04.15.2004 - 3:13 p.m.
I've just returned from a lovely lunch with Chiara, where we sat in a quiet Vietnamese restaurant, and one point had the following exchange (accompanied with hand gestures) at an embarrassingly loud volume:
"So, with fisting, is it...the whole fist, like this?"
"No, it's like this."
"Ohhh. Right, that makes a lot more sense."
What? Most classy social engagements include at least a mention of fisting. Why, it's practically a requirement.
The Soap arrived in the mail today. I finally broke down under the sheer volume of viral marketing sweeping the internet, and paid up for my demure black square of what better be a damn miracle cure that not only bestows upon me a creamy, petal-smooth complexion, but also washes the fucking pollen off my car and also maybe takes me to see Kill Bill Vol 2 this weekend.
I'm already a little enchanted with its clever little draining box, because I had needlessly worried about where to keep The Soap, like what if I leave it in the shower and it melts in two days or something? Aahh!
JB is perplexed by The Soap. He's never understood the tubes and pumps of various goo I buy to put on my face and hair. "Look," I asked once out of curiosity. "What do you use to wash your hair?" "Pert," he responded. "Okay, then what do you use to wash your face?" I said. "Pert," he said impatiently.
Never try and explain a $40 bar of face soap to a man who washes with Pert.
I have plans this Saturday, for my tongue.
No, not really.
*shakes head firmly*
ANYWAY. I'm going to get a tongue pierce. I used to have one years ago, and I've been thinking for a while that I'd like one again.
And no, it's not for THAT reason. Get your mind out of the gutter, you. (Actually, JB is entirely ambivalent on the subject, except for asking if I was going to be, in his words, a crying little sissy this weekend, because hey, we've got yardwork to do.)
I have three reasons for wanting the pierce.
First, a tongue pierce is fun. You can chew on it, bite the end, twirl your tongue upside down with it, clack it against your teeth, and so on. Oral fixation, anyone? If chewing on pens, cuticles, toothpicks, or gum is a party in a can to you, then may I recommend a stainless steel bar through your tongue.
Second, I think they look neat. Especially when they aren't drowned out by 3957310 other metal facial adornments.
Third, I love it when I discover something surprising and provocative about someone, especially when you never, ever would have guessed it. I don't mean, "Oh, you skin cats and hang their pelts in your garden shed? I had no idea! How charming!", but, you know, some slightly taboo quirk that kind of makes you raise your eyebrows. When I was younger, I didn't get that appeal at all - it was all about putting as much on the outside as possible (can you not see by my Manic Panic hair and pasty white makeup I am UNIQUE, dammit?). In turn I like having those qualities; I'm always pleased when people tell me they are wowed by the fact that I have tattoos, for instance.
Unpredictability is interesting to me, and believe me, I'm typically about as predictable as you get.
I plan to have it done in the same spot it was before, which is far enough back on the tongue that it's not immediately noticeable during conversation. If you know what to look for, or if I throw back my head and bray like a donkey, you'll see it - but for the most part it's something I can either keep secret or not.
I kind of like that.
There's one thing I have not forgotten in the slightest, and that is the pain factor. The clamp on your tongue is one thing, the sensation of the needle still another, but it's the following few days that sort of stick out in my mind. OW. Plus, the talking? Not so much with the intelligible talking.
We shall see if my youthful bravado overcame the discomfort Back In The Day, and whether or not the chickenguts 30 year old I am today will be, indeed, a crying little sissy this weekend.
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