The Way To My Heart Is Through My Loft

Having a bunch of new people over to my doghouse reminds me how much I love people complimenting it. I'm thinking of having a party every week now but never with the same people. But being as anti-talking to stupid people as I am, I don't have a supply of party goers available in my Rolodex. Do they have wholesale warehouses for these sorts of things? Like a CostCo for acquaintances? I think I'll have to take an ad out in the paper. "Are you highly complimentary? Do you enjoy parties? Does the idea of spending Saturday night at a tranny stranger's house excite you? If you answered yes to any of these questions then make sure it was the first question and come on down to Amelia Papaya's Weekly Loft Tour Jamboree! We'll have food, fun, and a home so amazing you'll be held at gunpoint till you say, 'Wow, I really like your place, Amelia.'"

It's strange, really. Other compliments I get (and let me tell you, there are a number of them!) are nice or whatever but my absolute favorite is always when people compliment my home. They can rave all day about my shiny coat, my spectacular humping, my puppy-like exuberance for life, my ability to be wholly unimpressed with you, my love of lists, my third grade report card, anything really and all I want to say is, "Yes, but what about my loft? Let's get to the real issue here." Perhaps because, with the exception of the drug habit that supports my puppy-like exuberance, nothing else cost me this much fucking money. Or perhaps because it is physical, literally concrete proof that I'm better than you.

So next Saturday night my place? Bring a friend but no fatties or repeat guests. ... well, okay, fatties can come but they have to compliment twice.

Having a bunch of new people over to my doghouse reminds me how much I love people complimenting it. I'm thinking of having a party every week now but never with the same people. But being as anti-talking to stupid people as I am, I don't have a supply of party goers available in my Rolodex. Do they have wholesale warehouses for these sorts of things? Like a CostCo for acquaintances? I think I'll have to take an ad out in the paper. "Are you highly complimentary? Do you enjoy parties? Does the idea of spending Saturday night at a tranny stranger's house excite you? If you answered yes to any of these questions then make sure it was the first question and come on down to Amelia Papaya's Weekly Loft Tour Jamboree! We'll have food, fun, and a home so amazing you'll be held at gunpoint till you say, 'Wow, I really like your place, Amelia.'"<br /><br />It's strange, really. Other compliments I get (and let me tell you, there are a number of them!) are nice or whatever but my absolute favorite is always when people compliment my home. They can rave all day about my shiny coat, my spectacular humping, my puppy-like exuberance for life, my ability to be wholly unimpressed with you, my love of lists, my third grade report card, anything really and all I want to say is, "Yes, but what about my <i>loft</i>? Let's get to the real issue here." Perhaps because, with the exception of the drug habit that supports my puppy-like exuberance, nothing else cost me this much fucking money. Or perhaps because it is physical, literally concrete proof that I'm better than you.<br /><br />So next Saturday night my place? Bring a friend but no fatties or repeat guests. ... well, okay, fatties can come but they have to compliment twice.<br /><p></p>

Love Poem #9

In the dark days of my life
I doubted I'd ever meet you
But you exist! You exist!
O, Nebraska, the light of my heart

I trace my fingers along your body
Feeling the gentle mounds of your dissected plains
Pinching the tip of your rock hard Chimney
Entering the Gateway to your West

The thrill of adrenaline is in my veins
Georgia waits for me in the east
The unintended cuckold of a fiery roadtrip
Can she feel me breath for you?

Like the state-crossed lovers of yore
We know this affair is fleeting
But, sweet Cornhusker, I will remember you
Your postcard sticky with my love

In the dark days of my life<br />I doubted I'd ever meet you<br />But you exist! You exist!<br />O, Nebraska, the light of my heart<br /><br />I trace my fingers along your body<br />Feeling the gentle mounds of your dissected plains<br />Pinching the tip of your rock hard Chimney<br />Entering the Gateway to your West<br /><br />The thrill of adrenaline is in my veins<br />Georgia waits for me in the east<br />The unintended cuckold of a fiery roadtrip<br />Can she feel me breath for you?<br /><br />Like the state-crossed lovers of yore<br />We know this affair is fleeting<br />But, sweet Cornhusker, I will remember you<br />Your postcard sticky with my love<br /><p>

Goodbye, Cruel World

Ah, running away from the pain. Janie did it, Brave Sir Robin did it, and I do it. Mostly I call upon Sweet Lady Liquor when an escape is necessary but we all know the dream is always to actually physically leave. In my head it goes something like this:

I forsake city life and move to some extremely rural town where nobody knows me. I get a job doing something physical, maybe working the land. I grow hard and rugged. I'm often dusty but it only adds to my handsome masculinity. I work, I drink whiskey & rye, I'm strong & silent. And that's how I live out my life - simple, but that's all a man needs.

