some of my senior friends are going to Italy. I should like to stay home while they post letters from Palma but eh...I know they'll see Florence and the Vatican, and it'll wait...I'm just learning to be comfortable in cooler weather of the moment, cooking if I can seize the time, delightful repasts that fill the house with delectable aromas...painting on the side deck, thinking about dueling it out with the creekside some more...will dig up a good portion of the grape hyacinth that goes crazy in this yard, toss it back there, mow it down with the weedwacker , look for willow starts...get more yummy dirt, say a eulogy for the turd lawnmower to die of a slammed crankshaft (kaablong...dink)thuggy thuggy won't start again, ebbers...not trying to be cute, hate writing like that but do talk it, like going up to sol ducky...where they need haus kippers...hehe...that's going to be interesting, fluffing out the mausoleum of a stone col'drinker...I just thought it wo uld be interesting since he has a pool and they're so few and far between here...like when the river and the strait is across the street and it comes up in the yard like it is in the winter.
so for now, this is just words being blopped onto the screen and there's no stories being told today about Al and the life of a NYC cop although I was going somehwere with that one once u[pon a time although I think he became that Cafferty character with the pregnant belly, egads that makes me squint, at least, hehe
hmmm..
yep, there's the subject at hand, how women view men that they want to know intimately..
well, first you get your ideal, w hich for me is the actor Russell Crowe, that to me is the ultimate manly man because I really like the way he looks, now granted I know as a person he'd be a chump full of change probably, but that's as it is...am I any great shakes as a female? I dunnno, but I'm myself and I think that means something...so
you gotta go for looks first off, because that tweaks the heart muscle in and laying over that the female organ of nursing...I don't say that any other way because I don't, what it does, that FOON..is get like someone blew a lot of air into the balloon and it's encased in this bridle harness of a garment known as la brassiere.which you know is pretty well filled up when you're lookin' over this guy's credentials in the 'do I turn you on?' department and he's filled out like well, the guy who reads the kids' their bedtime story and brushes his teeth before he crawls in next to you and blows some warm air behind your ear (please don't tell me what a major tunnel the real RC has been known to be because this is the doppleganger theory taking hold here, ok)...a person can be the essence of the very intense emotional outlay trigger by looking the part, but what you want is that he know the part...so wouldn't you want your husband to be that...I don't think any of us is perfect, but I do want him in frayed bermudas on Sunday afternoons looking in tidepools and being macho when we find the octopus...and what is macho? it's like, ah, he knows how to chop lettuce and change oil, he can finetune the carbeurator and he is an English Lit major like me...he wasn't in the service, he was a detective in LAPD, he was a pediatric surgeon, he had his own hamburger stand...he shaves and wears cologne, but just a little bit to let you know if you get that close up to him that he smells very good and your toenails have permanently curled up and you'll have to get a little chainsaw to bust them loose..
so what does that do for you? well for me it keeps me going because my spouse was fremlicarta...I don't say the race or whatever because it doesn't matter, it isn't anymore...it cannot be because there's this...which I didn't mess with but it evolved... into this other ideal which you know, I don't get much chance for that kind of social interaction where I am and I don't go hunting it out like I have done in the past...yegads was I ever into that but a bit, what challenge, what fun...but...now I see that it can be that I am the soccer coach, blowing my whistle, spinning the ball on my pointer finger, tucking it up under my arm and exhorting the little soccer boys to run, run...while I blow my whistle at them...women don't whistle at men but sometimes they are quite worthy of it...our hearts are like magnets, glinnnggg, across the universe we find one another and there's it is...I love you, you love me, we are fitted together like inseparable pieces of a puzzle of our lives...the main sections of it, our family beside us, our dogs, cats, trees, houses, cars, faith, hope charity, that love...our dinner menu, what we eat for breakfast, read in the paper, heat the house with...I could go along the floor rolling over and over picking up the dust of your footsteps so I would glow and be a bit dirty...I shouldn't have gotten so particular about what I wanted from a marriage but I have because each day is the light into the next one, the eternal sun of it...and my little fetish works to sustain me in that it is continuitous unto itself and some good examples provided...he should be of a certain height and breadth, or he should be as intuitive as I need him to be, or have a gravely voice or know how to hit a baseball, what he should be is a man and what I am is a woman and that's what I want...no pale imitations, no guys polishing their shining armor until they can see their own face in it...some kind of guru of his own class...which I don't know what that is but he's about as into what he wants as I am...and so we become into it together and our children number over one dozen, I thought fourteen was a good number, gadzooks anyways...that's enough bubble gum to tar the driveway and glue on the roof...enough eggs for forty million pancakes and twenty cows for thirty million gallons of milk - an eggzageration but not that much...a guy that would do that for me there would have to be that many kids coming out of it...because he'd see them as I do...little windows of the soul with voices and armpits and teeth and eyes and toes and bedtimes and music lessons and hikes and beachcombing..
