For the past few days, we've just seen one but the sibs not only showed themselves today but actually climbed the tree for a look around!
Owl stalking is the best way to end a day!
Or start one. This morning I watched the two sibs practice flying by hop flopping from one tree branch to another - over and over again. Really entertaining! For the neighbors too, as I stood in my boxers and tank in the front picture window with my binoculars trained on the fuzzy wonders - which, due to the angle of the hill, just happened to be in the tree just below their bedroom window. I'm sure the police will be paying me a visit later today and I'll have some 'spaining to do. Till then, let the stalking continue!
Okay -in this picutre, Owl BABY! Not sure if there are more hiding underneath him but I'm very excited none the less.
Aside from stalking babies, I'm trying to get myself ready for another festival showing/selling my Stabby Trees. What is really, an eight hour day of me just standing about and smiling awkwardly while people walk by trying not to make eye contact with me.
I'm going dark for a bit here while I force myself to finish projects and get everything packed up for the May 7th event. I'm sure to pop in and out if something exciting comes up that I feel you should know - like if a baby owl lands on my head while I'm doing the dog bathroom supervision. Until then, be well!
The first sex scene I ever saw in a movie was in Purple Rain. I think, in honor of the passing of the purple one, I think I’ll write about Orgasmic Mediation today.
What you ask? Yeah. What indeed.
I need to back track a bit. When I was five, my evil stepbrother did horrible things to me and as result; I am not a fan of touching. And my mom, who is totally Aspergers (diagnosed by me and my WebMD degree), didn't really express herself in a very physical way. Two years ago when I dropped her off at the airport, she tried to just shake my hand. That odd upbringing combined with evil stepbrother has made touching an issue for me. Hugging me without my permission is a major violation of my space and, quite frankly, freaks me out.
Friends find it funny - not the trauma part of it. That would be just mean and I don't have totally mean friends. No, they giggle at the awkward part of it as they hug me, laughing at my attempts to hide my cringing. And some will try to fix it. Like giving me long lingering hugs to make me "okay" with them. My next-door neighbor in California - a drum circle pot smoking dude - even suggested attending a Cuddle Party to cure me. Yeah, no! Cuddling with strangers in a closed room while in my pj’s is a nightmare come to life.
And then someone suggested I try this new phenomena Orgasmic Mediation and I could. Not. Stop. Shaking. Mostly from the inappropriate laughter the came over me at the imagined scenarios of me in a room doing it. I mean, worse than a fart in a yoga room, trying not to giggle shaking, tears down my face, might die from lack of breath laughter. I mean, no words.
What is it? According to the website …Orgasmic Meditation (OM) ushers Orgasm out of the dark, from the shameful and often consumptive places where it used to be, and into the light.
A partner strokes a woman’s clitoris for 15 minutes with no goal other than to feel, connect, and be present.
Um... a partner does what now to whet now to do what now?
What's worse than strangers trying to hug me? Why that would be a partner 'stroking a woman's clitoris for 15 minutes' in a room with other people watching! WITH other people commenting on how this is making them feel as they apparently guide you to an orgasm!!! AND add in LOTS of people touching other lots of other people’s pussies – and yes, they use the word pussy – in a group situation at the same time and my world is over.
I am seriously alternating between laughing, crying and just plain freaking out over this! FREAKING OUT!!!
And I know I'm coming across as judgey here. I don't mean to. I know for a fact that the screaming in my head over this whole thing is blocking out my PC "you do you and I'll do me" because I cannot EVER see me doing this. I know I have issues. I know we all have issues of some sort but splaying your legs in a room to "feel connected and present" seems like a wack-a-doodle way to go about fixing those issues. Saying "I have these issues with intimacy" and then going to the extreme of doing all this stuff is just - well, there ain't enough alcohol in the world to make it make sense to me.
And then, there are these pictures from the website -
WORSE THAN A CUDDLE PARTY! Like WAAAAAAAAAAAAY WORSE!!! Like AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Now I have a bunch of eclectic friends - as is evident by my drum circle pot smoking Cuddle Party attending neighbor. And I'm sure some of those friends have tried something like this and feel that I will benefit from OM. And I'm sure these friends will tell me why OM will work for me and to them I want to say, NO! NO! NO! NO!
I cannot even meditate in a quiet room let alone in a room with a bunch of folk doing it along with me. There is no way I will ever be able to "connect" with myself and "be present" with my knees akimbo and a dude with lube on his gloved hand (!!!) touching my pussy when I cannot survive a Namaste without giggling. And yes I'm snickering when I write that. I'm ten right now, back in health class when the teacher put the tampon in the glass of water and that sucker swelled up like she said it would inside us - things are not okay!
I am all for folks trying to figure out what makes their lives better. What will get them from the starting line to the finish line - in life and in the bedroom but holy WOW this is not for me.
And if any my of my friends send me some lube and gloves as a "Ha ha, tease the repressed ej..." well, I'm putting you on the list of people I take out first when the zombie invasion begins. Seriously. I am not joking. WORSE THAN A CUDDLE PARTY!!!
