2004-11-04 - 11:34 p.m.
earlimart, self-psychoanalysis, and horniness

oh sweet jesus. oh sweet jesus god in the heavens.

there is a band called earlimart. yes. and i was at the bookstore doing math homework (for reals) (but also reading a book about how to fuck girls if you're a girl) (more on that later) and this... this music comes on, and i was entranced. ENTRANCED. i mean it was all over for me. i actually stopped in the middle of a math problem to hunt down someone who could tell me who the maker of this wonderous noise was, and then to buy (although i swore up and down to myself that i would be buying no more CDs, as i will be moving north in a few months and need to save money) their album.

and it was earlimart. and the song was "first instant, last report". and i plunked down thirteen bucks and am now the proud owner of "treble & tremble" and have track number two on loop.

it reminds me... it reminds me of "the royal tenenbaums", and it reminds me of "stephanie says" (which is on the soundtrack of the aforementioned film), and it reminds me of chain smoking at 6:30 on the beach, and it reminds me of all the best things about being a really emotionally labile person such as i am.

anyhow.

it is my mother's birthday. i bought her a book of hello kitty haikus, and i verbally composed a spontaneous one when i was handing it to her, which i cannot remember now. and i told her about my plans apropos napa, although (again) i swore to myself i wouldn't, not today.

but she took it well. and all went to bed on good terms. she loves the book and she loves me and i love her and all is well in that realm.

i was in the car today on my way home from school and "away from me" by evanescence came on. now, i haven't listened to that song in forever. it just reminds me far too much of things i'd rather not remember. the beaniest bean dip, and carl's jr. and all that bullshit. but today i forced myself to listen to the whole thing all the way through. to really listen. to hear the music, and to be moved. and it got to the good bit--"i'm longing to/ be lost in yooouuu/ aaahhh!"--and there was much anger. much, much anger.

but also a kind of horniness.

which got me to thinking, as horniness often does.

i have this thing about dominance. there is nothing hotter than calling somebody a fucking nasty slut bitch, either in the grips of extreme sexual heat or--and this was the revelation--extreme anger.

ok. the thing about tera. i think i've got it. i think i've finally got it. here it is. it's astoundingly simple, this thing, and this is what it is. i'll tell you. i'll tell you what it is that i've got about tera. and here. i shall tell you here and now, and without further ado. this is what the thing is.

when she and i split up, broke up, went our separate ways, whatever, i was quite the distraught girl. to the point of suicidal depression and homicidal rage. i mean i was furious. and there was much internal name-calling. she was a bitch. she was a slut. she was a whore. i hated her. fucking hated her.

and it turned me on, this hatred. do you follow? do you dig?

so when i was all turned on by this hatred, i was immensely confused, which just frustrated me and got me even madder and more resentful. and my emotions concerning that particular facet of my past were mangled, to say the least.

but i have it figured out now. i wanted her because i was pissed at her. simple as that. i wanted her because my anger concerning her was so amazingly intense and immense and overpowering that it became lust.

and that, friends, concludes the story of How I Came to Want to Fuck Tera.

i believe i mentioned a book. yes, i did. a book about fucking girls. well, there were pictures. some of them turned me on, naturally, but there were two in particular that just took the cake, and i will describe them now.

1: THE CHEERLEADER. there was this butch bulldyke--youngish, by the looks of her--bedecked in jock gear, making out with a very femme, darkhaired cheerleader. this was hot for all the obvious reasons, and some that probably aren't obvious, even to me.

2: THE COP. holy shit. it was a butch in a cop's uniform. simple as that. kinda smirking at the camera. with a nametag that said "Sir". no joke. and jesus christ on a stick, i had a scenario unfold in my head immediately. here it goes (anyone scared of this sort of thing ought to skip ahead): i'm a dolled-up femme. there's the cooch-baring black dickies dress, the slut snakeskin heels, the pinstripe blazer, the makeup. and Sir is at the bar. and... oh jesus. i can't go on. i'm sorry, i just can't. but let me conclude that there is much "oh, officer"-ing, and whispering in ears, and feeling up (of course she's packing. wouldn't be right if she wasn't), and it was all very hot and i wish i could transcribe it here but discretion won't allow such naughtiness.

i am off to have a little ice cream and listen to more of this earlimart shit and think up names for the zine. how does "soccer mom semi-quarterly" sound? shitty? yeah, i think so too.

- rachel

ooh, you touch my tra-la-la... mmm, my ding-ding-dong