strange musings of a distracted spunk

The 5 AM shift usually begins with a twitch.

It’s not that you willingly wake up then. It’s just that something happens; your subconscious fades into your conscious. Restful becomes restless. A cat waits outside the door to play, her light eyes barely visible in the dark.

We once drove through the night from New Jersey to Toronto. We were the night shift then, a lone car on a road full of trucks and night shift drivers. We took turns sleeping, waking only for a rest stop and fitfulness. Signs blurred; Harrisburg. Binghamton. Rochester. We made conversation with the rest stop workers, as they made coffee and breakfast for the early-bird drivers.

Have you ever noticed how there’s nothing on during the night shift? You look and search in vain for the tv show or movie that might put you to sleep and instead only find paid programming and porn. You finish the book you had been reading, and feel disappointed that there’s not more.

We stopped when we reached early light, at Niagara Falls. We parked illegally in a hotel lot that had signs proclaiming it was not to be used for Niagara Falls. We jumped fences, meandered, looked for signs to lead the way. When the sun finally appeared, the sky was clear and we were drenched from the mist.

So you lay there. You lay and wait and in those hours, you think of all those things you try not to think about during the day. You think about how you go in circles. You think about how things have changed so drastically in only a month. You think of what it would be like to sleep in someone else’s arms; would you still wake up at 5 AM then?

We climbed back over the fence, just before we got yelled at to move our car. We drove again, the sun rising higher into the sky. It was a new day, and we were ready to meet it, to greet it, to make it ours.

The 5 AM shift is one that blurs consciousness and subconsciousness. It’s one that makes the computer desk look like a polar bear, and you suspicious of a loved one. It’s where questions and fears spill out, dancing over the tangled sheets and blankets until you only want to hide.

Until with another twitch, the 5 AM shift is over.

Randomly, I dreamt that GDB and I were back together. And he was married and had a kid. This devastated me.

Then I dreamt that GDB and I were in a show together. And he grabbed me off the stage to make out with him behind the curtains. Oh. And then he met my entire family and announced we were on permanently, which made me very happy.

Then I dreamt I sent him a text message that said, “You’re not married with a kid somewhere, are you?”

Yeah. That last part? I didn’t dream.

He responded with “What the hell?!”

Moral of the story: Turn the phone off when I go to bed.

Scene: Three twenty-somethings are sitting at a table in a busy, popular restaurant. They have each gotten dinner, and are now eating dessert. While one is admittedly, a bit messier than usual, there have been slight snafus with the service leading to said messiness. The one with ice cream on her hands goes to the bathroom to wash it off, while the other two continue to chat.

Suddenly, a managerial type individual walks over to the table.

“There are a lot of people outside waiting for a table, so if you guys could just wrap it up, that’d be great.

Reaction: Stunned silence.

Reaction to reaction: Walk away.

Post-stunned silence reaction: “Did he really just ask us to leave?”

“I think so. Did he ask anyone else to leave?”

*Glance around to see if anyone else has been hustled and bustled. Confirms that no, it’s only the two twenty-somethings, waiting for the third.*

“Maybe we look really young?”

How would you respond?

What do you do when your vibrator breaks?

A. E-mail the following?

Hello!

This might be a bit of a strange e-mail, but my rabbit habit vibrator broke. Not because of overuse (perhaps from underuse?) but simply, because the battery pack fell off. The shaft no longer works, though the bunny ears twitch quite well, but there is something to be said about trying to use a vibrator when it has wires sticking out and a battery pack hanging off. A vibrator in general is not nearly as appealing as a genuine cock, and sadly, a vibrator with wires (and somewhat reminiscent of a floppy dick) is even less so. And yes, I am quite aware that this is slightly absurd; I should really just go out and find another penis, but I just broke up with the one I really liked best.

Is there any way I can get an exchange for my vibrator? I only bought it in mid-February, and it broke in the beginning of May, but I was unable to do anything about it as I was traveling for the next month and half. Now that I’m back in one place, I’d like to see what can be done about getting my Rabbit Habit fixed. Thank you!

B. Research vibrator repair shops? I feel like the people who work in a vibrator repair shop would be akin to the kind of guy who puts on a used condom. Ick.

C. Suck it up and shell out money for a new one, even though I currently have to hide the old one behind my bed, where I fear my cats may find it and use it like a toy for their amusement. Kitten + twitching bunny ears = hours of entertainment/mortification.

In which case, I need recommendations. The Rabbit Habit’s clitoral part works well enough for me, but I’d like a bit more stimulation vaginally. Suggestions?

