Oops I Lost My Blog


Er, um, I sort of misplaced it.

I was busy getting busy.

“Complete anonymity please,” he said to me last night in between kissing.

“Oh, I don’t think I am going to be blogging tonight,” I said in between grinning and catching my breath.

And your secret is safe with me.


Who cares if I get laid at Burning Man?

Not when the cookies already been had.

If only I could sneak him in with me, but I think my employers might notice a rogue in the mix of my bins, and I don’t think he would fit, I packed them pretty tight.


All my Burning Man things are in the back of my employers car, my employer in North Oakland, I still need to get it to San Francisco, but it is out of Graceland and that is the big move, feels like anyway.

I was going to pack up the car last night.

But,well, you know, I was occupied.

Occupy this motherfuckers.


I am a little giddy.


Wait, why am I apologizing?

I am not.

That was needed and fun and man, was it nice to spend the night with someone.

REALLY nice.

I was happily surprised at how well we slept together.

I have had lovers who just rolled over and went to the other side of the bed, this one, not so much, in the best way, all snuggles, and cuddles, and pull me in closer and brush his fingers through my hair.

“Ack, I have too much hair,” I said, flipping it out of my face as I straddled him.

“I like it,” he said and ran his hands through it again.


I am at work with bed head.

“Look at you, all jeuged up, you look great!” The mom said.

(Its adjectival meaning has something to do with glamour; as a noun, it describes glittery publicity galas and schmoozy champagne toasts. “It’s a kind of term for a bit of fancy stuff,” Emily Watson explains, basking — appropriately enough for a rising star of her order — on the lush garden patio of the Chateau Marmont. “I think I’ll wear a bit of jeuge tonight, get jeuged up. Thanks google!)

I smiled really big and almost spilled the beans.

But I kept it too myself.

I mean, I could credit the glow to the make up, I am wearing glitter eyeshadow (subtle glitter, thank you) and glossy lips.

But my hair, though in pony tails, is officially bed head hair.

I had to get up, move the car out of the gated yard at Graceland to the street to let the room mate out and my lover needed to be back in the city, by “eightish” and I came back, rumpled and frisky from the car park to find him still snuggled into the bed sheets.

“Mmmm, come here,” he said and rolled me back up into the sheets.

“Don’t you have to go into the city?” I said sliding onto the mattress.

“It’s just so nice and snuggly in here,” he said.

“Ok, pajamas, or,” I smiled, slipped back out of the yoga pants and Hello Kitty nightshirt (now freshly washed and folded and tucked into appropriate bin to take to Burning Man.  It’s not just for night-time any more, it’s office wear on playa, Hello Kitty pjs, that is) and back into his warm embrace.


And held.

There are not many times when I can be held and fall asleep in a man’s arms.

Last night, this morning, I had nary a problem.

That is something.

And when you turn, you turn together or shift together and it is good.

Bright and the alarm off.

I fell right back out.

His oatmeal (the special superb awesome over the top oatmeal that I made for him after moving the car–banana, fresh ripe dark Queen’s Anne cherries, cocoa powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, Earth Balance, a slip of sugar, and topped with chopped raw almonds) went cold.

As did the coffee.

Neither of us seemed to care.

Back to sleep.

Back to the pillow.

Back to the dreams.

Which for once were not about getting packed and moving and working and nannying and where am I going to live and how will I get out to the studio after I get back from Burning Man, and holy shit I am out there until the 6th or 7th!

Just sweet dreams, the slip, shuffle, and drowsy roll of bodies, the soft breath on my neck, hands entwined, warm leg over mine.


Probably the best sleep I am going to have for the next few weeks.

I am packed up people.

I will be taking the car into the city, dropping off the playa stuffs, returning the car, getting my bike, riding it to BART and then staying over night at the Cole Valley gig to nanny the boy while his folks pack up the last of the stuffs and we head out to Reno.

That’s it.

I am almost there.

I may have one more interlude, although doubtful I will get to sleep with the gentleman again, I won’t be having a guest over at my employers, but I may get to see him again this evening before I turn into a playa pumpkin.

As I am going to be staying over in the city tonight and if I don’t get to my employers house it’s not because I out late trying to find one last pair of pink fish net tights for playa.

It will be sneaking one last kiss from my paramour.

“Bye lover, ” he said to me as I dropped him off at the BART.

“I’ll call you later, we’ll go get a bite when you get into the city,” he smiled.

No, that’s not right.

He grinned.

Just like I am grinning now.


Which equals.


That’s right.

I haven’t gotten to Burning Man yet.

I am already winning.

And I smiling to beat the band.


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