think my family just made stuff up to keep me in line, truthfully. Very unhelpful.

19) Abandonment. Another big one! My life has been a parade of people entering and mostly exiting. I get tired of saying goodbye, so this fear pervades my every relationship with another being.

20) Very crowded parking lots. I will park in a lot I am comfortable with and walk several blocks if I have to avoid certain parking lots.

My Artwork

Just a bit of my artwork. Enjoy!

Of dreams and fascinations..

We sit on the precipice. Our legs entwined dangling off rock. I am cradled in his arms, warm and safe, quietly observing the chasm spread before us. It was as if the grand canyon shook off the reigns of it's beauty and favored becoming a desolate pit. The expanse of it stretched beyond the what the eyes could take in. "The Lady of Shallot has a deplorable habit of taking hostages." I tell him. "You really should go."

He holds me tighter, his only response. I listen to the quiet beat of his heart, and relish the soft rise and fall of his chest. A light breeze curls around us. My hair slides across his shoulders moved by gentle currents of air. I open my eyes and face the unfathomable chasm spread before us. I don't want to see it.

His hand squeezes mine. "It's time" he tells me. I feel his breath on my neck. Pink flushes into my white knuckled grasp as my fingers gently uncurl. I consider the bent metal object I had been clutching so tightly. "Why a spoon?" My silent thoughts spoken aloud echo in the desolation. Why would anyone choose such a tool to fill in such wreckage?

"Because change is slow. It won't happen overnight. But, it will happen." He answers as he aids me in scooping in the first spoonful of scorched earth. It tinkles like the sounds of chimes touched by wind and shimmers as sprinkles of sunlight as it descends down into nothing.

"It's all so bleak." I tell him. My hand shakes wanting to drop the spoon. Watch it turn end over end and fade into the deep well of dirt and nothing.

"Only if you let it be."

I take a spoonful of dirt and I drop it in. It fans out, descending as a cloud of dust. I scoop up another, and yet another. I see something tiny, small as a grain of rice, wriggle out of the pores of my skin. It squirms down my leg and falls unto singed burnt rock. A small piece of my self hatred crawling away, disgusting and maggot like. Detached, I watch it go and take in the charred landscape surrounding. "There's so much loss."

"That deficit is not yours but that of what you perceive to be missing."

"How do you not feel the loss of something tangible. When all there is devastation and void?"

He takes my hand and we spoon in one more cloud of dust. It dances in the breeze,glitters in the light and sounds like children's laughter. I put my hand absently down onto the rock beside me. I flinch. Instead of dust I feel grass, soft and alive. I look at these small green sprouts flourishing in my world of destruction. Some dark part of me stirs. I feel more alive with it's awakening. I trace my hand over the tender leaves of grass. The corners of my mouth twitch as I think of tearing them for the ground and burning them. I let the urge pass and I feel it coiling inside me. Waiting. I close my eyes, shudder, and sigh. Peace again. I leave the delicate signs of life to grow and continue to spoon dust into the void.

Holidays-blog therapy

Heavily drugged, someone was talking to me. I faintly recognized the sound of words but not the words themselves. I couldn't move for the world positively swam in a haze of color. My throat burned. My stomach newly empty, it's contents freshly pumped. I succumbed once again to heavy sleep. The voice above me became a gentle lullaby. Syllables mere stepping stones as I danced into dream. The world turned in silent oblivion that Thanksgiving day.

It's been four years since I've been that low. But, that once was enough. The term scared straight comes to mind. Such an abysmal a failure are the systems we mirthfully convince ourselves help people. Once you catch a glimpse of what help entails, you'll never let yourself traipse that dark path again. You may have thoughts, but they will forever remain only thoughts thereafter. Too dire are the consequences. Unless, being denied food, sleeping on a hard bench and being drugged to incapacitation around positively disgusting masturbating men strikes your fancy.

Holidays have become dangerous curves in my landscape. Expectations of incredible joy mingled with a seed of demon nightmare. My family wields a blade, sharp and ready by Thanksgiving. By Christmas the meat cleaver becomes a sword. I am blamed for everything beyond my capacity. I am the bringer of all worldly woes. A hell bound whore, deviant scum and a abomination meant to be aborted. I am reminded and reminded. I remember my grandmothers grand imaginings. From outside the closet door, she spoke to me in the tune of verse that exists in no bible. She penned her own holy book. I believed it to be factual and law. In that prestigious document, she tore hope and dream from my being. I lay curled at the bottom of the closet, clinging to the small bit of light coming from the door crack and I listened. I absorbed. I believed. Her most toxic bile. Worst of all I believed. I was God's mistake to be corrected only in flame. Born of rape I should not be. My mere existence caused great family ruin. My every social faux pas a sin. As an aspie I make many social blunders and they are constant. She would set light to every instance to illuminate my every social failure. She damned me to forever question my every word to another person. To live in fear of simple speech. I am type cast in their lives as an unfeeling lunatic meant to be caged if not destroyed. Destruction is their innate delight and they do it well. I keep my distance as a result.