from the moment they're born they're like the page of poetry we were reading before we created them...why you liked it why I found it so eloquent, where you want to put the polish on the Guillietta...where I want to weld on the wing of the Cessna...we debate helmets for the motorcycle ride, I'm Triumph girl and you're just the beefcakes BMW because everyone knows those who ride Harley bild'm..more or less...I think of you on the paradise of a lost shore and then I walk the beach with the little white dog and it's a good story and one that sustains me, I'm never without it and it's part of my faith and hope and love that I have it...it's the containment of my female self within the large aspect of the marital bond...it's what makes the muffins rise, the spaghetti sauce get that certain sheen...the mushrooms brown up nicely...the flower open...the ground be quenched by rain...what is love...
well I wanted to go into it more but now there's this gray raincloud hanging over things...I don't think it bears mentioning since this is the decades of experience piece about what marriage is...you brought the Italian cold cut sub to it and I brought a cream soda and a celeriac because we both know that those good for you drinks like vitamin water are ok but they need a little zip...we had a slice of cheese cake walking through the park, the squirrel got some nuts, I told you I was nuts about you and felt like all I wanted to do was read the original score of one of Mozart's more popular pieces...and you said the same thing only you said that you wanted to rebuild the engine on my Accord because you got a reading on the compression that told you the block was very good for the work...neither of us could decide who was the more eloquent, I thought maybe that if I said that you were electricity you would tell me I was the rain, we're just electrical together, conducting...and I would say to that do you dance, which I could see your stomach would kind of curl up and you'd exhibit a sort of shyness then while I'd go off to the dance floor and sort of dance it out, how I felt...with my eyes closed because I'd be embarassed to see you see my face, so I understand that you won't dance, but I guess you do that too only you take me in your arms and whirl me close to you, a kind of control thing wherein the pressing the flesh gets the message across, you see, there's the stern paternity issue that the actor gives off but that's the actor, the real person, the ideal...another thing, a joker, practical joker that loves laughter which in my world would be like the night in the day...there would be an absolute absence of darkness in that humor...he'd giggle because he'd be delighted to have confounded you and you'd look at him and say, you will remember that you did this to me because I am going to get even with you...and I would
but I'd do something like rent a huge billboard on Madison Avenue that reads I LOVE YOU...YOUR WIFE
so for now, this is just words being blopped onto the screen and there's no stories being told today about Al and the life of a NYC cop although I was going somehwere with that one once u[pon a time although I think he became that Cafferty character with the pregnant belly, egads that makes me squint, at least, hehe
hmmm..
yep, there's the subject at hand, how women view men that they want to know intimately..
well, first you get your ideal, w hich for me is the actor Russell Crowe, that to me is the ultimate manly man because I really like the way he looks, now granted I know as a person he'd be a chump full of change probably, but that's as it is...am I any great shakes as a female? I dunnno, but I'm myself and I think that means something...so
you gotta go for looks first off, because that tweaks the heart muscle in and laying over that the female organ of nursing...I don't say that any other way because I don't, what it does, that FOON..is get like someone blew a lot of air into the balloon and it's encased in this bridle harness of a garment known as la brassiere.which you know is pretty well filled up when you're lookin' over this guy's credentials in the 'do I turn you on?' department and he's filled out like well, the guy who reads the kids' their bedtime story and brushes his teeth before he crawls in next to you and blows some warm air behind your ear (please don't tell me what a major tunnel the real RC has been known to be because this is the doppleganger theory taking hold here, ok)...a person can be the essence of the very intense emotional outlay trigger by looking the part, but what you want is that he know the part...so wouldn't you want your husband to be that...I don't think any of us is perfect, but I do want him in frayed bermudas on Sunday afternoons looking in tidepools and being macho when we find the octopus...and what is macho? it's like, ah, he knows how to chop lettuce and change oil, he can finetune the carbeurator and he is an English Lit major like me...he wasn't in the service, he was a detective in LAPD, he was a pediatric surgeon, he had his own hamburger stand...he shaves and wears cologne, but just a little bit to let you know if you get that close up to him that he smells very good and your toenails have permanently curled up and you'll have to get a little chainsaw to bust them loose..
