Party-party, non-stop, out there, go, go, go! And I'm the one who isn't interested in going out New Year's Eve. I'm such a dichotomy. Thursday night, went dancing. And had another encounter to further strengthen my theory that there is some subliminal message I send out to the world that says, "HEY! I'm KINKY!" (Now is the time to look up the latin/english adopted term, and title of this entry, "sub rosa").

I attract freaky people. Now, I don't necessarily think that "freaky" is a bad thing, it's just that when you are ONLY attracting a certain type of person, consistently, it makes you wonder what message you're sending out there. For those of you who read this and do not know me, there is already a world of freakiness that I've experienced (of the S&M, B&D, D&S variety, and yes, it is sick that I know what all of those are). I'm not fed up or "done with" the whole freak side of me, I'm just taking a step back to observe and discover just what word, what look, what anything, is drawing a certain type of person to me (sexually).

So I'm at the club, standing by the wall, looking around, *innocent* smile on my face (at least I thought so). A man walked right up to me, someone I recognized at this club before, we've had cursory meetings, but neither of us ever remembered the other's name. I don't recall exactly how the next few things transpired. I know that I didn't say anything other than "It's Barbarella, remember?" I know that my hands were by my sides. Next thing I know, his hand is stroking my neck intimately, his lips by my ear, explaining in graphic detail all of the things he'd like to do to me. Note that this whole declaration of intention began with "So, what are you, top or bottom?" I rest my case.

Didn't go home with him, sexy boy, but I was there with a girlfriend and it's been a long time since we've hung out together. Speaking of which, I've been having a great time with my girlfriends, I know I've mentioned this recently. Yesterday, hungover from a night of dancing, vodka and cheap wine, I ran a bunch of errands (one of which was the new monitor for my computer!!) and resigned myself to staying in for the night. I turned down some party offers and set my sights on cleaning my still unpacked bedroom.

11pm. Phone rings. BARB! You must come out, we're going to a bar! I listened to the list of ladies, the entourage of my woman friends as of late... and gave in. I felt like shit, I looked like shit, I threw on some lipgloss, tossed my hair up in a clip, and went out. This is something I never would have done in my right mind, maybe still wouldn't. A singular phenomena, Barb went out sans preparation. I got home at 5:30am. Damn those girls. Love 'em to death, though.

Today? Manicure, pedicure, I'm in heaven. God, I love that pedicure. I understand foot fetishism to a degree now. The inset of the arch is so sensitive, I don't notice it often, because how often do we stroke the insets of our arches? Huh. Interesting thought. Speaking of foot fetishism, I had to smile at the sweet synchronicity that occurred when I received my latest issue of PlayGirl.

The center spread (not the center-fold, that's another story), was a two-article feature on Domination (a professional Dominatrix from New York tells it like it really is, interview format) and two pages delving into the mind of a foot fetishist. Statistics included. The universe is listening. Watching, is more like it. And it sees all. And in my life, well fuck... there's a whole lot to see.

-Barbarella

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