Having Internet connection that's supposed to be high-speed but which performs at a speed that's even slower than dial-up sucks even more - when it takes what seems like a gazillion years before a web page loads. Technical problems, the bland voice at the customer service end of the ISP phone number says. "Thank you for bearing with us," this female automaton recites. My ass. I'd rather bear a cow, which I think I've been doing anyway for the last 24 hours at least. If I don't get an über-slow Internet connection, I get totally no connection at all.
So what's a night owl supposed to do when she doesn't have an Internet connection, all available video games have been played, the kids are asleep, and she can't get to sleep herself because the wee hours are when she's usually still alive and kicking?
She [meaning I, of course] watched a movie, of course. Or several movies.
Watched Love in the Time of Cholera, which I didn't consider to be all that bad, like what the reviews said. Loved the book, liked the movie. Except for the parts where the ladies had beautiful boobies. Happy for them, sad for me. I was probably out drinking beer when God was giving out boobies.
Saw Kinkyboots, which made me laugh. I wish I had Lola's panache. But it's been half a lifetime since I last wore stilettos. They weren't too bad, but I was younger then, and more limber. I'd probably sprain my appendix in addition to my ankles if I tried wearing something like Lola's boots now.
Watched an old Michael Buble concert on video. I don't really get his music. Yeah, he's cute and all, but not really my type. Me likey men with a five o'clock shadow. What the hell, I thought. I should go out of my comfort zone a bit. (To those of you who don't know, my comfort zone - musically speaking - is rock 'n' roll...with a bit of sappiness thrown in sometimes. Hee hee.)
Well, that isn't exactly true. I like lots of kinds of music: rock, jazz, new wave, classical, emo, Sesame Street. Yep. I almost cried when I first heard "Lower Case N" (Sing it with me... Lower-case N/Standing on a hill/The wind is very still/For the lower-case Ehhh-ennnnn...)
So anyway, Michael Buble's repartee in between songs had me chuckling. I especially liked the part where he and Josh Groban were making fun of each other (me likey Josh Groban's music...and his five o'clock shadow). There was this one part where Michael walks through the audience and gets kissed to death, among other things. After that, he says thanks to a certain gentleman in the audience who grabbed his ass.
Now, a stranger grabbing someone's ass would hardly elicit a grateful reaction in most cases. A stranger fondled my non-boob when I was a teenager, while I was riding a form of public transportation called a jeepney - and that scared the shit out of me. If he had grabbed my ass, I think my reaction would have been pretty much the same: barely controlled hysteria.
Twenty years later, things aren't much different. Though I have a bigger ass, I still have the non-boobies. However, if someone was crazy enough to grab that big ass, I wouldn't shrink and cry - I'd probably kick that guy where it would hurt him the most (and I'd use something like Lola's boots). But maybe being grabbed in your most sensitive places when you least expect it can be a good thing, especially if it's done by someone whose opinion matters to you. It may not be pleasant at first, but it can get you thinking. And feeling. And then you start wanting more of it. Not from any random ass-grabber, but from someone who cares enough about you (and vice-versa) to spank your ass a bit.
This is starting to sound a bit kinky, so I should stop.
P.S. I lied when I said I don't get Michael Buble's music. There is one song of his that I do like. It's called Home. Home isn't always a physical location made of bricks, cement, wood, and marble. Sometimes home is a state of mind, a state of presence where you can be comfortable in your own skin - alone or with someone else. I do like this song.