so what does that do for you? well for me it keeps me going because my spouse was fremlicarta...I don't say the race or whatever because it doesn't matter, it isn't anymore...it cannot be because there's this...which I didn't mess with but it evolved... into this other ideal which you know, I don't get much chance for that kind of social interaction where I am and I don't go hunting it out like I have done in the past...yegads was I ever into that but a bit, what challenge, what fun...but...now I see that it can be that I am the soccer coach, blowing my whistle, spinning the ball on my pointer finger, tucking it up under my arm and exhorting the little soccer boys to run, run...while I blow my whistle at them...women don't whistle at men but sometimes they are quite worthy of it...our hearts are like magnets, glinnnggg, across the universe we find one another and there's it is...I love you, you love me, we are fitted together like inseparable pieces of a puzzle of our lives...the main sections of it, our family beside us, our dogs, cats, trees, houses, cars, faith, hope charity, that love...our dinner menu, what we eat for breakfast, read in the paper, heat the house with...I could go along the floor rolling over and over picking up the dust of your footsteps so I would glow and be a bit dirty...I shouldn't have gotten so particular about what I wanted from a marriage but I have because each day is the light into the next one, the eternal sun of it...and my little fetish works to sustain me in that it is continuitous unto itself and some good examples provided...he should be of a certain height and breadth, or he should be as intuitive as I need him to be, or have a gravely voice or know how to hit a baseball, what he should be is a man and what I am is a woman and that's what I want...no pale imitations, no guys polishing their shining armor until they can see their own face in it...some kind of guru of his own class...which I don't know what that is but he's about as into what he wants as I am...and so we become into it together and our children number over one dozen, I thought fourteen was a good number, gadzooks anyways...that's enough bubble gum to tar the driveway and glue on the roof...enough eggs for forty million pancakes and twenty cows for thirty million gallons of milk - an eggzageration but not that much...a guy that would do that for me there would have to be that many kids coming out of it...because he'd see them as I do...little windows of the soul with voices and armpits and teeth and eyes and toes and bedtimes and music lessons and hikes and beachcombing..
from the moment they're born they're like the page of poetry we were reading before we created them...why you liked it why I found it so eloquent, where you want to put the polish on the Guillietta...where I want to weld on the wing of the Cessna...we debate helmets for the motorcycle ride, I'm Triumph girl and you're just the beefcakes BMW because everyone knows those who ride Harley bild'm..more or less...I think of you on the paradise of a lost shore and then I walk the beach with the little white dog and it's a good story and one that sustains me, I'm never without it and it's part of my faith and hope and love that I have it...it's the containment of my female self within the large aspect of the marital bond...it's what makes the muffins rise, the spaghetti sauce get that certain sheen...the mushrooms brown up nicely...the flower open...the ground be quenched by rain...what is love...
well I wanted to go into it more but now there's this gray raincloud hanging over things...I don't think it bears mentioning since this is the decades of experience piece about what marriage is...you brought the Italian cold cut sub to it and I brought a cream soda and a celeriac because we both know that those good for you drinks like vitamin water are ok but they need a little zip...we had a slice of cheese cake walking through the park, the squirrel got some nuts, I told you I was nuts about you and felt like all I wanted to do was read the original score of one of Mozart's more popular pieces...and you said the same thing only you said that you wanted to rebuild the engine on my Accord because you got a reading on the compression that told you the block was very good for the work...neither of us could decide who was the more eloquent, I thought maybe that if I said that you were electricity you would tell me I was the rain, we're just electrical together, conducting...and I would say to that do you dance, which I could see your stomach would kind of curl up and you'd exhibit a sort of shyness then while I'd go off to the dance floor and sort of dance it out, how I felt...with my eyes closed because I'd be embarassed to see you see my face, so I understand that you won't dance, but I guess you do that too only you take me in your arms and whirl me close to you, a kind of control thing wherein the pressing the flesh gets the message across, you see, there's the stern paternity issue that the actor gives off but that's the actor, the real person, the ideal...another thing, a joker, practical joker that loves laughter which in my world would be like the night in the day...there would be an absolute absence of darkness in that humor...he'd giggle because he'd be delighted to have confounded you and you'd look at him and say, you will remember that you did this to me because I am going to get even with you...and I would
but I'd do something like rent a huge billboard on Madison Avenue that reads I LOVE YOU...YOUR WIFE
