"Tall and tan and young and lovely...

the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she passes, each one she passes goes a-a-a-ah. When she walks she's like a samba that, swings so cool and sways so gentle, that when she passes each one she passes goes "a-a-ah!"

Why do I have a picture of the Brazilian lovely, Giselle Bundchen on my blog, while quoting The Girl from Ipanema lyrics? It's really quite simple. This weekend is the 50th year celebration of the Bossa Nova. The samba swing that Antonio Carlos Jobim so eloquently refered to when he wrote the famous Bossa Nova song above.

This weekend while you're enjoying the last hoorah of summer, tune your dial way over to the left (so properly placed) and find your local classical jazz station and enjoy a little Bossa Nova, my friends. If you happen to indulge in satellite radio, Pure Jazz 72 on Sirius is playing Bossa Nova all weekend. Oooh la, la!

Ciao
Neve

p.s. Sorry, Giselle cannot be purchased via Etsy.

I forgot to take my medication...

and I'm sorry.... I had one of those moments last week and I just left a handwritten note card for someone that basically says, "Hi. I was a raving lunatic last week. Please accept my apologies."

Have you ever had one those melt down moments? Once you calm your ass down, you find yourself scratching your head thinking, "Damn. I was a real asswipe, huh?"

I'm the type of person that says all the things that others in a group are too afraid to say. You know what I mean, right? If there's an issue; a pink elephant standing in the middle of room and everyone is wondering about it, but no one wants to step up and ask the host or hostess the one simple question: "Hey, why the fuck is there a pink animal in the middle of your living room?" Well, I'm the person that speaks up. I ask the questions. I want to know. I've tried to be tactful in my Spanish Inquisition approach, but hell, I'm just asking what everyone else is thinking, but too bashful to utter the words.

My neighbors that live a couple houses down from me are delusional. How is that, you ask? Well, first of all they think they're practicing their heavy, metal, amplified to the highest platform possible rock music in a downtown Los Angeles recording studio: Sound proofed, expensive to rent, etc. Secondly, they think they're good enough to be practicing in a downtown Los Angeles recording studio. It's important to say that they feel the need to practice a lot. Clearly, I'm no record label executive scouting the midwest for the next rising rock stars, but these guys...well, the line forms in the back, dudes.

I came home last Sunday and I wanted to sit outside on my patio with my laptop, glass of wine and enjoy the evening. I was looking forward to a peaceful evening of porn writing. The wanna be rock stars were doing their thing on the second floor of their two story house that they rent. Oh gee, lucky for the neighborhood, they had all the windows open too.

Their band consists of an amplified, electric guitar, bass, full drum set and a lead singer, that I'm sorry to say isn't the next James Hetfield, the lead vocalist from the 1980's metal sensation band Metallica. Needless to say, my window and walls, like everyone else in the neighborhood, and in Pittsburgh, PA were reverberating. I WANTED TO KILL THEM. Tomorrow's front page newspaper would read: "Woman loses mind and kills wanna be rock musicians in her neighborhood....details on page B4."

I blew a gasket. I marched over to their house in my flip-flop meaning business ways and banged on their front door; frantically hoping and praying that God would send an electrical storm down from the sky above and cut the power off from their house. Or they'd tire and need to take a break from practicing their "music" and hear me pounding on their door to a different beat. Nope. God was not parting the skies for me on that day. These guys were relentless. They were like whales that never needed to come up for air. The fucking band played on.

I did however find their landlord. He lives across the street. He's someone I know well. He built my house and I have the utmost respect for him, except when it comes to his tenants. Let's just say, he received the lashing of a lifetime from Neve. It wasn't the good kind of lashing either. It was a verbal lashing and I said some not so nice things. The music stopped though and I haven't heard a peep from those delusional musicians. Thank you God.

That was nearly a week ago and I feel badly about what I said, thus the handwritten note I secretly set inside his mail box today. A little token, acknowledging my bad bahvior; a peace offering. Along with my apology, I also offered to pay for a couple round of beers the next he and are bellying up at the same neighborhood bar. That should work. :-)

Comments?

Ciao
Neve

p.s. The note cards above can be purchased via Etsy here.

Play it again Sam...

I'm working on a story that takes place in a bar. Not just any bar you see, no. This bar is dirty, seedy and run down, but it's also rich with smoky hues. It's owned by a ___ (oops, almost gave it away). This bar is a little place located in your neighborhood, maybe just around the corner from your humble abode, and it's just gritty enough that I'd frequently saddle up and order a cocktail. You know what kind of bar I'm referring to, don't cha'?

I'm a visual kind a gal, so it's not unusual for me to pull up images through the internet, or better yet, take a walk, a drive, or Vespa (Italia) my way to find a good visual representation for whatever story I'm working on. I have a bar in my house, but it's not really a bar, per se, it's more like a cart with booze and wine on it. That's not the kind of bar I'm looking for exactly in my story.

I'm headed to Morocco tomorrow in the name of bar research. I feel compelled to drink champagne cocktails with Bogie and Bergman in the film classic Casablanca.

"Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."

Damn. That gives me goose bumps.

