This Disclosure site is both wonderful and somehow sad for me. I keep seeing all these places that made me smile.
Anyone else here win at pool at the Bovine on Queen? Or laughed when first seeing this place?
For those who haven’t yet heard, disclosure.ca is a growing collection of photographs that explore Canada and what it means to be Canadian. Disclosure’s ultimate goal is to eventually have contributions from every territory, province, city and town within Canada, but we can’t do so without your help. Therefore we’re asking that you take a moment to look over the site and contribute your favourite Canadian pics; this can include just about anything, as long as it’s related to our wonderful country in one way or another. For example, that shot that you got of gramps at the Christmas table chugging from your Don Cherry mini keg; your kid learning how to knot a rope at Beaver Camp; that pic that you took of the big one that got away in Lake Ontario (that’s if the photo ever surfaces); oh ya, and the time you first encountered Poison Oak-they’ll all do.
Dominique and I are still going at it. Hours and hours later. We were on the phone this afternoon until the batteries ran out, and now we’re keeping eachother awake with messenger.
I’m getting tips on how to strip without terrifying the boy. There’s a more than sneaking suspician that I will never, ever, ever use any of this. It’s making me laugh. I think if I were to take my clothes off while talking to a fellow, they would turn around or otherwise run away. *laughter* It would ruin everything.
Course, I’m glad right now I’m also not the type to visualize certain things, because honestly, as much as we’re fascinating eachother with our tales of piccadillos, (or failed attempts, in my case), I’m fairly happy not thinking of Rowan in particular ways.
I imagine today has had more talk about my sexual history and/or predilictions than in the last year all told. I’m fairly blushing. Somehow a feeling of being unimaginative has come upon me. Or perhaps a deformity of introspection. Like I should look more to describing what I know about myself rather than blithly continuing along.
We’re talking about firsts now, which is almost a touchy subject with me. Funny how something that I never talk about comes up twice this week. I remember Mishka’s first kiss. She came home bubbling and excited for hours and I remember the week she first had sex, and how I knew about it, but she didn’t tell me until about a month after. But I can only remember hers, really. I remember my first time with one person, but not another and it’s hard to remember kissing either of them. I have hundreds, thousands, of in-between moments. Holding hands at night, at the busstop talking about nothing in particular. His long coat. There is no feeling somehow bereft.
*laughter* Now we’re into the three-ways. This conversation is just delving deeper and deeper into places I don’t feel comfortable. *grins* Not that it ever stops me really, but I have to admit I just stopped and paused. A breath of a moment to get over my rush of nervous images. Only twice and a half now and I’ve escaped fairly well both. All back from when I didn’t own a dress and was just learning skirts. Bloody Crow. Good thing he never kissed me. I would have killed him.