ups men: voyeurs or victims

last month, like i always do, i came up with a grand photo shoot idea.

dirty eves, i exclaimed. it's perfect! we can dress in leaves, go out to the garden and do a garden of eden shoot!

of course, sister c totally fell for it.

we spent hours on our look.

strapless bras, skimpy panties, both which we plastered with sticky green bean leaves so it looked as if we wore nothing but leaves.

monstrous lioness hair. crimped, ironed, ratted, and hairsprayed to the max.

deep goddess green eyeshadow lining our eyes and strike it rich gold highlighting our brow bones.

bronze dark lipstick. potent blush on cheeks.

finally, we were picture perfect.

i brought out a rihanna cd to blast from the stereo in the garage, and we headed out to the garden.

as we got to the entrance, sister c stopped and asked

did mother k and scary gary lock the gate?

of course they did, i replied.

i never thought otherwise. they always did when the left.

i kicked off my garden clogs in the pathway, and we kicked off the garden of eden shoot.

we hid in the gargantuan tomato bushes, peeked through the viny green beans, and layed amongst the spreading cucumbers. we were having a ball.

give me fairy pose!

give me goddess pose!

give me sports illustrated pose!

what's that noise?

we froze. a low rumbling could be heard. helicopters? thunder?

ups man?

shocked, we turned to the roaring source.

it turned out, the gate was not locked.

we stared, openmouthed, as the big brown box sped up the driveway.

we threw each other an outraged glance and together, in perfect synchronicity, we dived under the nearby fig tree. praying its voluptuous leaves would cover our bareness. we stifled shrieks as the big brown box came to a noisless halt.

we flattened ourselves even more into the dirt.

sister c, in the position to spy, gave me a play by play as i lay there stiff.

"he got out. he's walking towards the door. he's going around to the back where the pool is! we could have been skinny dipping! uh oh, he's coming towards the garden! he stopped! whew... he's leaving!"

we breathed sighs of heavenly relief.

we got up, brushed ourselves off, and began to walk to the garden door. only to observe it's wide open welcomeness, and the scene of my garden clogs footless in the visible path, looking as if they had been thrown off in haste.

we agreed. we were dang lucky dirty evies.

lust without love

i was sitting here. thinking that i needed to find inspiration to resume my blogging, when sister c provided perfect blogging fodder.

i was rereading old blog posts, when out of the blue she says:

-remember craig? didn't i tell you about him?

i roll my eyes.

+yes sister c, you went on about him just the other day. the older science guy with the two kids, right?

-right, she sighed.

silence. i waited for the inevitable to continue.

-he was the sexiest man i've ever met.

(my eyes bulged at these foreign words coming out of her mouth)

-he was cute and everything, but just something about him was so sexy.

-you know,

(my attention started to wander as she took a deep breath)

-if he had ducked into a science room, i would have ducked in with him.

screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech...my mind halted. i blinked. numerous times. what?

+uh, i said, staring at her, i'm assuming you wouldn't be talking about black holes. at least not scientific ones.

she gave an embarrassed giggle.

-oh stop it. i was just thinking that that was total lust without love. i've never felt so instinctively attracted to someone before.

i held myself immobilized as her statements washed over me. my body quivered in offense to this wrong, oh so very wrong conversation.

as much as i tried to muffle her, one last statement spilled out

-i wrote two poems about hiiiimmmmmuffle.

i forbid myself to even entertain the thought of these two poems. what could be written in them could scar me for life.

a long-needed sighting of mr pompom

i am happy to announce that i have had a recent sighting of mr pompom! now that i am not a part of chemistry any more, i have felt the severe loss of not seeing mr pompom on a nearly daily basis.

the sighting
so just because it was convenient, i decided to use one of the upper-level science computer labs to print out some miscellaneous papers. i trekked up the two flights, and arrived in a moderately filled computer lab. i spotted an open computer and plopped down. the chair to my right was empty, but the computer was in use.

i started to take care of business, when plop! the mysterious computer user had returned. and to my pleasure and surprise it was mr pompom! i rejoiced at the sight of his grizzly beard, fuzzy head of hair, dumbledore glasses, and quirky baseball cap. i grinned.

out of my periphery, i noticed that he was working on a chemistry lab write-up. and was having a pretty tough time with it.

this was evidenced by the heavy sighs, grunts, moans, "under-his-breath" mutterings, and fist pounds that conveyed his frustration.

and like only mr pompom can do, after each sigh/grunt/moan/mutter/fist pound (which i believe were all a slight bit exaggerated for dramatic effect) he would slowly angle his head and peek at my expression. after the tenth time, i couldn't help but giggle and give him a huge grin.

ahhh...i adore him.

may i see your contact sheets?

for my final project in photography, i decided to make an idea i had ruminating in my mind for some time, into reality. the idea was this: to do a photo shoot that was reminiscent of 1920 french nude postcards, except that the models would be wearing black lace panties, corsets, tights ect, and perhaps in some frames nothing at all.

who were the models? me and daylily. sister c was supposed to be the third but due to her crash injury (big gash in forehead) she opted out.

because of the depth of my excitement for the shoot, i put a motherload of thought and effort into making a decent set, appropriate erotic outfits, and even invested in yards of black lace and black cotton fabric.

i was pumped. the day came and passed. everything went fairly smoothly, and i was sure i had gotten some good pictures.

a few days later, when i had a big chunk of free time, i decided to develop the three rolls of film i had taken, and enlarge some of the decent ones. i developed the film alone, and without incident. but when the time came to start enlarging some pictures, my professor came into the photo lab.

i greeted him (description: young, glasses, more sensitively effeminate than ruggedly mannish)and instead of responding and leaving me to my own devices he kept walking over to my station.