Ciao
Neve

Busy and Tired

I had a crazy-ass weekend. In between juggling 5ive different stories, with fast approaching deadlines, getting ready to leave for my trip to Italy, attending a birthday bash that unexpectedly continued into the wee hours of the morning, supporting friends that love the bard, and oh yes, dancing on top of a bar (nearly naked) well past the stroke of midnight... I'm really tired today....

I think I might sleep in a bit this week, with the Italian pictured above. He looks so peaceful, doesn't he? I could climb into the picture and snuggle up right next to him and fall fast asleep until...well he woke up and then, well, I probably won't get much sleep afterall. Maybe I should just sleep in my own bed. I know, that's not nearly as much fun.

Here's a taste of a story I'm working on: This picture is one of many pictures of Kelly Slater that reside on the screen of my computer now. Why you ask? So I can refer to his body as inspiration. Isn't he a nice muse?

Anyway, once again, if I don't post for a couple days, there's no need to be alarmed, I'm just busy working on stories, sleeping in with Italians and searching for perfect prose to describe surfing with hunks.

Ciao

Neve

p.s. How was your weekend?

The Real Deal

I spotted this article yesterday via the internet and I have to admit, I breathed a little sigh of relief after reading and digesting. I'm pretty confidant that most of you tuning into this blog, are wired like me and find fake, well, just that, fake and unappealing.

As an example of fake versus real, it's been a mixed blessing that my budget doesn't allow me to purchase expensive designer labels made by Karl Lagerfeld, Cartier, or Armani. Sure, I'd love to own a fabulous Chanel jacket some day, but in between writing a best selling novel, I've learned to shop for cool, vintage pieces at thrift stores instead. Thrift store shopping has opened a door that I wouldn't have noticed if I was filthy rich; not batting an eyelash when purchasing fancy-schmancy Coco Chanel. Staying on a budget, keeps me real and humble.

I feel the same way about plastic surgery. I don't have the budget for a new set of boobs, fuller lips, less wrinkles and a higher ass (just 2", please), but in this case, even if I did, I would spend the money on things like travel, books, art work and guitar lessons. Or give donations to people that have serious illnesses, or animals and children that don't have a fighting chance.

I try and keep the things that go inside of my body as real as possible, I suppose. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the highest, I fall in the 7 category of natural. I don't wear much makeup, I prefer tank tops, shorts and flip-flops and I try and eat right, excercise and oh yeah, decline visits to plastic surgeons.

Comments?

Ciao

Neve

Live hard...

ride easy....

I saw today's blog title on the back of some guy's jacket while he was riding a motorcycle this week and I thought...hmmm...my philosophy is just the opposite. The back of my jacket would read: Live easy, ride hard.

Comments?

Ciao

Neve

The Male...

cock, uh... I mean brain. No, cock. No, brain. Wait, I meant to say the male cock-brain is explained.

Hell, isn't my point that it's both? Aren't they wired together in some way? Isn't there some type of impirical evidence proving this now? Gone are the days when you'd hear someone say, "Well, you know Prudence, he was thinking with the other head..." Two heads are always better than one, in my opinion. I come from the mind set of the more the merrier too though. What do I know? I'm just a porn writer.

I read an article titled: The Male Brain Explained and found some points within the article interesting, I suppose. Here's just a taste:

"Women have puzzled over it for years—why the heck do men do the things they do? Why do they profess their love for you one minute, then ignore you the next (say, when an Attila the Hun special turns up on TV)? Why can they not remember our birthdays? Let science explain some of these conundrums—and help you rev up your relationships!"

"Help you rev up your relationships...?" I'm not claiming to be an expert on men. I'm a woman. Hold on, let me check. Yep, I still have all those womanly parts that coincide with being a woman. I think having the home court advantage is important when understanding men and woman: Men know men better than women know men and visa versa.

Without having to get into all the scientific reasons why men do this and woman do that, I think keeping things simple is best. The best way to rev up a relationship with a man or woman is to start communicating while naked, of course. If you want something a bit more racy, then hell, go for an indoor slip and slide; add the crisco oil and learn some new types of communication skills. That should surely do the trick. Not into props, you say? Okay, no problem. Just take your clothes off, smile and see what happens.

I don't understand why the subject of deciphering how a man's brain-cock works or a woman's brain-clitoris works is so baffling for some people. Men might be from Mars and women from Venus when it comes to deciphering brain activity, but what species do you know that doesn't like to fuck? And if you really think about it, isn't that the best form of communication?

Ciao

Neve

p.s. The squid (or is it cock?) in the basket painting above can be purchased here.

Sex and the Semicolon

As I sit in my favorite black, leather writing chair, sipping on a glass of Sonoma...(hold on..checking, checking....Oh, sorry, the wine is actually from Oregon's Willamete Valley. No offense NoCal) white tonight, I ponder over everything I've read, touched, or viewed today. I can feel the sexiness of the semicolon firing synapses from my brain down to my finger tips again.

Ahhh... the semicolon. It's s one of my favorite forms of puncuation. The semicolon is racy and seductive...a real bad boy, with an aversion to commitment.

