Okay, I've been trying to avoid all the shit I have to do today so I re-read some of my first blogs and will say that since July 2003 I have learned at least this:

1. How to put more effort into spelling in my blogwriting
2. That BoyButter is the best lube for anal sex
3. That not all boys are big enough to block your nasal passages when deep throating them. In fact, not many. Damn Pickle and his mule-like appendage :)

Yeesh, missed another Sunday Scribblings, but really I am quite busy at the moment. I'm in a play, for anyone who hasn't heard. It's quite good, even if I can't act anymore, all of the other people in the play can so I would highly recommend you come and see it.

It's a comedy/satire about the Canadian Maud Allan, who was the first woman to play Salome in Oscar Wilde's play of the same name. It was 1918 and she was a belly dancer, and a paper printed a scandalous article about her being a member of the Cult of the Clitorites and being a lesbian and all that and she sued the paper for libel, but then Mr. Billing (owner of the paper) turned it around on her (much as happened to Oscar Wilde himself) and said it wasn't libel, that she was perverted and that she was perverting the public with her dance. The dude won.

This is the fictionalized account of that true story. It's an awesome script. I have a small part, thank god as I seriously can't remember how to act, and without further ado:

The Trial of Salome
Walterdale Theatre
July 4-14
Ticket Prices

When I am old and grey, I shall not wear purple, because it will most likely still look like crap on me. In this age of eccentricity, I will wear wine red and olive green ooh and lots of deep orange. I will own cats, some goats and one surly turtle. I will live in Santorini, unless this precious island has succumbed to earthquakes, in which case I'll probably have become a mermaid in order to live in its underwater remains. I will probably be partnerless, but never friendless. During the long periods of time that pass when old lovers aren't visiting, I will either charm or pay for reasonably young people to come and give me nights of pleasure, the proof of which will be heard across the island in my screams and warm sighs. I will start each morning by chatting and having tea with the fairies living on my balcony. I will have young people over to dinner where I will regale them with tales of my sexual escapades (just to traumatize them) and with many old italian and french songs played on my grandfather's accordion. I will put on my old belly dance costumes and dance around the house, and perhaps the yard, in them. I will be in the Guiness Book of World Records for largest slash and het fanfic pornography collection (I'll keep the plaque on my mantelpeice). I will pick my nose whenever the urge strikes and use a beautiful silk kerchief to wipe my fingers on. I will grow and consume more raspberries than humanly possible. I will own an extra house just to store my old books, this house will be rented by the great authors of the day in order to create their great works. Sure, the goats will eat essential pages of their work that they'll have to re-type, but that'll just be part of the charm.

Last but not least, when and if I get to be old and grey, I will be old and grey, not remodeled and remoulded. Except maybe my breasts, I'll probably be vain enough to have gotten them lifted sometime in my 60s during an emotional crisis, or just trying to get myself laid.

Age 6: watching my Mexican aunt (by marriage) consume whole hot peppers from a bowl as she watched television. How cool is that?

Age 10: one of the cocky, melodramatic neighborhood girls insisting so hard that she could handle whatever degree of hotness that my father, the consumate lesson-teacher that he is, finally gave her (age 9) a cerrano pepper from our garden. She put the whole thing in her mouth and bit it whole off the stem. She chewed for perhaps a second and then I will never forget her facial expression. Loony Tunes cartoons of red-faced people with steam coming out of their ears could not do her expression justice. Much "extreme" action then ensued, ending with my father literally having to chase her down, pry her mouth open with his hands and dump milk and salt in.

Age 13: London - let's just say that despite my love of ethnic food, I was not quite ready for real East Indian curry at this age and my poor father was forced to consume a lot of very hot food that I insisted on trying (Italians don't leave food on plates, it's just not done). Sidenote: do not force your father to eat lots of spicy food and then get trapped in a teeny tiny hotel room with him.

Age 25: Prague - going for curry with a ton of friends at this new East Indian place. I watched a violinist named Adam order something called a "vindaloo." When the dish came out, I wanted to try it. He said it wasn't for the faint of heart, so I took a toothpick and dipped it in the sauce on his plate. That one toothpickfull convinced me that, hard core as I like to think of myself, I will never be tough enough to eat a vindaloo.

Age 28: A friend who wanted to convince me to have sex with him and his wife wanted to take me to dinner. I love the Ethiopian restaurant near my house, so I suggested we go there. We arrived and then he told me I could order, but that he didn't like spicy food and was really more a fan of stuff like bread and milk. Right then and there, I told him that a man who didn't like to be adventurous with food wouldn't be able to convince me to do anything involving sexual intercourse. I have my standards.

SPICY.

Belly dance stuff.

RAB's website is finally up and looking pretty good - many thanks to the magnificent Kanga for the photos! She is an incredible photographer. Check it out.

Can you believe I lost my virginity to this guy? I came across a recent picture of him on my old friend's flicker site and, have to say, he looks like a fucking supermodel in this shot. He didn't look this good when we slept together. Not that I'm complaining about how he looked back then either...nice bod, great cock as far as I remember. It was, oh god, 14 years ago. My memory is a bit fuzzy.

So how does this tie in with the country mouse or town mouse theme of Sunday Scribblings? Well, it might not in your minds, but it did in mine. This beautiful boy is from the small town in which I went to high school, he represents for me much of my time there. His name, his face will always bring me back to that place, though I have seen and been friends with him in big cities as well.

He is also the boy I was sleeping with before I went to France. And losing my virginity, well because I was thinking about it so much, it forced my already small town world into an even smaller mental world, where I thought everything revolved around the issues surrounding the boinking (he and I were never "together" in any formal sense, myself already having an inkling that I didn't have "normal" ideas about sex and commitment, but not realizing that the first time you have sex is probably not the best time to explore "free love." One is usually just too hormonal.)

And so I left my small town and went to France for a few months with my best friend and her family (who are French). This was nowhere near my first travelling experience, but it popped my brain open the way not much else has. I met new people, I went to the smallest communities in France, and Corsica, followed by large cities like Montpellier and Sete. I saw the best of both worlds, the 3 hour dinners and fresh food, and days spent lounging at the waterfall and discussing politics and philosophy and punk music. Then the big cities with museums and music and shopping and all the enjoyment that goes with that. My brain had been so closed, my world so small right before I left, and now it was pushing out against my skull.

I have had the great fortune to live in thriving metropolises (metropoli?), fairly large cities, and small towns. I say fortune because really, there are benefits and detractions from both types of place and I've become the open minded, not totally pretentious person that I am in large part because I've experienced both the quiet life and the insane life. And as always, what is most important to me is gaining new perspectives and opening my mind as much as possible and the fact that I have achieved these things even to some small degree is not because I have lived in either the city or the country, but because I have experienced both. There are things to learn everywhere you go, you just have to make sure you're looking for them.