Graceless

I haven't blogged for a while, I've tended to narrate my trials and tribulations on the board, or in the private area.

I had a message that made me think about something.

Them of you what reads this know I are a painter not a writer. I paint, in the main, people's faces to keep a roof over my head, but my hobby (or what I flatter myself is my real work) is also art. Mostly painting in oils.

Probably some 50% of these are dark and depressing ("angsty" someone said). The important stuff.

Quite a lot are self portraits, maybe because I love Vincent Van Gogh. (Typing even that most tenuous of links made me blush and feel slightly silly.)

The rest is mostly light and fluffy.

That all reads back as somewhat self effacing. In the interests of accuracy... I do know I'm good. Not as good as I want to be, but I might be in twenty years.

(Note to self. The admission of pride is the hardest admission of all. Try to avoid "painting" yourself into that particular corner again.)

Much as when one meets a gynaecologist ones drops one's knickers and asks, "What do you think? Have I been flicking my bean too much? Can you tell? How about the topiary?", when you tell someone you paint, they like to have a look. (I'm 100% joking, I'm always flattered when anyone takes an interest in what I do.)

My little flat is full of paintings, drawings, sketches, carvings, sculptures...

Visitors are welcome to rummage through. I don't do tours. I make the coffee.

Finally arriving at the point of this blog.... as often as not they land on one of the macabre or scary ones, take me over, and say, "What does this mean?.

I usually shrug, scratch my ear, pull my jeans out of my bum crack and say, "What it says I guess..."

Sometimes they get a bit miffed. No honest... they do. They tell me what they think. Then ask again what it means. And I'm always truly flattered by any interest.

But the truth is, if I could have put it into words... I wouldn't have painted it. I paint the things, the emotions, that affect me most. Sometimes painting helps me understand them, and myself.

It's coming over far more pompous than I intended... should have painted this blog.

So anyway... that's why I don't, or rather can't, explain my work.

At least... not often.

All my adult life, in fact from adolescence I suppose, I've occasionally dropped into dark holes. I tend to hide myself away and work feverishly, then emerge, pale skinned, dark eyed, straggly hair (vulnerable, waifish and sexy it's been said) and feeling a lot better. In general I'm not a particularly happy person. But recent months have been the happiest and most fulfilling time in my personal life. To the extent where I thought, and this is typical Grace, "This is sooo going to fuck up my work".

But no... the dark holes have turned out to be deeper and darker than they ever were. My guess is that it's that science thing about every force having an opposite and equal one, or else we all topple off the world and fall into an orgiastic heap. Or something.

So on the one hand, "Fuck that for a game of soldiers."

But on the other, "Oh OK."

I'm a depressing cunt aren't I?

A friend of mine has never been a girl to have boyfriends. She's quite gregarious and has what might be described as something of a high sex drive. So certainly, she has always been a fan of the sex businesses.

She did learn quite early on that she found girls rather attractive. I like to give her the label, "bisexual".

Her main talent has always been to disappoint her family, especially her long suffering mother. For example her mother had ambitions for her to be a doctor, and I suppose it has to be admitted she is reasonably bright and might have been up to it. But no... she chose to dally with the unimportantologies.

Realising quite quickly that her daughter wasn't going to delight her with her choice of career, the mother fell back on hoping that she instead might marry a nice young man who had a good one.

As time went on, she came to the conclusion that was pretty damn unlikely too. My friend has no idea how to make men feel good about themselves which, as I understand it, is how you get a husband. The mother was particularly disappointed no grandchildren would be provided, even though it wasn't really the daughter's fault.

Various occurrences, as occurrences tend to do, occurred, and the mother began to suspect that her daughter had a boyfriend.

One Sunday morning, mother dropped in on daughter.

Tentatively mother asked, "Are you seeing someone?"

"Yes" replied daughter.

"No doubt an artist or a squatter"

(I'm loosely translating as this pair talk to each other in a foreign language, but the sense of the artist squatter link is unchanged.)

"No," said daughter, "A doctor."

Mother was beside herself.

"If you're kidding me I'll never forgive you. You have a doctor boyfriend!"

"Errr.. " said daughter, "She is a doctor yes."

The mother became just one person again. A proper pissed one.

"A GIRLfriend." she said, "Oy vey" (for these two are Jewish). "A girlfriend. You'll be the death of me."

She started crying a little bit but daughter ploughed on relentlessly and asked, "Would you like to meet her? She's sleeping. She's been at work all night."

Several recriminations, accusations and eye rolls later, the daughter's girlfriend came out to say "Hello"

"Hello" she said.

"Irish." said the mother. "Is she a Catholic?"

"Well, she hasn't been circumcised, so I'm going yes." said the daughter. I call that unnecessary, but there you go...

"You want to kill me don't you? You're murdering me as sure as if you plunged a dagger in my heart." she said, with typically Jewish drama. She was never annoyed throughout. Always sad and upset. With, of course, the intention of extracting maximum guilt.

And then, "Well I'm pleased to meet you young lady. You seem very nice. I think you may find my daughter difficult, but I wish you both every happiness."

Bizarre really...

It was a good week.

I'm an aunty now of course. Yesterday a friend came up to meet the new lil' Grace, and also my sister, for the first time. We had a great day.

We drove back this morning. Well, I drove, she slept.

We got home and she slept some more. Some people have a tremendous capacity for sleep don't they? Then we had a quiet dinner together and caught up. I'd like to say I cooked, but we had some Persian food delivered.

Then she went off to work for the night. Maybe that explains the excess sleeping.