Who doesn't like a bad boy every now and again, right? It's just more good reason to embrace our punctuation friend, and the love of my grammar life, the semicolon.

It's no surprise to anyone that has read my work prior to it's final edit that I am a semicolon junkie. I know I over fucking use the semicolon. I think I might have been bitten by the semicolon love bug though. Too many good semicolon orgasms to forget.

Using the semicolon is similar to a trial separation: It's not a divorce, but it's not sleeping in the same bed 24/7 either. There's a semicolon in between the relationship. It's not as loose as the comma, but it's not as severe as the final period.

The semicolon's use is to separate two independent clauses... that are related to one another. Or, you use the semicolon to separate three or more items. For example: I was completely out of batteries for my vaginal vibrator, clitoral pocket rocket; vibrating anal beads; bzzzz cock ring and...well, you get the idea, right?

There are some that argue the use of the semicolon isn't a bad boy at all, but instead a base, prissy, girly-girl form of punctuation and well, I'm sure there are those that would say it's over-used. No counter from me on the latter. There are those that would say the semicolon should die a slow death too. Gasp! Inflicting pain on the love of my punctuation life...no, no, say it isn't so. Or referring to my semantics lover as a girly-girl is a bit sexist and well, ouch...painful. Actually those remarks are probably stemmed from fear: Knowing the prowess of their writing just isn't strong enough to withstand the natural, sultry heat of the semicolon.

For me, I recognize the lethal powerhouse of punctuation pleasure the semicolon has to offer. I'd rather not have my prose shy away from this hot companion. It's been said that love is blind. I use the semicolon in more ways than I should, I suppose, but deep down inside, I know and accept the semicolon's sex appeal lies in the simple fact that the semicolon is, well, just commitment phobic and sometimes that's just sexy.

Ciao

Neve

p.s. The magnet above can be purchased here.

An Orgasm

a day...might be the answer to world peace.

I'm sure you've all had the same revelation regarding the big O and world peace, right? Yeah, I know this idea has crossed my mind 100's of times before too, but...I've gained new intelligence on the subject and I want to share.

I met three lovely, young ladies on Sunday night. I was at festival. I was drinking Italian wine, and voila! I sat down next to three charming women and wouldn't you know, the conversation turned to sex. I dunno how that happens, I swear.

Anyway, these ladies told me about this massager designed specifically for clitoral stimulation and its promises to deliver Yes, God, Yes (Oooh, sorry) 1,2,3,4...etc, orgasms, but hey, whose counting? The massager conveniently slips onto your finger of masturbating choice.

What makes this finger rocket so important is that it reaches more of the mainstream audience. You see, it's made by our condom friends over at Trojan: Her Pleasure, Vibrating Touch, Fingertip Massager (and yes, I'm adding one of these to my repetoire). I was informed that this finger pleasure nodule is currently being advertised on television in between the erectile dysfunction commercials during the dinner hour. It's discreet; it's convenient and you can purchase it on-line, or for additional convenience, OTC at your neighborhood grocery store. Looking for condoms or lube? Pick up one of these baby's while you're browsing in that aisle.

Wait, there's more to my orgasm and world peace theory-

My friend DK sent me an article (he's such a tease) about the importance of use-it-or-lose-it when it comes to sexual, ahem, health. Here's an excerpt from the article:

"Results support the use-it-or-lose-it hunch. Having sex once a week halved men's chances of developing erectile dysfunction, compared with a less-than-once-a-week schedule. (The study also hinted that the more often men had sex, the better they fared.)"

Then DK shot me another article about spray on condoms. No. I'm. Not. Kidding. Spray on Condoms. The concept of the spray on condom is to acheive the perfectly fitted, pregnancy and STD prohibitor, while still enjoying a GREAT, blow your socks off, use the Lord's name in vain, orgasm.

Note: No word back whether or not DK is going to purchase a spray on condom and I'm already out $20 for the finger massager, so someone reading this has to step up and purchase the spray on effect and report back via this blog.

So, after receiving all this information within a short 24 hour period of time, I thought, hmmm... if someone keeps cumming up with new and improved ways to have orgasms; making it easier and easier to achieve one, then why couldn't everyone on the entire planet have an orgasm at the exact same time, sending peace SOS signals into the universe; thus my answer to creating world peace, baby.

Peace & Orgasms

Neve

p.s. The World Peace necklace above can be purchased here via Etsy.

I shaved my legs...

for this...?

How many of times have you reluctantly agreed to attend an event, knowing in the back of your mind you would probably have a far better time if you just stayed at home and washed your hair?

I had one of those I shaved my legs for this? experiences this weekend. You know what I mean, right? You agree to go, but you really don't want to, but...you go anyway, because in the end, it's just easier to go and suffer for a couple of hours versus the potential tsunami consequences you might suffer later if you don't go.

Yeah. That kind of event.

A little bee (maybe it was my muse, or perhaps little, green men) was/were buzzing around my head reminding that I should be more selective when I cheat on my writing time too. Gasp. Gulp.