To whom it may concern:

I’d like to submit my resume for the (insert title here) position at (insert company here). I’m not going to give you a song and dance routine about how especially skilled I am, as evident by my previous positions in publishing, higher education, and non-profits. I’m qualified. I’ve got a brain and I’ve performed a number of duties in my professional and collegiate careers that make me the perfect candidate for your position. I will put all of my energy (and I’ve got plenty) into my job, especially if it’s one that challenges me. I realize that there will be some quiet days, just like I realize there will be some busy days. As long as there’s work to be done and it challenges me at least 80% of the time, this will be a beautiful collaboration.

My weaknesses? I gravitate towards the higher-brain activity type of work. Filing and copying are necessities in any business, as is updating databases. For the right job, I’ll happily do that, as long as I get to do other things too. Please don’t draw me in with promises or misrepresentations of the job responsibilities; I’ve been there twice and nothing hurts worst than hating a job you were once so passionate about.

I’ll be honest; I can be fickle. But if the company keeps growing and matches my growth, then I’ll stay with you till the end of my career. My strengths? Energy and enthusiasm, of course. But I’m also wickedly expert at taking constructive criticism and changing my behavior to become a more effective employee. It’s a challenge, and anything that challenges me interests me. I’m detail-oriented, time-conscientious, great at communicating, skilled in event planning and management, and a nifty writer; two published pieces under my belt are just the beginning.

I work hard. I don’t believe that a job should be your life, but I believe life is better when you love your job. I want to love my job. I want that job to be with (insert company here). Let’s discuss what I can do for you.

Sincerely,

distracted spunk.

-Why does Macy’s Wedding Registry keep sending me e-mails? Do they think I might be a customer soon? They have wild aspirations.

-My parents’ smallest cat makes noises like a robot. I’ve never heard anything like this, and I end up cracking up every time I hear a “Sqgruk.”

-It’s kind of nice having a shower that works. My apartment in Berkeley was excellent at being temperamental in temperature and pressure. This is why I often took baths.

-I’ve been shaving for at least twelve years. So explain to me why a chunk of my right leg is now missing?

-Kyle XY is quite a spectacular show, and they need to come out with the season 2 DVD ASAP. (We started watching this in the islands in Thailand. This is geek chic; who needs to go out and socialize when you can watch a boy without a belly button!) Also, why is Lisa still on Top Chef? And why did my family forget to DVR the last two weeks of So You Think You Can Dance? At least I get my dance fix tonight! *cheers*

-Twould be lovely if I could stay awake past 10. Last night I passed out at 9:45 pm. This does not bode well for my alertness at a bachelorette party on Saturday night.

-I’ve lost an inhaler, an earring rack, and 50 yen. Each one of these are in a different country. Awesome.

-When I invited D to come to a party next week, he said, “Are you sure it’s okay if I come? Won’t your friends want me to die?”

-GDB makes me laugh. He can stay for a bit.

-Family barbecues with mine and Thailand’s family are super fun, especially because he and I finish each other’s sentences and would tell stories and giggle hilariously. Also, I am craving a hot dog like no one’s business.

-One of my easiest snacks is a ketchup sandwich in a hot dog bun. My mom used to have to have my camp counselors take them away from me if I made that, but I’m such a picky eater sometimes that instead of picking at my food, it was easier to make a ketchup sandwich! I don’t know why it hasn’t caught on more.

-I think my hair is redder in California than it is in New York or New Jersey.

-I’m actually kind of digging not doing anything this week.

Dear Thailand,

Thank you for monsooning the night I left. Three hours of rain. Two hours in a cab, rushing to the airport in horrible traffic. If you regularly experience rainy season, shouldn’t your people know how to drive by now when it pours? I still have no idea how you made my bag bleed onto the brand new white dress that I’ve only worn once. That’s mighty powerful rain, yo. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Japan Air Lines,

Thank you kindly for giving me my own row again upon leaving Bangkok. Stretching out with a blanket and three pillows makes economy feel like first class, but less crowded cause everyone is in first class! Silly first classers.
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Dear Japan,

You are funny. I visit one of your temples during my eleven hour layover on Friday and offer to take pictures for a group of Chinese tourists. In exchange, they offer to take a picture of me in front of the temple. What I didn’t expect was for two of the little Chinese ladies to bum-rush me and hijack my photo. Apparently I am your new tourist attraction.
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Dear International Date Line,

Thank you for letting me have two Fridays in a 48 hour period. It was kind of fun leaving Bangkok at midnight, arriving in Tokyo at 7 AM, leaving at 6 PM, arriving in San Francisco at 11 AM, and leaving at 11 PM. I felt a little like Bill Murray in “Groundhog’s Day.” But my Friday was better.
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Dear McGee,

Your new puppy is schmuppy and adorable. I would like to take her home with me, but J might beat me up if I did. Thank you for seeing Sex and the City with me, of all the things we could have done during my twelve hour layover in San Francisco on Friday. I will miss you terribly.
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Dear Jack of All Trades,