-so how's your project going?

+oh, good. i did a shoot over the weekend and took three rolls, so i hope i got some good pictures.

-what is it that you did?

+oh, well. (i hemmed and hawed). my idea was to do a shoot reminiscent of the 1920s burlesque and pinup girls and such. with lots of black lace. (i tried to stay in safe and tactful zone).

-oh really? may i see the contact sheets when they're done?

my eyes shuttered as my tongue stuck to the roof of my suddenly dry mouth. like someone right before death, my photo shoot flashed before my eyes.

daylily naked, daylily with corset and panties, ME with playboy-esque black bunny outfit, ME with only tights and black lace panties... you get the picture.

ME.

+uhhhhhhhhh... sure. (what was i supposed to say?)

i zoomed into the dark room, where i sequestered myself for the following three hours. every time i ventured out of the safe haven, i peeked my head out of the curtains and scoped out the working area. professor absent? i went out. professor present? i slowly retracted my head and sped back into my cave.

once when i had to go out into the light and check on the test strip i had made, i unwittingly went out. i glanced at the tables. professor and teacher's aide present and talking. whipped my head back to me test strip, strove to look extremely focused and busy. and marched straight back into the dark room. throwing open the curtains as i went.

having passed that crucial day unscathed, i now feel that my contacts will remain pure from the professors gaze. if he happens to request a viewing, they are officially lost, retired, gone, back at home, ect...

how to achieve the wind-mill effect

there's this little trick i've been playing on mother k. she complains that it destroys her delicate sensibilities. i say, it's great fun. and entertainment.

PROCEDURES TO ACHIEVE DESIRED WIND-MILL EFFECT:

acquire mother k's cell phone. try to find it when it's not attached to her butt, hip, or breast

if she is in the same room, move to an adjacent one, out of her far-sighted sight

station yourself-ex: chair, couch, stool...

open phone, search for the sounds category, find ring tone (lovesway-scary gary's, bossabutgo-sister c's, tea in the afternoon-daylily's), play a snippet of the ringtone

pause background sounds

if no footsteps are to be heard, start shouting--> get the phone, get the phone
upon hearing what sounds like a stampede, sit back and enjoy the show

THE WIND-MILL EFFECT IN ACTION:

immediately after hearing her hunny's ring, or her precious daughter's, mother k shoots out of her throne (whether it be lavatory or otherwise)and rushes into the room her ears lead her to

as she gallops into the room at a frantic and harried pace, she flails her arms in a frenetic whirling motion. circular and whippy, her arms appear as if noodles just out al dente from their boiling water bath. (hence THE WIND-MILL EFFECT)

her face is lightly shiny from perspiration thanks to her run, and her eyes are focused on the small black piece of technology in my hands

as this odd behavior is exhibited, she screeches

give it to me, GIVE IT TO ME!

i proceed to do just that

she puts it up to her ear, not bothering to look at the screen (which tells all), and breathes out a hello

only to be met with silence

JUNE! she throws down the phone in a fit. JUNE!

her eyes squint in anger, and again her arms resume their flailing motion as she launches herself at me like a tiger.

i run. the chase commences.

coffee snob vs. coffee slut

mother k= the coffee snob
me, june jaynes= the coffee slut

let me define these terms.

coffee snob: a caffeine junkie who holds high expectations about the quality of coffee beans, only drinks smooth and non-acidic brew, and buys their daily java for exorbitant prices off the internet

coffee slut: a caffeine junkie who expects nothing of their coffee, and their only requirement is that it gives them the desired buzz

recycling bins: theft or opportunity?

everyday, on my way to my room, i always pass by the bright blue row of recycling bins. before now, i have virtually ignored their existence, just seeing them as another form of garbage cans, but not now. now, that is not the case. now, i see them as big bins of cash, just waiting to be taken advantage of.

it all stemmed from an epiphany i had. i had just finished chugging down my water when i took a real good look at the bottle. CASH REFUND CA HI and OR 5₵. i froze, amazed at my find. even though i did know that water bottles could now be recycled for $$, it hadn’t really clicked. then, my brain got to thinking. if i didn’t remember, then a whole lot of other people probably didn’t either.

