Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

I've made a list of things to do! I'm turning into a middle-aged woman!

In my defense, to be honest I've suddenly been burdened with a hell of a lot of stuff to do at the same time - some pleasant, some not so much - and (although most of this comes as a result of things I have genuinely decided I have to do) the upshot of being unavailable during the week (again due to a combination of pleasant and unpleasant things) has revealed itself to be stressful enough to keep me up at night. I lie awake plagued by the memory of the worst times in my life, like when the mouse pointer moved left instead of right, and that day I realised there was a small tear in the protective screen of my new mobile.

And the only way to combat this is to actually get all the things done. For those of you who were actually sensitive enough to read all the entries here that don't mention sex and are actually wondering in which direction my life is going, I am about to re-enter education. It's for, like, a month, so I'm not going to be attempting to add a third university degree to my belt (honest!), but this starts in a week and two days, and therefore I have five working days to get all this stuff finished.

So. Make a list.

Incredible that it is that a list of things to do seems to get longer and longer as you cross bits off - especially as you end up adding more things - there is a definite amount of catharsis in scrubbing bits out ("Great! I actually managed to send that two-sentence e-mail to that Chinese boy I tutor! Back to Super Mario World!"). It's just difficult to actually get enthusiastic about any of it. Specifically when I'm stopped doing stuff because the place I'm heading for is closed and nobody bothered to tell me. I hate leaving stuff unchecked!

The main problem I have, however, is that my netbook - which is to all intents and purposes my primary computer - is currently being held by the people at the local PC shop. Why? Because some of the keys don't work, or - as I'd be saying if I were typing this on my netbook, because sme f the keys dn't wrk. My old laptop - originally called "Jim" but now "old faithful" - has been a temporary saving grace, but he doesn't have a working I key, forcing me to use creative copy-and-paste or find-and-replace to type that important vowel. (You may have noticed me on Twitter or MSN using lower-case Is. I'm not lazy, just disadvantaged as the result of a hoover being in the wrong place.) I've managed to get him back onto the Internet without too much trouble, but nevertheless, I would feel much more comfortable about working towards both a social and academic end if I had a fully functioning machine.

Yes, I don't have any money and I'm seriously gaining weight right now, but both computers are slightly broken and that's what's important right now. Geek love.

However... having said all that, there's always a saving grace. And my "thing to do" for Tuesday - weight, money, computer and outstanding work to do all irrelevant as soon as it starts - is "go to Leeds and see cutieloveheartgirl". Now that's a task I can seriously cope with.

Best interests at heart

When it comes to things to do, I am sometimes easily swayed, and yet sometimes not. My mother, as an example, is one of the people that takes it upon themselves to make all my decisions for me. As of today, my sister no longer lives in our house, and therefore I can foresee more upcoming decision-making on my behalf by her. She does, of course, run it past me first, but only in a perfunctory manner; the assumption being that when she makes a suggestion, I will follow it to the very letter. This does not bode well for me, the fact of the matter remaining that all I've done which could be (loosely) termed as successful throughout time has been as a result of ideas I've had myself.

It doesn't stop her trying though - and although I'm grateful for her support, she made a suggestion the other day, based on an advert she saw, which almost genuinely hurt.

It's not interesting, despite what you may have been reading on Twitter, where I am workwise. Needless to say, I am still unemployed, but I'm re-entering full-time education in a week or so for, like, a month. This is purely vocational, and hopefully I won't fuck this one up. Until then, I am doing voluntary work - of course, I won't say where, but it has its interesting points and I don't hate it. I don't know much about applying for post-course-qualification-specific-jobs, but it's a safe assumption that there will be a lull (or, as I will term it in a more positive light, grace period) between the course and, say, the New Year. I mean, that is a complete guess, but it's what I'm working on. My plan was to spend that time looking and preparing for jobs and all that may come with them, such as finding a place to live, and possibly even relocation. My mother's plan is for me to do Christmas temp work in shops.

