The Worms Crawl In, The Worms Crawl Out

I would just like to state, for the record, that I am relatively uncomplicated.

I mean, OK, so I wake up with this in my head on an alarmingly regular basis:



Or this:



And, you know, there was that unfortunate incident yesterday where it was randomly this:



Which, yes, I know is not in keeping with the whole lotta funk going on but hey! RATT, man. It was like...waking up in 1986 except with way better hair.

But mostly? I'm pretty easy (shutup).

I mean, I like simple pleasures. Cheese, for instance. And not even fancy cheese. Extra sharp cheddar will do this girl just fine. Wine too. Not extra sharp but, you know, under $12 a bottle and under $10 if I can get it. I like pajamas...comfortable ones...and I like hands and feet. I love music and I love to wake up to music in my head. I like to write. I like baking cakes and planning supper parties. I like to laugh a lot. I like to drink a lot. I like to kiss and hold hands and touch your face.

And I love to love. You and you and you.

What I don't particularly care for is having someone perceive me as this:

Photo courtesy of Pets Warehouse

See what I did there? Circling "Natural juices locked in the can!"? Because just...ew, man. Fucking ew. Imagine opening up THAT particular can o' worms. And what the hell kind of pet eats worms anyway? That's like watching WTF Japan, seriously videos.

Anyway!

So, yeah. I'm not a can o' worms. I'm direct, sure. I overshare¹. During certain times of the month, I can be a bit of a hormonal wreck. I am quick to laugh...and quick to cry. But mostly? Mostly I'm easy (shutup).

I like to know you like me...for a night, for awhile. I like radical honesty...transparency, if you prefer. I like knowing expectations. I like knowing boundaries. I can promise you'll hear mine.

I can be OK with pretty much anything...as long as I know about it.

And what's wormy about that?

Tell me. I'd like to know.


1: Hello, blog readers just joining us. Please take a moment to look at my various tags. With things like "Why does it all come down to bodily functions" or "My boobs are huge" or "This is why I should not be given sharp, pointy objects" I'm fairly certain you can ascertain that I am not above oversharing.

Metaphorically Speaking

Pinball.

You've played it...right?

Look at the machine. What is your objective? What are your obstacles? What's going to win you extra balls and replays?

You slip the quarter in the slot and watch as the playfield lights flash and dazzle you and as your hand reaches for the plunger, you have to make a decision.

Go all out or go for the skill shot.

What's it going to be?

Nervous anticipation swells as the ball flies out of the shoot and begins its first descent through the playfield, catching the easy bumpers first as it comes rolling toward you.

Gripping the flipper buttons tightly, you watch anxiously, asking yourself which way, which way, god dammit!

The first strike with the flipper is smooth and propels the ball back up through a ramp, gently rolling over the top. Ramp shot. Points.

But then! Stuck. Between a bumper and a kicker, the ball pings itself between the two rapidly. Ping ping ping ping ping ping PING! Powerless, you are, at that moment to do anything but watch...and wait.

Maddening as it ricochets, you're gripping the buttons, swearing under your breath, stomach knots, as the ball flings itself off a slingshot and comes hurtling toward you and your sweaty fingers.

Which way? Which way?! WHICH WAY?!

Plop.

In a hole. Points.

You continue. Finessing the flippers, at times with a caress, sometimes with a tap tap smack. Working the left, the right, both together.

The lights, the sounds, they all begin to mesmerize you and you can't walk away...even when you've got to pee. You're in the pinball zone as you watch, manipulate, tap, slap, bump...tilt.

Which way?

Be the ball.

Be the player.

Be (hee hee) The Game.