Children are meant to dream very large unfathomable dreams. I remember lying in bed and wondering what love felt like. What did it feel like to be really truly loved? Is love even real? To this day I remain unsure. I dreamt of things children should have. I dreamt of someone to hold me when I cry. A person who would simply allow the sadness to fill me and to hold me through it. To touch my hair and to show me they didn't hate me once my tears ceased. I dreamt of a life without constant consequence. No more scalding water. Never again waking to a pillow over my face as I slept. I dreamt of what might lay beyond our home, our town. My world was so closed to what lay beyond. My family disallowed me to have friends and to later date insisting it was just a way to invite the devil into your home. My life was restricted to my room and an 8 foot privacy fenced back yard replete with barbed wire garnish on top. That was what I knew of the world. I dreamt of travel, of other places and of simply more. I dreamt of a friend to share those things with me and the knowledge of how to make a friend. I wanted a friend most of all.

Holidays are very empty days. Christmas morning my boyfriend unwraps his gifts, the dog is given a special treat and then it's a day of tv and waiting. I pace a quiet home while my boyfriend lies comatose. I wait for the world to come back to life from it's underground state. It's a day of little to quiet the thoughts. Those thoughts can get bad if I let them, but I won't let them. Never again. I try to stay busy. I start a hundred creative projects. Keep the mind busy above all.

This year I have managed Thanksgiving, albeit very drunkenly. Not a great solution, but a seductively quick one. My Christmas this year, for the first time perhaps ever, had traces of life. I had a list to give to this year. I got three gifts from co-workers, a parade of treats from clients, and a very nice gift from a fellow fotc fangirl. My home is decked with Christmas cards from my fotc fan family. Christmas morning I awoke fevered and sick to find Christmas greetings from someone I never expected. Very slowly little sips of my dreams are trickling in. I am becoming more numb to the rule of my family. They read me the riot act Christmas day and I was able to let it go. Actually let it go. Their hold is weakening and my resolve to cling to broken people lessening. I dream of a place where the child and the adult version of me meet. I hold her as she has always wanted, as I still want. I hold her with total acceptance. I tell her how wonderful life will be. How wonderful she is, for she really is. How she is not wrong and most of all that she should just hang on to see it all. It will happen for her, for me, for us. It's slow, but it will be. So hang on. I tell her. Just... hang... on.

A look at the Tori Amos hardcore fan world

Or... Why I choose to hang out with Flight of the Conchords Fans instead...

Despite my overwhelming adoration for Tori Amos, I must say I have never felt comfortable amongst her fans. Here a few reasons. A bit of compare and contrast if you will.

Fotc fans are unlikely to behave this way even if we were featured in a concert video. Nor, would we use the words "Get back to f-cking porno with your herpes ass."

Why can't Tori fans just get along?

There's not some sort of dancing problem at fotc shows. Tori fans are really bothered by other fans dancing. There are countless videos to display just how annoying said dancing is.

Did I mention, really, really bothered? Granted, we are super white with no rhythm. It is probably for the best we do not dance. However, I really don't see what it hurts. Blasphemy! I know! If they aren't blocking your view though... I can't say as I understand the sentiment against it.

Overall, I must say hanging with fotc fans is easier on the soul. Not that there aren't great Tori fans out there. There are! They just aren't in the front row. Who is in the front row you might ask?

Hmm... best be getting my herpes ass back to porno rather than taking my chances in the front row. My odds for survival in porno are much higher.

Aspies and Anxiety

This video makes a very clear illustration of how much anxiety a typical Aspie lives with. If you ever wonder why I worry sooooo much. Here it is. The only thing I disagree with is obviously, she has had access to medication. I have not been offered that by any doctor I've seen. True, I am currently getting care from the local free clinic so I may not be receiving the best. Yet, even when I pursued psychiatric help in the past for this issue, I was not offered medication. The general consensus, I have been told, is that medicine is of no help to those with Asperger's. Everything else in this video, in my opinion, is dead on. The analogy of the feeling of speaking a different language when talking to others really grabbed me. That exactly how I feel! Hope you find this video as informative as I did.