I like to be early to things. It gives me great pains to be late. I sweat, my breathing speeds up, I imagine all the faces turning to look at mine as I enter a room, each one more disappointed than the last. I so hate to be late. Husband likes to say that if I have an appointment at 3pm, I will leave the house at 10am. He’s exaggerating of course – but not by much.
On Monday, I showed up for my first day with a new family at 7:10am. I waited in my car until 7:20am, got out, locked up the car and walked to the door, knocking at 7:25am – a respectable 5 minutes early.
Or so I thought.
The mom opened the door in her bathrobe, totally surprised to see me. The dad, in his pajamas looked equally confused. Not because I was 5 minutes early but because I was a full 5 minutes and FOUR DAYS EARLY!
Yup. Husband is never going to let me live this one down.
And speaking of Husband, I know I rag on him all the time. He’s weird about food and apparently can’t have anything but the damn beige bedding we’ve had for-freaking-ever and his path to logic is not always a straight one. BUT he’s a wicked talented guy and not just with music. (Or in the bedroom, he’d have me say.) The dude can make things and make them look good. That damn OCD is good for the fine details, that's for sure.
Anyway, on our anniversary three years ago, we bought a new mattress. It wasn’t a planned purchase. No, we wanted to go to Trader Joe’s and the only parking spots available were in front of the mattress store that shares the parking lot. So, we did the fake out park. You know, walk in, pretend to look, say we’ll think about it and then walk into Trader Joe’s. But we failed so miserably that we ended up buying a king sized mattress. We suck at the fake out park.
Worse than that, the mattress turned out to be horrible. Not so bad we felt we needed to do something about it until long after the 100-day test had passed. We did manage to get the box springs replaced once before the warranty expired but that only seemed to work until the deadline was come and gone. It’s like there was a timer on the dang thing and as soon as the warranty expired, it sagged and poked and was generally an evil torture device designed to make us angry all the time. And while we’re heavier than we should be, we’re not ‘break the mattress’ fat. We needed a new mattress but I didn’t want to go through that drama when I was still hurting from the first failure. I mean I’m still wearing the same damn bras because I can’t be bothered trying and failing with a new one. Husband said we didn’t need a new mattress that it was the box springs that sucked so he set about fixing the problem. Unlike me, he wasn’t going to just complain or purchase a new mattress just to be disappointed, nope. Husband was going to build a bed.
And not like buy the parts off the Internet and build a bed. Nope, Husband bought plywood, cut plywood, glued plywood to make it extra thick, cut, drilled whatever else and put together this beauty of a bed that is wicked comfortable.
Like, slept like a baby kangaroo in a pouch cozy. Like, when I roll over or my leg circus comes to town, he can’t feel me dancing on my side comfortable. Like, there’s no mountain in the middle with large valleys on each side that I have to climb to kiss him goodnight snug. Like, Husband was right. Again.
It’s getting to be a habit with him.
One of the most frustrating things with the three dog circus that is our life right now – even more annoying than finding Tigger the Dog shoulder deep in a chipmunk hole - is feeding time.
Feeding time sucks worse than – crap, I don’t know what it sucks worse than, it is that awful. It’s fraught with shouting and pulling and yelly ultimatums and general melee.
We’ve got the dogs set up in three different corners of the dinning room. A room, I might add, that we’ve only used twice to eat in ourselves. And despite the three corners, the dogs act as if we’ve never fed them and that we're timing them to see who eats the fastest. Well, two of them do. Pepper the Wannabe Cat barks like she’s defending the free world from attack as she rushes for hers. Tigger the Dog Chewbacca whines and then proceeds to inhale her food like we’re going to yank it away from her. Meanwhile, Joseph acts as he wasn’t emaciated three months ago, not knowing where his next meal was coming from at all and he eats like a picky toddler, one freaking piece of dog food at a time. Which means when Tigger the Dog has gulped down hers, she starts stalking Joseph, waiting for that moment his ADD kicks in and he walks away from his still full bowl. And Pepper the Wannabe Cat sneaks up on Joseph's bowl under the guise of stretching. All training is thrown out the window- theirs and ours - and it’s a cluster fuck of chaos.
I hate it more than I hate the annual visit to the gynecologist. And I HATE that.
But today was wonderful. Not because none of the above happened. Nope, it was shitty as usual. But today was wonderful because, I kicked Tigger the Dog and Pepper the Wannabe Cat out the door as soon as they were done eating and sat with Joseph trying to keep him focused on eating. And while I was doing that, I sat down in our dinning room we've only used twice and I looked out the window. And out that window, I saw Mama Owl and Papa Owl trade spots in their new nest just across the street. And then I watched Papa come out and sit in the doorway of said nest and watch the world go by.
So what if watching Joseph eating is more maddening that a toddler eating peas one at a time? Who cares that Tigger the Dog was outside attempting to catch chipmunks by digging under the HVAC unit? So what if Pepper the Wannabe Cat was teasing Tigger the Dog into fighting and the neighbors are likely to call Animal Services soon? I got to see Owls. AND that means Owl babies are coming!
It's the little things, folks. Little fuzzy things!
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me