Which is, of course, perfectly valid, only she had to mention a shop that I have a bit of an aversion to, due to something that happened there involving my ex. I don't even like going past that shop if I can avoid it, ergo: sod's law dictates that it's the one my mother shoves in my face continuously until I actually apply for the damn job. I probably won't eve have the time to be a Christmas temp anyway, but that's irrelevant when compared to the fact that I don't. want. to. go. there.

I can't tell her that, though, because I'd have to explain, and that wouldn't go well. I wouldn't be able to anyway. And she'd think that I was trying to make some excuse, and/or accuse me of laziness. Some of those nice things that mums say. I did initially consider lying and saying that I'd applied, but halfway through trying that I kind of stopped and changed my story. I'm not a good liar, really. And in the end I applied, full well in the knowledge that a) my prior experience is an advantage since I've done the job before and b) extra money over Christmas is always useful, but with a burning hope in my heart that I won't get it - my course will end too late for me to start or something - because I am fully aware that going to this shop - even as staff - would make me uncomfortable, sad, and distracted.

And to be honest, I really don't need that. Not now. Not ever.

As far as I can see, we were carved from the same tree...

Why won't this work? AAAAAARRRRGH!!! Oh, there we go.

Don't worry, that wasn't what I said over the last week, spending time with @notCatharine; it's just my immediate reaction to some of the keys on my netbook's keyboard deciding to intermittently shut down. Twitter isn't working on my BlackBerry either. I'd uninstall and reinstall it, but BlackBerry App World also refuses to work, so I'm kind of stuck on that too. Good times.

Anyway, last week...

Well, the first thing that you need to know is that Catharine is a liar.

She'll say something like, "I spent the first two days asleep, because I'm lazy and grumpy." But what she really means to say is, "I slept a lot during the first two days, but that was because ILB had a calming influence on me and very warm cuddles."

She'll say something like, "I woke up at random points in the middle of the night." But what she really means to say is, "we spent large parts of the small hours eating biscuits in the lounge, cuddling and grinning at each other on the sofa and making each other laugh."

She'll say something like, "we didn't say anything that made much sense to each other." But what she really means to say is, "we talked to each other in secret sex blogger language, which made us feel like international super-spies since we knew people that the rest of her family don't."

She'll say something like, "on the last day we tried to do some modelling, but neither of us could do it." But what she really means to say is, "the modelling kit of the demonic elephant was terrible, but the bouncy balls we made were incredibly pretty and very well-patterned, and ILB has been playing with his ever since he took it home."

She may even say something like, "the sex got better and better the more times we did it." But this one I agree with.

Soft Porn Sunday: Shannon Tweed & Andrew Stevens

Shannon Tweed got married this time last week. Took her long enough. I was surprised, initially, to find out that she married Gene Simmons, before remembering that I'd already read that somewhere, and then having an "oh yeah..." moment. Well done, rock god and erotic thriller actress. Hope you're happy together.

I saw a lot of Shannon Tweed around the age of 15. Channel 5 bought a lot of mainstream erotica to show on Friday nights and, although some of it was cheesy pap, there were quite a lot of American erotic thrillers scattered through the schedules, and I quickly managed to learn that anything billed as "erotic thriller" had some semblance of a plot, whereas "erotic drama" mostly had sex in it. Since the plots were awful, I preferred the latter. Tweed starred in both types, and was prevalent in any film that had a bit of skin in it. To be honest, I always preferred "the other Shannon" - Whirry - but some of these films were good too. I remember taping a few.

I don't have a lot of clips with Shannon Tweed in my collection - which goes to show exactly how non-obsessive I am - so I had to scour the internet for some. And I found this:

Appearance: Illicit Dreams (1994)
Characters: Moira Davis & Nick Richardson

I vaguely - very vaguely - remember this one from my past. The fact that it's both directed by and starring Andrew Stevens raises a few eyebrows - an effort to get to have it off with Shannon Tweed? - but the plot is certainly unique. It's daft, but at least a little bit creative. Moira (Tweed) - who is married to Daniel (Joseph Cortese) - discovers over time that she has a telekinetic link to Nick (Stevens). They meet, fall in love, and screw. This movie, oddly enough, also stars Rochelle Swanson, in a minor role. I know that name, even if you may not... but I'll save her for later.