I'm usually very good about pushing back and just saying No. Maybe that's because I remember Nancy Reagan and her War on Drugs campaign in the 80's. Just saying No was the right thing to do back then and it stuck with me. That same message was on the lips of both my parents also. Hmm...come to think of it, saying No to drugs, alcohol and sex, was much more difficult for me to decline than some dumb-ass party invitation.

So I went. I saw. I came home. And...fuck I could have been washing my hair.

Comments?

Ciao

Neve

Spreading...

the word.

I've met a lot of other very talented writers since I've been blogging. It all started the second I licked my lips, and had my first taste of Alison Tyler. Ahem. Her blog that is.

Alison is a talented, profilic writer and editor. From what I can tell, she's an overall really cool person also. She lives on the left coast. Far, far away from Ohio. Even though, I've never met her, I feel that I've gotten to know her, via blogging and e-mailing. Maybe someday we'll have the opportunity to grab dinner and share some blue agave together. I'm sure we'd have plenty of things to talk about.

I've been fortunate, blessed actually to have met other talented erotica writers and editors since jumping into the deep end of the porn pool. It's odd, because I've yet to physically meet these writers, but I feel we share the same supportive vibe.

I wanted to take a moment and share with all of you some of these writers and editors latest and greatest wins in this small and exciting world of erotica. I'm excited for each of them. Writing is wonderful gift, and I'm here offering a toast to each on their most recent successes:

Alison Tyler
Rachel Kramer Bussell

Kirsten Monroe

Heidi Champa
Craig Sorensen
Jeremy Edwards

Sommer Marsden
Donna George Storey

Whom have I forgotten? My sincere apologies if I've forgotten you, and be sure to let me know, so I can add you to my list here.

Ciao
Neve

The Fountain of Youth

Late post today. I'm sorry. I wanted to post about something that happened last night and then somehow, late last night spilled into early this morning.

Needless to say, I'm getting a later start today. It's already past noon. Geez.

There are still certain places within my neighborhood that haven't been struck with the lighting bolt of gentrification. One of those places is the Literary Cafe. I've mentioned Andy and Linda's bar in postings on a number of occassions. Their venue boasts an interesting menu of sorts, and one of those menu items is Open Mic Poetry. This event is hosted monthly by Steve Goldberg, aka Poet Steve and Nick Traenkner.

Last night was my second visit to the open mic poetry reading. I had gone last month, and had a great time, but like Cinderella, I snuck out long before the clock struck midnight, because I had things to do the next day. Well, I had things to do today too, but I didn't get home until well past midnight.

The open mic forum gives poets the opportunity to read their work, or the work of someone else in front of their peers. After listening to Michelle Krivenek, one of the featured poets last night, I wandered outside and onto the Lit's back patio area with John Ettorre, Steve Goldberg and others. As we sat, talked and drank (of course, we're writers) we began to find ourselves surrounded by several of the twenty something poets.

It was spectacular.

One of the featured poets canceled that day, via e-mail and set Steve Goldberg into a tailspin of debauchery. His poison was Irish Whiskey with a Corona back. "Interesting choice." I thought as I nursed my vodka soda. Words to the wise: If you must cancel, don't send an impersonal, loaded with excuses e-mail message. Pick up the telephone for God's sakes. Is this deja vu? Haven't we covered this topic in another blog posting already?

In between Steve's fits of rage, I was listening to the words of these young poets. John and I started conversing with them. Quite simply, their conversation was more interesting. We were like reporters gathering information for a hot story: What do do? What are you reading? Where do work? What kind of sex do you like? (okay that was just me asking, not John). And finally, Why do you write poetry?

Youth. It's so beautiful. These young men and women are tainted just enough around the fringes, which in my opinion makes them that more fascinating. They're just slightly weathered, patina'd if you will, after a rainy season.

I suddenly felt very paternal. I was giving advice. Here, go this way. Have you tried this? Well, it doesn't have to be that way, go here. I wish I had a me around when I was their age as I struggled with trying to figure out what the hell the meaning of life is.

Okay, maybe not. Maybe they wished I would just shut the hell up. They listened to my porn writing wisdom ways though.

I'm not suggesting that these twenty-something poets don't have their shit together. They're very, very bright, well read and well informed. They beam with a passion for life, and the meaning of. I'm sure their lives will continue to grow, flourish and prosper with or without meeting me last night, but I was touched by this experience... I feel as if I drank from the fountain of youth....

Ciao
Neve

Porn Hardship

Hell. I could always use some new porn for my collection.

A few years ago, three of my girlfriends would frequent the Tits, Ass and Cock Porn Store close to our house on Wednesday evenings. Why was Wednesday so special you ask? Because on Wednesdays women shopped at a discount.

Hold the phone. Did someone say, discounted porn?

We were discount divas on hump day. It was like a porn happy hour. We'd each buy at least one video, or okay, DVD (it wasn't that long ago) and then we'd trade after a couple of weeks. We aimed to get the most bang for our buck, you know. It was actually a great set-up and I'm not sure why we stopped. Hmmm...I may have to take action and get that porn party started again.

Yeah. So what, right?