Now I'm on my own for the first time in a week. It's odd for me to spend so much time in the company of people.

So anyway... yeah. I'm back.

Well, there's another lil' Gracie in the world. Day late.

Thanks to everyone for their well wishes. I'm a very happy Aunty. Mum and daughter are both resting in hospital.

I use the chatrooms quite a lot.

Sometimes people laugh and joke. Sometimes people show their dicks. Sometimes people talk dirty. Sometimes people discuss philosophy and art.

Lately though, talk has often turned to the making of porno clips for Abbie. Not, as far as I know, for her personally, but for the site here.

Due to my youthful eagerness to please, and an unwarranted belief that I can do anything, I offered to come up with a bit of a storyline.

I did that, and I think it's being followed to some extent.

I discovered the grand filming was to be next week, and so asked if I would be allowed to sit in. Abbie was happy with it, but she said I'd have to check with the the big players.

So I emptied my diary... I'd pencilled in, "Eat a burger", but happily rubbed it out.

I logged on excitedly, only to find they had moved the frickin' day of filming.

Bastards, I call them.

Bastards.

Dawnie wrote:
I don't believe I ever do myself.


This comment was one of the things that led me to believe that Dawnie is an expert on the flirts.

I assume she must be able to find herself a long dinkled man or tight pussied girl with one shot from her flirtpack.

Most of the rest of us sometimes just have to make do...


Anyway, I came here to talk about communication...

I wrote on the board asking for some guidance on the flirts. I await this guidance with confidence. Another problem has been bothering me.

This problem can be solved by someone skilled in the arts of relationshippery.

I'm a bit inexperienced you see.

If one is seeing someone regularly, and you have moved past the stage of holding hands on to the filthy stuff, it turns out one can get pretty damn near as much decent sex as one wants.

This had never previously occurred to me.

So... it has become my habit, when feeling a bit cheeky, to say, "I want some sex." This has been met with amusement.

Example. The other evening I was eating dinner, lamb chops, with the object of my desire and became increasingly aware that I was becoming increasingly horny.

Between mouthfuls of creamy mashed potato I said, "I think we're going to have to have sex before we do the washing up."

I expected "Oh OK, sure."

But no... peals of laughter.

There was no problem... the sex was happily had before the washing up. But it seems I put myself over in a way that amuses.

I think there is a connection here with the lack of flirting expertise.

Example. This morning I woke up, and the very same person I mentioned above was in my bed, looking at me.

"Oh hello" I said.

I was told I had beautiful eyes. I began gracefully accepting the compliment, and thought about preparing a pleasant response. However, before I could complete the interaction, I was having more sex!

It was so skillfully done. (The seduction, not the sex... well, OK, that too.)

BUT THE SUBJECT WAS NEVER ACTUALLY MENTIONED!

I have much to learn.

Something made me start thinking about Dirichlet boundary conditions. Imponderables such as stiffness equals this, and mass equals that.

It may have been a signal or sine from some poster or other.

Impossible to understand... I hope I'm not exaggerating.

I'm having a Wednesday where my arse, pussy and finger aren't put in danger. Last week I drew blood from my finger, my arse got bruised, and my pussy was just sore.

Today was drawing with some kids.

I got home and had a late lunch with a friend who works nearby. She brought some sushi.

I've had sushi before... I like it, but wouldn't sell my body for it. (Well... depending on who's paying. If that nice Mr Depp had a few spare dollars and wanted a quickie...)

She also brought.... wasabi.

So... bloody hell!!

I don't know why but something prompted me to go back and look at the first page of my blog, written when I was 25. I'm a mature 27 year old now, and it's amazing to think I was 24 when this board first opened. I was among the first dozen or so members you know...

I read my piddling entry.

I've hardly changed at all.

I've been thinking about holidays.

It does seem a long time since I had one. I was counting my pennies and it seems like I can afford one. Work has been going quite well for me lately, and I'm ahead of the game, in that I am two weeks ahead of my schedule.

My sister should be having her baby before long, and I've been lucky enough to be invited to be around for that. That means a trip to the far north, so I will need to find someone who can prescribe the prerequisite pills for a southerner like me. Do doctors give pills for sex I wonder?

So mid to late May may be a good time.

On an unrelated subject, I've been invited to a lesbian club. A lesbian friend of a bisexual friend of mine invited me.

"Lawks-a-lawdy!" I said, "I like a bit of cock I do, I'm not one of your lesbo types."

(I am regularly asked if I actually talk the way I claim in my blog. Leaving aside being slightly insulted by the question, it is true I tend to employ colourful phraseology now and then, and my blog is always as accurate as my not the greatest of memories allows.)

She looked at me for a second or two, and then at my bisexual friend. Back at me.

"Well, I like pussy too. No offence." I added.

She gave me one more quizzical look, then said to The Bisexual, "Well, you're both welcome to come if you want." and handed the two tickets to my friend.

At that point being seen as the-slow-one-with-no-social-skills tickled me right on the funny bone. A laugh would have seemed inappropriate. The Lesbian did, after all, seem very earnest.

The Bisexual was growing wrinkles round her eyes too. I don't think it was accelerated aging, I think she was close to cracking up too.

I took the tickets from her, and examined them.

"I don't have to go down on anyone do I?" I asked

This finished The Bisexual, but somehow allowed me to retain a serious face.

The Lesbian suddenly let out a laugh of her own. "You youngsters!" she exclaimed, adding, "Ooh I'd like to get to know you a bit better." and put her arm on my shoulder and grinned.

I smiled back weakly.