Thank you for popping over on Saturday and helping my stepdad move the Ikea dresser he built after my mom and I bought it that morning. (I really think I pick the weirdest things to do after getting off a plane - movies? Ikea?) I’m still sorry for being a zombie and mostly staring at you and my family when you talked to me. However, I’m still amused that my mom had to kick you out after I passed out at 8:30. Next time, I will be slightly less zombie-fied. Slightly.
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Dear cats,

Stop rolling around in my shoe closet. I don’t know what I stepped in, but most assuredly, it was not catnip. Stay out of the damn closet!
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Dear 2006 Honda Accord that my sister forgot how to keep clean,

I’m glad we drove to Princeton yesterday. It was super fun being able to just sit on a bench and casually call out hey to one of my close friends, before she realized who I was and gave me lots of hugs. That’s the best kind of welcome home a girl can get. Here’s hoping we get to surprise more people together.
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Dear the U.S. Economy,

Stop sucking. And find me a job. Capische? Capische.
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Dear jet lag,

How do you feel about lagging somewhere else?

Sincerely,

DS

His hands traced circles on my skin, green eyes on mine. First he lined my palms. Then he traced my wrists, marking my skin with his invisible words. His hands nimbly moved up my arms, slowly, carefully, climbing up to my neck where they kneaded and pressed. I’ve never been good at eye contact. But this time, something forced me to match the intensity of his gaze, to focus my eyes on his while his fingers lingered.

His hands were warm on my skin, Wesley offering “As you wish” in the background while I watched his eyes. I couldn’t see my reflection there, in the dim light of a television, but I wondered what he saw. Did he see the unexpected pleasure as he touched me? Did he see the jagged wall, spiked from my most recent entanglements with the past? Or did he simply see iris and pupil, gazing at his own?

What is he doing? I wondered. Earlier, he had stretched out, the mock-arm-around-the-shoulders move, before pulling back in and laughing. I had shaken my head at him, grinning all the while. He had tickled me, till we were both breathless and flushed of face, traces of laughter gurgling out. We sat on the futon in his living room, facing each other, as his hands grazed my skin, declaring a tickle truce.

I marked my own words into his skin, asking how I could feel so fundamentally me with someone I had only met twelve hours before. I asked do you like me? before deciding I like you. Not the kind of like that would collapse me into bed with a friend, lazy kisses and fumbled fingers. Not the kind of like that would result in denied chemistry and repeated frustrations. This was me, implicitly, wholeheartedly, convincingly in like. Had I ever experienced this before?

My fingers skimmed over his skin, almost as white as my own, but more carved and sculpted, as I kneaded, pressed, pulled. I wrote the stories of everything and nothing at once, of how I was so utterly in the moment, of how there was no aha moment, he’s going to kiss me realization. I wrote how spontaneity can get lost in the face of basic lust. I told him it didn’t matter if he didn’t kiss me; it was enough to meet someone I felt so utterly comfortable with. I etched lines of my contentment, too cautious to look into his eyes anymore because I was afraid of what I would see. I scribbled and doodled the longitude and latitude of my heart, giving directions the only way I knew how.

He didn’t need them. Without warning his hands wrapped my face, his eyes met mine, and his lips crushed mine; wrenchingly beautiful, soul shattering, and utterly different from anything I had experienced before. I didn’t know then like would become love. I didn’t know then the roads we’d take, full of shortcuts that led to the same place. I didn’t know then how much I’d want him every time I saw him, spoke to him, thought of him, in every possible way and even some impossible. I didn’t know.

So here’s the deal.

We leave for Krabi tomorrow night. We stay on an island for four days (rain shower, bathtub, massages, gym, free wi-fi, a pool that goes into the ocean, etc.) We also will be snorkeling, windsurfing (if the water isn’t too choppy), and other water-based activity, as well as hiking and laying out on beautiful white beaches.

The issue is my skin. Regardless of how much suntan lotion I put on, inevitably, I get burnt somehow - usually in patches. Most recently, I ended up with a stripe from my collarbone to the center of my left breast. How? No idea. I’m also one of those fairest of the fair kinda girls; I’m basically what the Thai folk aspire to with their whitening lotions (think tanning lotions in reverse.)

Today, I’m sporting an awesome collar - front and back - of a sunburn that I got when exploring the ruins of the old capital of Thailand, Ayuthaya, even though I put on tons of SPF 50 suntan lotion (twice!) before we got there. There’s no way I can avoid the sun, but how can I keep from getting burnt to a crisp while snorkeling?

Thailand suggests buying swim clothes, such as board shorts and a surfer shirt but that’s called spending money I don’t have. If I absolutely have to, I will, but I’d MUCH prefer other options. That’s where you all come in. Help!

-I am a good wingman. For gay men. I met several Americans, Englishmen, and Canadians, and chatted them up, dragging Thailand into the conversation when I could

-We went to a bar where it was all teak wood, lounge-type furniture, a small little carriage seat in the middle of the lounge, stone horses hanging from the ceiling, ponds, steps, palm trees, etc. It was so inherently Asian, yet I cant quite put my finger on what made it so Asian. I was just super excited.