Yeah, well, so what, check this out:

"A man claiming to be a police detective tried to get an adult novelty shop to give him free X-rated videos, saying he wanted to make sure the performers weren't underage, authorities said. He made three tries within nine days last month and was turned down each time. The store manager called police after the third try. He's ambitious!

Authorities said Monday that the man showed a badge and left a business card from the Longmont police "age verification unit." Cmdr. Tim Lewis said there is no such unit.

It was inventive on his part, I'll give him that," Lewis said. The business card didn't have anyone's name on it, but the store gave officers surveillance video of the man. Police are looking for him." Good Lord. Give the man a break. He needs some porn and he's obviously broke. Maybe the porn store could offer him employment. He could get paid to watch porn. Hey...wait a minute. I want that job!

What's your porn hardship story?

Ciao

Neve

p.s. Cute porn necklace above can be yours, all yours. Select here.

New and Improved

I wrote this to my friend Dave, a computer genius in an e-mail recently after I thought about putting my head into the oven:

"My eyes are glazing over, and I think my head is going to explode from looking at so many different laptops and all their various components. SOS.

Good God...I need a Nordstrom personal shopper to handle this detail and wouldn't cha' know, I shop at Unique Thrift. Damn."

I'm considering upgrading my laptop to a sleeker, sexier, new and improved model: Think laptop on a slimfast diet that promises to help me win a Pulitzer Prize kind of laptop. The trouble is one of my favorite words is FREE. You see, I don't want to spend any money to upgrade. Yeah. I know, it's problematic.

Much to my discomfort, I finally snapped out of my daydreaming state of FREE and dove into deep end of reality; realizing I would have to pay some money for my upgrade. I started searching for laptops with my current laptop (unfaithful as it may seem). I've run up hills steeper than the set of specs I've read through trying to conquer, hell just understand what the fuck one laptop has compared to another. Damn, I need a job aid just to get through the comparison charts.

Here's the top 10 things I need my laptop to have:

1. Light weight.

2. Internet access.

3. Light weight (Oops. Already covered this one).

4. Acts as gourmet cook on the side.

5. Gives a good kuchie licking at the snap of my fingers. Just kidding. Sort of.

6. Metamorphizes into a 12" cock. Just kidding. Sort of. Okay. 8" will have to do, I suppose.

7. Acts as a Muse when needed.

8. Helps with writer's block.

9. Light weight (I'm praying for osmosis).

10. Doesn't talk back.

Is this unrealistic? Should I go turn the oven back on?

How do you write H-E-L-P in binary code?

Ciao

Neve

p.s. The cool computer keyboard piece above can be ordered via Etsy here.

Think...

it's not illegal, yet....

I saw this on a bumper sticker today. I'm not one to put stickers on my car, except for the necessary annual registeration sticker on my license plate.

But...I really liked this, because it says so much with so little. Less is more, I suppose.

I'm busy writing this week, folks. I'll pop back and share a sexy thought or momento at some point this week, I'm sure. It's too difficult for me to stay away from here for very long. Until then...

Think. It's not illegal, yet.

Ciao
Neve

p.s. The vintage retro painting above titled: "What do you think?" can be purchased here via Etsy.

I'd like to thank the Academy...

...and I'm ready for my close up Mr. Demille.... Okay. I'm getting way ahead of myself here, but I do have great news to share:

I wrote a short story called The Rusty Nail, and it's being published in an anthology by Oysters and Chocolate; backed by Penguin publishing. The book is scheduled to come out sometime in May, 2009.

Wait...there's more:

I've had the opportunity to get to know a very talented and well respected writer, Jeremy Edwards this year. I learned that his work is also going to be in this publication. I told him I was so happy knowing my work will be snuggled in between the pages with his work. Check out his blog and all the really cool and interesting things he's been up to this year.

A big thank you to my oldest friend and in my opinion, a literary genius, Rebecca Geiler, aka RK, my editor. She's helped me from the very beginning by editing these stories that are now coming to fruition. I deeply appreciate her support of my writing and her friendship over the last, hmmm...35 years.

I also need to mention John Ettorre in this post. John has stepped in and read my work as a literary second pair of eyes; offering his professional expertise. John Ettorre is an emmy winning writer with more than 20 years of writing experience. He's a friend that has been both encouraging and supportive of my writing career. Thank you for taking the time in your already busy and prosperous life to edit my smut related topics. ;-)


Ciao
Neve

p.s. The earrings above can be purchased via Etsy here. They're so gorgeous.

Chariots of Fire

You'd have to be living under a rock, or spending any free time you had at the museum, I suppose to not know the Summer Olympics had its pageantry on Thursday night; officially beginning Beijing 2008 on Friday, 8-08-2008.

Each and every athlete participating in these physical events regardless of what country they represent are our heroes and heroines. We will all tune in (including myself) at some point to watch as these athletes push their bodies to extremes...to view their superb physical conditioning...to cheer them on as the sweat pours off their bodies; striving to win a medal and achieve their personal best...to see their taut ripples; the flex and point of each well developed muscle...on every part of their bodies....

Whew. Damn. Is it hot in here, or what?