Of course, sometimes it goes like this:

I leave everything behind and go to Europe. Maybe Madrid or Paris or Athens... definitely somewhere I don't speak the language. But as I learn to communicate, my new bohemian friends immerse me in the culture. Each day I begin to glow a little more. My waist shrinks and I accumulate chic, simple dresses that allow my natural beauty & curves to show. Eventually, I meet him. He is elegant and funny with a relaxed philosophy toward life. We drink wine and fall in love. And that's how I live out my life - as his wife, taking care of our homey apartment in the city and the beautiful countryside villa. Laughing, eating, loving.

Of course, what ended up happening in real life went like this:

I left my home and began wandering the streets with my brother. Soon we realized that with no steady way of getting food, we would starve. We went to and fro in search of help that would come too late for my brother. He was hit by a car and killed. I dragged his corpse with me to the entrance of an old landfill. That was where I lost my energy and couldn't go on. Using an old Doritos bag as a pillow, I set up camp. And then the hunger began to take over. Though I'm not sure of my brother's nutritional value, the fact he was nutrition at all made it totally worth it. And that's how I thought I'd live out my life - feeding on the rotting corpse of my dead brother and sleeping in trash.

Of course, help did come and now I've got my stable living situation. But that's why I doubt I'll ever see those first two scenarios come to life. So my current need to run will be a trip and not a forsaking of my home.

My friend, Edith, and I are embarking on a Pity Party Roadtrip. She was recently a victim of the economy and I a victim of heartbreak. I'm not sure where we'll end up yet but I do know that I will be writing about our adventures. Due to an expected lack of internet, my travelogue may not be transcribed here until I get back (whenever that is) but as soon as I can, I'll update.

Happy Travels!!
Ah, running away from the pain. <a href="http://www.aerosmith.com/">Janie</a> did it, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZwuTo7zKM8">Brave Sir Robin</a> did it, and I do it. Mostly I call upon Sweet Lady Liquor when an escape is necessary but we all know the dream is always to actually physically leave. In my head it goes something like this:<br /><blockquote>I forsake city life and move to some extremely rural town where nobody knows me. I get a job doing something physical, maybe working the land. I grow hard and rugged. I'm often dusty but it only adds to my handsome masculinity. I work, I drink whiskey & rye, I'm strong & silent. And that's how I live out my life - simple, but that's all a man needs.</blockquote>Of course, sometimes it goes like this:<br /><blockquote>I leave everything behind and go to Europe. Maybe Madrid or Paris or Athens... definitely somewhere I don't speak the language. But as I learn to communicate, my new bohemian friends immerse me in the culture. Each day I begin to glow a little more. My waist shrinks and I accumulate chic, simple dresses that allow my natural beauty & curves to show. Eventually, I meet him. He is elegant and funny with a relaxed philosophy toward life. We drink wine and fall in love. And that's how I live out my life - as his wife, taking care of our homey apartment in the city and the beautiful countryside villa. Laughing, eating, loving.</blockquote>Of course, what ended up happening in real life went like this:<br /><blockquote>I left my home and began wandering the streets with my brother. Soon we realized that with no steady way of getting food, we would starve. We went to and fro in search of help that would come too late for my brother. He was hit by a car and killed. I dragged his corpse with me to the entrance of an old landfill. That was where I lost my energy and couldn't go on. Using an old Doritos bag as a pillow, I set up camp. And then <span style="font-style: italic;">the hunger</span> began to take over. Though I'm not sure of my brother's nutritional value, the fact he was nutrition at all made it totally worth it. And that's how I thought I'd live out my life - feeding on the rotting corpse of my dead brother and sleeping in trash.</blockquote>Of course, help did come and now I've got my stable living situation. But that's why I doubt I'll ever see those first two scenarios come to life. So my current need to run will be a trip and not a forsaking of my home.<br /><br />My friend, Edith, and I are embarking on a Pity Party Roadtrip. She was recently a victim of the economy and I a victim of heartbreak. I'm not sure where we'll end up yet but I do know that I will be writing about our adventures. Due to an expected lack of internet, my travelogue may not be transcribed here until I get back (whenever that is) but as soon as I can, I'll update.<br /><br />Happy Travels!!