This is your standard sex scene between Moira and Nick. But I'm choosing it because it's a little different from her other sex scenes. A lot of them - like this one - mostly involve odd contortions, unlikely face pulling, and music from strangled saxophones that makes me want to tear my eyeballs out and stuff my ears with them. This one's actually quite romantic, insofar as soft porn scenes go.

Okay, to start off with, aesthetically neither character is much to look at. Shannon Tweed has an OK body, but it's not really made much of in this scene. Nick has a ridiculous beard though - even worse than mine. I mean, really. Shave, Stevens! In fact, even though I'm aware of how unattractive my beard may be, his knocks him down the Glist several thousand places. It's really off-putting, and it makes me wonder if Moira would even go near him without that psychic link. Gah!

Movement-wise, though, it's okay. Pleasantly, it starts off with a nice kiss, which is always good to see, as it emphasises the "OMGZ love" bit. It mixes to them lying on the bed, looking at each other with lustful eyes for a while, and then there's a few seconds of Nick delicately running his hands over Moira's thighs. (Awww, cute!) There's a bit with him kissing up her neck and then licking her ear - which is surprisingly arousing, considering all you can see is her face and his back (but then again, I spent the last four days making a girl orgasm by doing that, so maybe I'm biased), and after that we get OH GOD GET THAT BEARD OFF THE SCREEN Moira riding Nick; implied more than seen, perhaps, as what we get is some head shots of Nick, and no more than head and shoulders of Moira (what, no boobs?). Tweed's making the motions though...

...and then it's over, suddenly. Quite a nice shot of them spooning, while the camera zooms out.

Okay, well, the bad points first. It's not likely to get me off. Hell, I doubt it could get anyone off. It's not very explicit, and there really isn't much movement (and although Tweed can do movement, it looks a bit forced). It's a romantic sex scene... without much romance. There's effort, but it just doesn't look like they're that into each other. They're making the noises (or she is, anyway) and some of the faces are okay (except for Nick's, with that awful beard!), but they don't really fit with the music, either. Which is bland. Unobtrusive, sure, but bland.

However, having seen numerous other sex scenes from this period with this actress, bland unobtrusive music is a bit of a blessing, considering I have great respect for saxophonists and don't like to hear them sounding as if they're being kicked repetitively. And yes, it's not the best of scenes by any standard, but at least the cinematography is good. It's shot well enough and the camera work is neither annoying nor non-existent. In fact, the worst thing about this scene is that it's a bit out of place. It shouldn't really be in soft porn; it's more suited to mainstream cinema drama - since it's short and inoffensive enough to be so.

So I suppose it's a good enough effort to convey romantic sex via film. It falls short of actually doing so, of course, but for what it is, it clearly tries hard, and it does manage to avoid some of the softcore clichés that these films fall into. You can watch it here, if you're interested, if the beard doesn't offend you that much. Just remember that Shannon Tweed's done some better things than this. They're just not that easy to find.

On

I slept in the same bed at 47 on Sunday night... but this entry isn't about that. I'm going to see cutieloveheartgirl tomorrow and will probably end up in bed with her in a very short period of time... but this entry isn't about that either. This entry is about feeling horny.

Yesterday.

I was horny basically all the way through yesterday. I don't remember when it started, but it certainly happened on the Tube on my way into London. I'm doing voluntary work at the moment and my working day was interspersed by short bursts in the office when I blanked out in my chair, losing all concentration, my erection raging to almost the point of unbearability, with very little stimulus (other than my own mind, which is usually more than sufficient, I will admit), and my infrequent trips to the toilet were characterised by noticing exactly how hard I was, and considering taking matters into my hand - then desisting because I was in a scummy toilet in a public building.