I have my favorite Olypic sporting events. I'm sure you do as well. I love Badminton. Among other extracurricular activities I've been involved with over the years, I played on the girl's badminton team; back in the day. I remember how cute the uniforms were; putting my cheerleading pom poms to shame. We of course played with rackets and birdies (insert shuttlecock). One of my first boyfriends, was not only a fantastic short board, surfing jock, but he also won the state championship for boys badminton. We didn't mess around when it came to our shuttlecocks, in Cali.

Enjoy watching all your favorites and of course, GO USA.

Ciao
Neve

Taking a Break

I took a break from writing yesterday. I've completed two out of three stories I've been working on and I felt I needed to touch base with the real world. You know, the civilized world outside my coffee pot, and laptop? Yeah. That world.

Anyone that has a true passion for something can relate to this: "Oh, hey, it's been awhile, but that's what a person looks like." Or,"Gee, food...wow, this is good stuff, I should eat more often." Okay, I'm embellishing. I'm certainly no H.D. Thoreau; living out in the woods; spending hours, days and years observing and writing about it: Just being. Besides, that's what Yoga is for, right?

I do interact with people: I have a job that I describe as: The Job that pay my bills and is funding my trip to Europe this year. I do get my sweat-on and head to the gym, so there is a certain amount of socialization aspects to my daily life. I have friends too. Yeah. I swear, I really do.

Then there's the caveat...

The job that pays my bills affords me the opportunity to get a lot of writing done while I'm there; which is a life I've wanted to have forever. Having a job like that equates to having little interaction with the human species. I can't complain about that specific aspect of the job while I'm typing out a novel and getting paid by the hour to do so. Capiche'?

Oh, wait, there's more...

The exhorbant cost of fuel these days has me spending more time walking and cycling the trails close to my house instead of driving to the gym and talking and socializing with human life forms. This isn't really a bad thing. I'd much rather be outside; enjoying the summer and the fresh air (oops, I forgot, I live above the industrial revolution; too late for fresh air). So...I guess I'm right back to the first line of today's message: I needed a break from writing and touch base with reality again.

So...

I went to the CMA, aka Cleveland Museum of Art. The museum has been under serious rehab and they've started to re-open certain areas in late June. It was fabulous being back; seeing some old friends. I won't get into a diatribe and give my opinion of what they've done to my museum...especially the outdoor courtyard. Gasp! Lets just say, I'll refrain from making any more comments until the project is complete in 2012. Okay, okay, okay, so you're probably right, I won't be able to shut-up about one of my all time favorite places for four years. I'm sure you'll be hearing more from again about the CMA crises.

But...until then...

I do feel as if I touched base with civilization today instead of hammering out perfect prose...and I'm ready to tackle that third story.

Ciao

Neve

p.s.The cigarette and or business card holder above can be ordered here via Etsy. I love it.

Fétiche de pied

Nicolas Retif was a Frenchman.

What do you mean you don't care? Hey, the French are people to, you know. Hold on, hold on, wait just a minute. Calm down. Deep breath. Okay, good.

After researching information for a story I just completed (Yah!) about a man with a fetiche de pied or foot fetish (take it easy), I thought it was only fair to give native tongue credit to one of the first known men to have had a shoe fetish, aka: fétiche de chaussure.

Here's a little blurb to my fetiche de pied story:

"...Dr. Cobbler was wearing a black pencil skirt. Black seems ran down the back of her sheer black pantyhose. She wore pointed closed-toe; 4 inch, black Italian leather pumps. I think she was wearing a high collard; crème colored silky type shirt that she tucked into her tiny waist, but I couldn’t be sure. I wasn’t paying much attention to what she was wearing from the waist up.

Dr. Cobbler had long, sensuous legs. I could see her well developed calves and the delicate bones of her ankles as she sat crossed legged in a chair close by me. I envisioned she had 10 perfect toes neatly tucked into those fine leather pumps.

My dick was tremmering at the thought of kneeling down in front of her; slowly slipping off her shoes and delivering her wet, meaningful kisses across the tops of her sheer, nylon covered toes and feet..."

Yes. I know this is the second posting thus far THIS week about shoes. It's research, I swear. Or, maybe I happen to have a shoe fetish of my own. Hmm...does owning every color of 99 cent flip-flops count as a shoe fetish? The red stiletto's above look nothing like the shoes I've described in this story, but...as far as shoes and shoe fetishes goes, damn...those would sure be fun for one night, don't cha' think?

Ciao
Neve

Lime in the Coconut

I met some friends for drinks last night. We all used to work together, but a lot of us have since moved on to other prosperous opportunities. Jobs change, but the friendships still remain.

Depending on what set of friends I'm meeting depends upon the type of cocktail I order. The time of day; day of the week; the place we're meeting; if I had been out drinking the night before, and most importantly: The conversation that will be taking place has a lot to with my beverage choice.

Sometimes ordering a cool and refreshing glass of Sauvignon Blanc is perfect for those whimsical, Happy Hour; let's grab a drink, a small bite and sit outside somewhere and just catch up on shit. If the conversation is going to be more complex, then my finger moves over to the bolder reds listed on the menu; offering somthing more substantial to go with the depth of the conversation. I certainly don't want to leave out one of my all time favorites, and is welcome at any social event: Beer. I do enjoy a good Mexican beer. Thank you very much.