-On Sunday night we went to a gay bar named DJ, which is supposedly one of the hottest gay bars in all of Asia. We got there in time for the ladyboy show. Basically, the Thai culture is super accepting of transvestites and even have multiple terms for them; we recognize them as transsexuals, but they call them transsexuals or kathoey. I’m told the latter is more of a derogatory term, but the premise is that some Thai believe that being a kathoey is the result of transgressions in past lives. Anyhow, the ladyboy show featured thai men who had had hormone therapy, breast implants, and perhaps other surgeries done to play up their female side. Thailand has the best gender reassignment doctors in the world. Pea in a Pod pointed out how fascinating it is that a country we Westerners consider to be less…civilized…has more progressive views on gender and sexuality than we do back west.

-Another thing that was so utterly interesting to me was the abundance of older white men with these younger gorgeous Thai men. Thailand has a huge sexpat culture, where it’s easy to get your needs met because anything goes. We would call these situations sugar daddies back east, but here, the emphasis is placed on the boys who are called “Money Boys.” The premise is they agree to accompany the older, and not necessarily attractive white men because the men buy them everything and give them money. It was interesting for me to watch - because when I wasn’t playing wingman, I was watching the crowd.

-Straight girls have no place in a gay club. I got pushed, shoved, and sat on. Twice. Apparently, my vagina makes me invisible. It took me a full five minutes to just get out of the club because everyone kept pushing me out of their way.

-Thai society decrees that every male be a monk at some point in his life, though it can be for as short as a week. Thailand dated a guy who had just finished a three month service in the monkhood. For some reason, it strikes me as slightly ironic, as I typically assume monks to be celibate and heterosexual.

-The gay scene here is HUGE. Granted, Thailand lives near one of the biggest red light districts in the city, where they have live sex shows (which I am also debating seeing), gay clubs, ping pong shows, and more. However, pornography is illegal here. Am I the only one who finds this slightly twisted?

-One thing that keeps overwhelming me is the sheer amount of people. Yes, I grew up in New York. Yes, I’m no stranger to crowded subways. But this is basically like Times Square overload. I often get swept up in a mass crowd of people, on the subway, walking, etc. Sometimes, I find myself almost running to get away from the crowd. We went to this mall called MBK, which is seven floors. And huge. It’s bigger than any mall I’ve ever seen in the U.S., more crowded, and slightly more terrifying. After about an hour there, I began to feel tired and cranky just because there was SO MUCH STUFF and SO MANY PEOPLE. Not to mention, I couldn’t try on any of the clothes because they are meant for tiny, petite Thai girls, and well, let’s face it. I have boobs. And I am not tiny and petite. Asia is giving me a fat complex.

-The temples? Are…amazing. I was more a fan of Wat Arun and Wat Phra Kaew than Wat Pho, though the Reclining Buddha inside was massively huge and impressive. The thing that gets me is I like learning the history behind these things when I’m at these sites. Because it’s easier to match up a story to something that was done, rather than try to remember everything you’ve read or seen beforehand. Even still, just the sheer magnificence of it is stunning. A few pictures!

And finally. Thailand has been seeing more of me than he’s seen since we were babies in the same crib (we grew up together.) He neglected to mention that we would be climbing steep steep stairs at Wat Arun. So I wore a sundress because it’s so ridiculously hot here. Sundress + steep stairs + wind = booty flashing DS. It would have been mildly funny, had it not been for the night before.

See, I had come home early from the club because I was getting a bit claustrophobic with all those people touching me accidentally, pushing me, or sitting on my lap. (Straight girls - invisible. I’m telling you.) I wanted to tell GDB about my experience, so we started talking over webcam. I had just taken a shower, so I hadn’t bothered getting dressed yet since Thailand wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. GDB typically doesn’t wear clothes either. We were talking about Thailand thus far and my experience at the gay club, and I was super hyper, when all of a sudden Thailand staggers in, completely drunk. I’m sitting on his bed naked, GDB is on my screen, visibly naked from the waist up, and Thailand announces how drunk he is. I immediately start trying to cover myself up, GDB is trying not to laugh, and Thailand doesn’t say anything for thirty seconds. Then he says, “Oh. You’re naked. And talking to GDB. And I’m drunk. I’m going to go into the other room.”

I tore a hole in my shorts trying to get them on before running out into the other room. Thailand apologizes for walking in on me naked, and adds, “It took me a few seconds to realize you were naked because I was too busy staring at GDB’s pecs of steel. Also. You have rather large breasts.” I’m not sure who laughed harder, me, Thailand, or GDB.

Two days before we hit up the Thai beaches! (Oh, I am SO excited.)