Iguana's Labor Day Weekend

First off, WHAT is up with Ruthie Henshall in the London Cast recording of Chicago? It's as if she's intentionally trying to combine every accent she can into on human voice. It's as if Sybil was playing the role...well for all intensive purposes and I don't care what she was channeling for that show. She failed in my humble opinion...but what do I know? I love Ruthie is other things, but not in this show.

That phone keeps on ringing, then somebodies at my door.

The weekend began with a slumber party at my place with the Gentleman Caller. We ate at the English place that last week, I left in a tizzy. Deep-fried Twix are wonderful, but I need to let them cool before I burn the inside of my mouth. It's difficult since they are so mouth watering.

We then stayed at my place where we slept together, as young girls do at slumber parties in the suburbs. Like most of those young girls, we made out as well. Then after that we fell asleep...well I feel asleep.

I feel all pulled to pieces, can't find inspiration anymore.

Funny, funny thought. I have had approximately three people spend the night in my bed with me for the night. The GC, the crazy date (I am ready to make love to you now) and one of my best friend's who I saw Company with. In all of those occasions I feel that none of them slept well. My friend told me she has problems sleeping in a bed that's not her own. The crazy date was up early and as was the GC.

I wonder if my bed is only comfortable to me? Am I not a good person to sleep next to in a bed? It did dawn upon me that most people are probably pampered in the ways of sleeping. I am able to sleep in any bed or any room I am in. Next to almost anyone. A place to sleep is a place to sleep for me. Be it the floor. Next to my best friend. Or next to the Australian man who I rent from...memories sometimes aren't the best things to have.

The next day, the GC and I went to Coney Island to lay out on the sandy beach and ride the Cyclone. It was very relaxing and fun. Until the sand storms took over and I blinded. The Cyclone was fun in that historical way. I've never felt like I'd fly out of a Roller coaster before, so that was completely fun! For some reason I felt it fit to ride with a piece of gum in my mouth...

There's so many people leaning on me, I'm getting run into the ground.

After we parted ways I laid on the bed and waited for the next part of my weekend to begin...A third date with The Cyclist isn't want I necessarily wanted in my life. But, I appreciated the fact that he was free to come to the show with me. We saw a Fringe show called Piaf: Love Conquers All. It's like the movie that just came out, but on stage and sung live by the actress...it was rather impressive.

He's proving to be a much better person that I ever anticipated. Yet his motives are completely unknown to me. It's a dying cause I am sure. The end of this tale will end up with me upset and feeling like the toy. Who is so easily used and then set aside. (Simple are the ways we say goodbye) Until then, I am just playing it with no expectations. He leaves these hints that I am ignoring of my own volition.

Getting stoned and going out on the town...stupid thing I'll never do.

Yet, I do it. He's a big pothead. It's something I find fascinating in general. I would say I've done my fair share of drugs, but when I meet someone who is hooked, I find it so interesting! I believe he needs it to perform in life. He told me how he hides pot all around his apartment so he can find it and be happy he found it. Huh?

He also mentioned how he only started smoking about three years ago. Which would be when he was 24/25 years of age. That is rather late to start, which leads me to believe that his starting and it's constant point in his life means he started it to run away from something. He was tired of the monotony of life? He wanted a change? Who knows. I mean I could ask him, I'm sure he'd get offended.

In short though, knowing this makes me feel that no matter how much he may feel he knows about me and my "nervousness" that I always have something I know is wrong with him.

We went to dinner and the show in a haze. I believe I ate my entire burger in 5.3 seconds flat. We talked a lot, I found out some facts. He didn't offend me as much as he had before. He allowed me to spend the night with him. Sure that's fine. He called me his Theater Fuck buddy.

Okay, here's where I voice my complaints...

I mentioned before how he likes to be vocal with his compliments. To someone like me this doesn't hurt nor harm. It does put me on edge at times. He stares at me. I say what? He says, "Nothing, I just like to look at you, you're exceptionally cute. There's no reason...so stop asking what."

I am sorry, I wanted to respond with, "Well, when people stare at me it's only in my nature to question there motives." If he wishes to look at me in a dreamlike haze...fine, but I will never just allow the staring to keep going. He says his goal is to get me to the point where I am completely comfortable with him and myself...GOOD LUCK!

Then is his constant reminder of that I am the, "extremely amazing in bed." Then I give a muffled, "Thank you." He laughs because I'm embarrassed.

Solider...here's the deal.

I know I am amazing in bed. Why do I know this? Because people tell me. Unless the entire homosexual community is on one big joke I have a lot of validation. I have rolled around in it for over a year. I was able to go to sleep knowing that I was ahead of the game. I'm as sexually liberated as the best of them. I know what I do in bed works and I have fun with it. If a guy wants to have fun and we click he will know too.

You think when you tell me this, that it's news to me? I am GLAD you are stunned. It really makes me smile when you tell me that I am a good fuck!

In fact, I think I will write a letter to my 95 year old grandmother telling her all of the ovations I have been getting! Don't you worry, she won't be shocked. She's senile and will forget she read the letter...HELL! She won't even know who wrote it!

That aside...I would like to be known as something a little more than a good fuck! I know it's difficult. It really is. When you tell me that it causes me to sink a little more in my self esteem. I sometimes wonder if I should abstain from sex altogether. But if I did, wouldn't that be my doing a disservice to the men around me? And what kind of person would that make me? By the way to define me, I may as well just sink into the ground and die if I stop having sex.

You understand my dilemma then?

And every one's wanting something from me, and there's not enough of me to go around.