If it's well pass Happy Hour and there's classic Jazz music involved then I'm going for a dirty, vodka martini with extra olives.

Last night was a Lime in the Coconut kind of evening. A tequila kind of night. I like em' over ice; salty round' the rim. Yum, yum, yum....

Ciao
Neve

Beach Blanket Bingo

was the name of the summer beach parties that our old friends Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon, aka: Moondoggie would attend, circa 1960's. I love this movie sequence where everyone was so young, innocent and idealistic about dating. I think there may have been some hanky panky going on between the surfing and the volleyball, but if my memory serves me correctly, Annette and Moondoggie may have sipped on some punch, but it surely wasn't sex on the beach.

As we move into the month of August (No. I. Can't. Believe. It) knowing that September is just on the horizon; signaling a traditional goodbye to summer, I want to know if you've been experiencing a summer fling with someone over these last hot summer months, or is your union becoming more serious? Not sure?

I found an article titled: Three Signs It's a Summer Fling. I thought I'd share this author's tell-tale signs of flingdom with you. Yes, of course I added a few extra Neve Black tid-bits into his theory. You know I can't help it.

Note: The author is a male and you'll notice his words are geared toward a female heterosexual audience, but I think his philosophy could apply to everyone:

Sign #1: There's no September. If your new guy is tentative about discussing the future (as in, autumn), he may consider your situation to be strictly casual. That said, most budding relationships focus on the present rather than the future, because you're both figuring out if it's worth pursuing. So don't read too much into this one sign.

Neve's comments: Your hot, hot, hot summer romance could suddenly turn a bit chilly if you learn that this person has a spouse at home, hence the no future with this person in your future. "Don't ask, don't tell." Better just ask and make sure.

Sign #2: What friends? You and your new love are an island. You haven't met each other's social circle, and for now, you're cool with that. Yes, you have him all to yourself - great! But from a man's standpoint, sequestering you makes it very convenient for him to terminate your affair when it reaches its use-by date, which he may have predetermined.

Neve's comments: Hmmm.... I think it's important to make sure your current lover isn't playing on both teams. Sequestering you away from his or her second life and a second set of friends that play real dress up games. Don't fall victim to FSOI, aka: False Sexual Orientation Information.

This can sometimes happen at the beginning stages of a relationship, and later you find yourself wondering why something just isn't adding up. I'm sure you would concur that this could be problematic. But then again, B-69. I-69. N-69. O-69. + 1 or 2, a whip, paddle and blindfold spells a winning beach blanket bingo winner to me, and a fun summer menage-a-many.

Sign #3: It's a one-track bond. Let's just say you wouldn't classify your current union as a meeting of the minds. In fact, while you totally dig each other's action between the sheets, you rarely connect when your clothes are on. This affair will burn fast and bright, so enjoy your lusty tryst. Just don't mistake hot sex for a growing romance if it's clear your chemistry is all about the booty.

Neve's comments: The author is probably right about this one. I've know too many people that have spent their entire summers in bed. Well, okay most of their time in the bed. I'm sure they had shower sex, sex in between meals and fucked while brushing their teeth. Hell, life has to continue, right?

Huh? Sex in the shower, on the dining room table, on top of washing machine? Wow. That sounds great doesn't it? Oh, wait. I was projecting there for a minute. Sorry. Having nothing but 24/7 sex can be fantastic I suppose, but you might be asking yourself at some point why Moondoggie hasn't invited you out to dinner as you finally come up for air after three blissfull summer months'.

I hope this article provides you with some added insight into your current summer romance; giving you better understanding and insight. So, do you anticipate more beach, blanket bingo summers with your summer lover next year, like Annette and Moondoggie, or are you in the midst of summer fling-zing that's getting ready to set sail after the last summer sunset?

Ciao

Neve

Om. Om. Om....

I felt I needed to thoroughly eradicate my mind, body and soul after watching the Hollywood blockbuster Dark Knight (harsh, I know.) this week, so I headed over to the film house in my city that rarely ever disappoints me in both visual and intellectual film stimulation.

I was intrigued to see a film called The Dhamma Brothers . The film is set in place that time forgot: The Donaldson Correctional Facility, located just southwest of Birmingham, Alabama. I've never been to the the correctional facility, or even passed through the state of Alabama, but the documentary stated Donaldson detains 1500 of the most dangerous criminals.

On a cold day in January, 2002, 36 of the prison's inmates went through 10 days of a silent meditation process called Vipassana'. To quickly summarize: Vipassana' means to see things as they really are, and is one of India's most ancient techniques of meditation. The eastern based practice is both physically and emotionally demanding. Its most basic concept is to cleanse one's mind of mental impurities; resulting in highest happiness of full liberation. The practice is a way of self-tranformation through self-observation, by focusing on the deep interconnection between mind and body.

So, you're probably wondering, "Did the practice work? Were these men changed?"

My answer, "Yes."


Namaste'
Neve Black

Stiletto heals and Fuck Me Pumps...