i tested this hypothesis by going in search of the mini recycle bin on our floor. i peeked in the plastic labeled crate and voila! mother lode. mutha uckin lode. i ran back into my room, grabbed a reusable shopping bag, unlocked my door and propped it open, ran back into the laundry room, grabbed as many bottles as i could, and fled from the crime scene. i was fifty cents richer.

thus began my raids on the small recycling bins. but after a week, i was ready to take on the big daddies. the big bright blue bins that i regularly walked past every day. the oh-so-convenient bins that made it so easy to drop in one’s recycling as they walked past them. i made plans—plans that included getting up really early in the morning, sneaking downstairs to their location, and pilfering them all.

unfortunately, my plans blew up into tiny little plastic fragments, after mother k so sweetly said: isn’t taking plastic bottles from the recycling bins a crime? i thought, wondered, and stewed about this for days. is it? or is it just a shady opportunity? what would happen if i did get caught? would i get punished, and then become notorious around campus as the plastic pilferer?

then one day my turf was invaded. i was washing strawberries in the sink in the laundry room, when a gaggle of girls stampeded in.

quick! two said.

the third took four steps in, glanced at the plastic recycling bin, realized it was empty of treasure, and altogether they bolted. i was furious. i had abstained from my possibly criminal activities just to be shown up like that? oh hell no.

relying on your discretion, i now do admit the occasional ransacking of crates. only when i am there, and only when no one is about. i have begun to store them safely in the second closet in my room. i await the day when i have enough to buy something of substance.

dangers of off-road vehicles

a day never goes by, without my life almost escaping my grasp. the reason for this? bicyclists and skateboarders. they are a dangerous nuisance.

i would be minding my own business, walking down a skinny side walk, when a cyclist speeds toward me, fully expecting me to move to the side. i do, to the minimal extent. i intend on not giving an inch to these irresponsible idiots. they ride by, so close, my hair whips up in irritated response.

take for instance, today. after lab at four, i began making my way back to the dorms, focused on the walk, when i heard a faceless someone struggling to pedal behind me. i huffed and moved to the side. only to be nearly impaled by a guy and his beach cruiser. apparently when i sided right, he sided right. right into me. well almost. i gave him a look, and he said sorry, but sorry doesn't make my heart go back to normal. i resumed my fast walking, and he trailed slowly along behind me, like a stalker, until we reached the pavement where he sped and passed me. grrrr....

the skateboarders are ten times as dangerous. they roll off at alarming speeds, down populated walkways, without any thought to all the lives they could crash into. i haven't had an instance yet, but i am just waiting. just waiting for the day.

the interrupted shower

i was sitting here blogging, when an memory suddenly assailed my senses.

it was awhile ago when i was taking a shower, perhaps at about ten o clock at night, and i was concentrating fully on getting my body and hair cleaned in a timely manner (thirty minutes is the quickest i get), when someone else came in to take a shower too. not surprising in the least.

both of us were absorbed within each of our cubicles, when i hear the door open and a masculine voice shout out.

i jumped and automatically covered my womanly parts, my heart racing. wtf?

i stood stock still and listened to what the voice had to say.

hey (girl's name) do you want me to keep you company?

my eyes bulged at this offer. i was silently going a little crazy at this unexpected turn of events.

then my heart quieted down, as my neighbor replied with a giggling, no.

perhaps then, the boy had noticed me, a stranger naked behind the rubber ducky shower curtain.

the horrors of garage sale-ing

you know when at first you are really excited and upbeat about something, and then when you come upon it face to face, you back away and shrivel up? yeah. this is how garage sale-ing affects me.

so friday night, when the paper was brought up, courtesy of scary gary, i pounced on it at the first chance i got. i had the crazy whim to go garage sale-ing the next day. reminiscing back, i realized that i hadn't gone to a garage sale in nigh eight years. my nostalgia, unfortunately did not arrive with the requisite and remembered feelings that were coupled with the memory.

so armed with a battered newspaper listing all of the local garage sales, six highlighted with a big yellow box, i persuaded mother k to chauffeur me to all of my desired locations. she grudgingly agreed.

we headed down one street, then another, and then arrived at betty lane. the site of the first promising sale. as the car drove closer to the place, my temple began to ache, hands became clammy, and pulse reacted radically to a sudden "flight or fight" response. i crouched down in my seat and managed to painfully whisper out a "backup backup backup leave leave leave" to mother k, who promptly ignored my unexpected histrionics.

she ignored, parked, braked, and turned off the car. expecting me to unglue myself from the seat and leave my safe place. i finally made myself, and together we made our way to the scantily populated garage sale. and by scantily populated i mean scantily populated in people and items. i had nabbed a dud.

we forced ourselves to smile at the owners and provide the expected hello, and then we made ourselves take a quick and fleeting tour of the sale (remarking upon the slightly exorbitant prices of antique trunks and an old door) and then we made our escape.

afterwards, we laughed at the outrageousness that one garage sale can incur upon ones emotions, and then mother k rebuked me for unknowingly choosing a garage sale that had opened the previous day.

obviously, she said, there won't be anything good left. she was right.