Get Vaccinated In My Love

Taking a reluctlant lover is sometimes a necessary evil. Does the fact that Gomer doesn't know what is good for him mean that he should be denied it? Just because a puppy doesn't understand that a parvo shot will save his life doesn't mean you don't drag his stubborn ass into that examination room for a prick in the bum. When your love is as amazing as mine, it can be a bit overwhelming at first, like the vet with her needle. This is both my blessing and my curse.

I've been accused of bullying Gomer into a relationship. I don't think that is true at all! Everyone has a choice. You can't make anyone do anything, all you can do is guide them in the right direction. I only offer myself as an option. It is not my fault that some of them need a bit more reminding than others. You have to be vigilant when you're dealing with a forgetful dog. Make him remember you're there and that you're his for the taking.

Sometimes it's not so much forgetfulness as it is fright. Frankly, a bit of forcefulness is needed when he's just scared of how much he wants it. I remind myself that is a lot of loving being thrown his way but he'll adjust, it simply takes time. The key is to never let up. Going easy on him just gives him a chance to escape. There will always be the one that listens to his flight instinct and will run with his tail between his legs if given the chance.

So take your reluctant lover, friends, and don't let go. After all, you know it could save his life -- even if he's to dumb to see that.



Taking a reluctlant lover is sometimes a necessary evil. Does the fact that Gomer doesn't know what is good for him mean that he should be denied it? Just because a puppy doesn't understand that a parvo shot will save his life doesn't mean you don't drag his stubborn ass into that examination room for a prick in the bum. When your love is as amazing as mine, it can be a bit overwhelming at first, like the vet with her needle. This is both my blessing and my curse.<br /><br />I've been accused of bullying Gomer into a relationship. I don't think that is true at all! Everyone has a choice. You can't make anyone do anything, all you can do is guide them in the right direction. I only offer myself as an option. It is not my fault that some of them need a bit more reminding than others. You have to be vigilant when you're dealing with a forgetful dog. Make him remember you're there and that you're his for the taking.<br /><br />Sometimes it's not so much forgetfulness as it is fright. Frankly, a bit of forcefulness is needed when he's just scared of how much he wants it. I remind myself that is a lot of loving being thrown his way but he'll adjust, it simply takes time. The key is to never let up. Going easy on him just gives him a chance to escape. There will always be the one that listens to his flight instinct and will run with his tail between his legs if given the chance.<br /><br />So take your reluctant lover, friends, and don't let go. After all, <em>you</em> know it could save his life -- even if he's to dumb to see that.<br /><br /><br /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354425851694057074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb3AJ9JEv3-Fs4h4MnnlHx6KaJb_aS3PuQify57w34o44vXa0MuUS3k2GS5hW2bSRFcAu6T0EhM_V-Gpu1rhVL4nLxdcfmJIzRBIOreKQl7ER2HF9U8G41P8uIt8jz7a8ohuGQF8XE-sM/s320/MiaOnGomer.jpg" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" />

"I miss my brother..."

Sometimes, late at night when no one is around, my mind drifts back to the last time I saw my brother. His dark fur almost blended with the dark pavement as he laid motionless at the entrance to the old landfill. The smell was something unforgettable in the southern sun but I didn't mind. Having him there with me brought me comfort. Comfort I sorely lack at the moment. I had to move on from that spot, and it makes me sad because I miss my brother and the way he tasted. And in those sad, hungry hours late at night, I settle for a Milkbone.

Sometimes, late at night when no one is around, my mind drifts back to the last time I saw my brother. His dark fur almost blended with the dark pavement as he laid motionless at the entrance to the old landfill. The smell was something unforgettable in the southern sun but I didn't mind. Having him there with me brought me comfort. Comfort I sorely lack at the moment. I had to move on from that spot, and it makes me sad because I miss my brother and the way he tasted. And in those sad, hungry hours late at night, I settle for a Milkbone.<br />