Aren't these gorgeous? They cost nearly 1/3 of my trip to Italy for two weeks', but damn, aren't they gorgeous? I think they're sexy and fun; flirting at being over the top, without looking like streetwalker shoes. I love them.

I was rounding the corner; nearly finished completing a story. After re-reading it for the 625th time, I realized it needed something. Just a touch of something to kick up the flavor another notch.

For me, writing is a lot like cooking. You start with an empty pot; adding ingredient after ingredient; letting them all boil, and then simmer, until all the flavors come out and dance together in the pot: A little tango over there. Some cha-cha over here. Oh, hey, there goes the waltz.

Then you take a sip of what you think is your Julia Child (I'm so dating myself here) masterpiece; making sure your creation tastes just so....Careful, don't burn your tongue....

Damn. It's missing something. Hmm. What does it need? A rat's ear, a toad's eye, perhaps? You know what it needs as you savor the taste on your tongue, and you quickly add that pinch, slice or heaping teaspoon into the pot; knowing that you got it right this time.

So after re-reading my story, I decided it was in dire need of oslet pumps, with red patent leather 4.5" spiky heals. Why not the stilleto heals you ask? That would be like adding another jalepeno pepper into an already hot and spicy dish. Too much is too much.

Yeah, my story is getting those gorgeous shoes pictured above. And you know what? It tastes perfect now.


Bon Appetite
Neve Black

Dark Knight, Sweet Prince

I've been writing a lot. I've been very focused and my brain hurts. Blogging is my take a break from over analyzing, and re-reading 600+ times to quadruply be sure Neve's voice flows well in and out of each sentence of the story I'm working on right now. It's that way with every story.

I thought I'd blog a little about the new Batman movie that's out; thus today's blog title above. Like my ode to Hamlet? No? Okay. I know. I'm a dork. I told you my brain hurts.

Why did I go and see the movie, that I so solemny swore I wouldn't pay to see? Well, first of all, out of all the Dectective Comics, Batman is the only one I like, probably because he's so dark. DC also totes, Wonderwoman and Superman.

Secondly, my dear friend, SB really wanted to go. He said he'd treat me to the movie; buy the popcorn, and the ice cold beverage that fits into the arm rest cup holder.

"Arm rest cup holders? Huh?"

How could I refuse? I love Batman, and it's kinda nice to sit in those plushy barcaloungers at the cineplex compound. My butt is used to feeling numb after sitting on the old, hard and wooden, school desk seats at the art house movie theater.

There's another reason too: You see, I think I'm finally over George Clooney. I've moved onto Christian Bale. Truth be told, I've been torn between these two lovers for awhile now, but George just won't commit, so it's Christian for me, baby. I'm kidding. Sort of.

What's not too like about Batman? He's very erotic: Sensuous; sexy, deep, dark, filthy rich and mysterious. He's the ultimate in alter-egos too, which is also erotic: Bruce Wayne, the multi-millionare, philanthropist and of course, playboy by day, but by night... he's none other than a man that uses nothing more than his bank roll, rubber, latex batsuit (S&M) and intellect; pledging his nocturnal life to fight crime.... Plus I love the name of his butler; Alfred Pennywise. That's just terrific.

Did I like the movie?

Hmm...where do I begin? Do I really want to sound like a Nancy-know-it-all, wanna-be-director, film critic and diss on the film? Well, yes and no. I was amazed at the shoot-em-up, blow up theatrics of the film. I was equally disappointed in the the two main ingredients that make a film work: A fabulous plot and great acting.

My heart broke all over again after watching Heath Ledger's performance. He's one of the great one's folks, and he's gone. What did I really like about his performance? I loved the way the Joker constantly licked his lips, and ran his hands through his tinged green and greesy hair; driven by the socio-path and maniacal force within; bubbling to the surface as nervous habits. He was a monster; he was superb.

Even though my heart has been stolen away by Christian Bale, this was not his best role, and he's a supreme actor. Maggie Gyllenhaal...I love her. She's an excptional actress, and God didn't we all love her in The Secretary? She was too underdimensional (I just made that word up) in this role; I attribute it once again to bad direction.

One final note and then I'll shut up: The movie was too long. As an example: While trying to define the movie's ending, it went into too much detail explaining the role of the villain, Two-Faced. I simply got lost in the plot sauce (More Neve made up words).

What puts the pulp in Pulp Fiction? Certainly not adding unecessary explanation and length to what should be tacitly implied. I wanted to stand up and say, "For the love of God, didn't you read the comic books? Batman always takes the fall; he's the good, dark knight. Everybody knows that."

Yes, I would have done it differently. I'm funny that way, I would have used the script. I would have followed the comic books that were already written; not divesting to much from the original copy and then given the credit to the author.

I can't say I'd recommend it, and I'm glad I wasn't buying. :-)

Comments?


Ciao
Film Critic
Neve Black

The Big...

O.... I'm rather exhausted after celebrating National Orgasm Day yesterday....

Whew.

I'm working on stories today, and taking pussy naps in between.

Of course, I'm still here to read your comments though.

Picture above can be purchased here via Etsy.

Ciao
NB