I was still turned on when 5pm came rolling around and I was washing crockery. On the way home, I was positively filthy over BBM, tapping out graphic messages to titillate the aforementioned cutieloveheartgirl, while angling my BlackBerry towards me to avoid any prying eyes from inquisitive commuters. Although the idea that they might see what I was writing was also part of the thrill.

Today, that urge is gone. It's been replaced by a desire, just as strong, for cuddles. Although I imagine I'll be getting both tomorrow.

And possibly a hug tonight from 47 as we attend The Distraction Club. But no more than that. Even if he did share my bed.

Family Business

So, it turns out my sister is... wait for it... writing an anonymous blog. Well, in a sense. It's not quite anonymous because she's already told a few people about it, and that - in my experience - is a bit of a mistake. I mean, TD found me through my blog and after a while my girlfriend's mother knew I wrote about sex online. And my sister is using LiveJournal, as well.

I've got nothing against LiveJournal. I keep one myself (since 2002) and it's a blogging service with good enough functionality to keep me amused as long as I actually write in the damn thing (in addition to ILB, which takes priority, of course). The main problem I have with LJ for anonymous writing is that its alternative to a blogroll - the friends function - does create a sort of network that you are part of (people tend to follow the same people, creating multitudes of mutual friends, and webs), and therefore if you are to friend someone that you genuinely know, staying anonymous on LJ seems a difficult task. Unless, of course, you don't friend anyone, and then what's the point in using LJ? Why not just use WordPress or something?

Then again, a lot of people on LJ are migrating to Dreamwidth these days (for a reason I can't quite fathom), so maybe she won't find staying anonymous that difficult at all. How she'll get traffic, however, I don't know.

In any case, I've read her blog. I can relax, it's not about sex. We're not all that similar.

Siiiiiiiiiiiiing!

I'm doing open mike tomorrow. This band I'm in, the one that 47 started... well, we are rehearsing, and then our blonde lesbian drummer suggested that we do this open mike. We've done it before and it's always gone relatively well - including one memorable session where we collaboratively wrote a song together and then two of us (not me) got up on stage and performed it without actually knowing what it was meant to sound like, going on scribbled lyrics by one of our number, approved by me, and chords by everyone else. I've still got a recording of that somewhere. I should find it.

While I much prefer to do full-length gigs (and I've done these one-and-a-half-hour things all by myself because I am an egomaniac), I'm not really above doing open mike - the problem with such a venture being that one only gets two songs when that happens... and it's difficult to develop much between two songs (I tend to use banter to pad it out, which seems to work well enough). The other problem, which mostly applies to me, is the fact that I can't resist mentioning sex.

It's not really part of my act. Very few of my songs are bawdy, and while there are some really explicit ones, they are masked well by lyrics which are open to interpretation (or deliberately don't make any sense). But there are a few which have no other way of going. At open mike I've performed a song I wrote for Scarlet on Valentine's this year, which is entirely about having sex with a multitude of girls, including the postwoman, taxi driver, French maid, receptionist, waitress, porn stars, and the sister of the girl to whom the song is addressed. I've also performed a song about spending the afternoon making love in various rooms of the house (notably the bathroom floor), one about staying up late playing hentai games until you fall for one of the characters, and one about trying to seduce a girl in French by alluding to croissants and coffee. Oh, and one about trying to convince a visiting American girl to have sex with the narrator via Craigslist.

I can be very deviant sometimes.

There isn't anything wrong with me singing dirty songs. Not really. And I rarely swear, hardly ever in my banter and very rarely indeed in my songs. And now that I'm not single any more, the songs don't really have the same sort of gravitas. Love songs that refer to a certain person have lost their significance in many ways, and those alluding to people who have lost their innocence, turned bitchy, submitted entirely to their partner's whims or been gay in the Scouts also don't hold their weight very much. Yes, I do have songs which are neither about sex nor have any taboo words or allusions to the same (and they're often my best), but when you're steadily doing those over and over again until you want something different to play...

...the sexual songs are going to be all you have left after a while.

Time for a dig through my archives.