amused.

I’m sincerely interested in knowing why – and most particularly, how – yesterday, one of my ‘stalkers’ managed to spend 7 hours and 49 minutes and 27 seconds on my site…especially since they were at work. Seriously, I don’t think I’ve even written enough stuff as to be that fascinating.

Don’t you actually, you know, do work-related things while at work? I mean, I understand the need to screw around on the internet every couple of hours to relieve the boredom and ease the tension…but isn’t that a bit much? You do realize that companies have IT departments that can log what you’re doing online, right? They may or may not be able to see WHERE you go, but they can certainly see that you’ve had Internet Explorer open for the entire working day.

Do they honestly pay you for this? And your conscience is okay with that? Not attacking your integrity or anything, just a question, hey? Granted, from my statistics and visitor tracking (I do that, you know. I like to reverse-stalk people. And laugh when I see things pop up in my tracking. Like google hits and such…whoops, that’s a tangent), you don’t come every day. Which is good, because I don’t post every day.

But it seems you certainly come once or twice a week. Maybe you’re the one who wants to read about the sex, drugs and rock and roll? Of which, I don’t currently rock and roll. And drugs aren’t my poison of choice, but I’ve had a bit of fun. Do you like seeing me Half-Nekkid on Thursdays? Or is this some kind of voyeuristic self-inflicted punishment? Because heaven knows I can’t be THAT interesting!

Just wondering. Shoot me a line, would you? I’m always interested to know the juicy details.

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half-nekkidness from the island trip

see, I would post the whole picture of this…

You know what, I’m totally lying. I wouldn’t post the whole picture of this. And I’ll tell you why.

I’m okay with nudity. I’m okay with being nude. I’m okay with being nude around people. But only if it’s tasteful – and somewhat appropriate. I’m not the kind of girl to just indiscriminately get drunk (or pretend to be drunk) and flip up my shirt to show off my tits to random passers-by. I don’t have the desire to whore myself out for mardi gras beads. I do quite well getting beads by being charming and sweet without flashing boobs.

For instance – the half nude picture of me in a chair that I posted a couple of thursdays ago for half-nekkid-ness – I like that picture. It’s feminine and flattering, and exposes skin and is sensual without being slutty. that’s what I like. If I’m going to put my skin out there, it’s not going to be for some random person to gawk at (or god forbid, masturbate to).

I leave something to the imagination.

I’ve always conciously or unconciously done so. Even when I knew I was tarting up to go out with my girlfriends, I made a choice: “Am I showing off my legs or my cleavage tonight?” If I wore a low cut top, I wore nice trousers. If I wore a skirt, even if it was only as short as just below my knees, I still wore a more-coverage top.

Maybe in this day and age of out-there sexuality and bars that are meat-markets, I’m considered a prude. But to my grandmother, I’m still in a picture without a top on, six inches above this sentence. I try to balance my confidence and sexuality with the propriety I still feel I should evince.

So, while I love posting to half-nekkid thursdays (and will continue doing so), some pictures will be half-nude of my fingers knitting, and some will be a little more enticing like this one. I definitely won’t make apologies for that, and I appreciate those who compliment even the pictures that aren’t sexual in nature. It’s fun for me, because I get to let my inner exhibitionist out, but still be me.

In my personal and frank opinion, any kind of skin is beautiful. this particular picture makes me smile because I’m so very happy looking at the man I love – while I’m semi-naked on a beautiful island. Life just doesn’t get better, hey?

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and the award goes to…

My mom. I got to chat with her for a few minutes tonight, and we were griping about the package she just mailed to me. It turns out, it’s here in Vancouver, but the courier place that has it left me a message to the effect of:

“This is L___, from _____ Couriers. We have a package for you that is ready to be picked up. We tried to deliver it yesterday. We are located at ___ West Pender, near Thurlow, and we’re open from 9 am to 6 pm. When you come, please bring a photo ID, such as a drivers license or a passport. If the ID doesn’t have your current address, please bring a piece of mail with you such as a telephone bill as proof of address. Also, please bring your identification number, yours is: Blahblahblahnumbersnumbersnumbersblahblahnumbersblah. Thank you.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

I gave myself a tension headache bitching about this. For ONE THING – I didn’t get a phone call saying you were trying to deliver anything. No notice, no nothing. Strike one.

Another THING, sparky, is that I’m a visitor here. I don’t have a local passport or drivers license or telephone bill, etc. So put that in your pope and smike it.

And LASTLY THING – it’s from my mom. I want the package. She wants me to have the package. And she said – and I quote – “Tell that woman that if they don’t release that package to my DAUGHTER, I will get on my HARLEY and come whip her ASS!”

You tell ‘em, mom.

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