Dimples

I love the dimples in some women's lower backs. You've seen them, I'm sure--situated to either side of the spine, just a bit above the waist, two glorious little indentations. I'm staring at a fabulous exemplar right now--she's at a PC ten feet away with her back to the desk, and when she leans forward there's plumber's crack which actually mars my appreciation of her really amazing lower back. She looks like Janet from Three's Company. Meanwhile, out in the lobby is a blond who must be 6'2" and who's truly spectacular--she's built like Elle MacPherson (and blonds usually aren't my type, but Jesus God, this is beyond type. This is like every Icelandair flight attendant fantasy come true).

A couple days back I was boning up on Lawrence's essays and he was discussing his distaste for the waste of masturbation. Surprised at such a surly Leviticus contempt for onanism in the 20th century's most famous randy writer, I nonetheless read what he had to say and thought about it. He claims that masturbation is always a giving with no taking, and is therefore somehow out of balance and harmful--I can see what he's getting at, but c'mon, D.H., even those of us fortunate enough to get laid as often as we want still like to get some quiet time to prime the pump. He wrote that post-masturbation there's always a vague "emptiness," and morbid guilt feelings. I dunno about that, but I have thought occasionally that if there IS an afterlife then my grandmother might see me jerking off, which can be a source of anxiety [also of mirth]. I'll have to read Henry Miller on the old cored-apple-and-peanutbutter trick as a corrective to D.H.L.

I cancelled my 102 class tomorrow morning. The reason? Because I CAN. I don't want to see those fuckheads for a few days. They're handing in essay 2 next week and I'll have to suffer through 70-odd painful pages next weekend. Cha and I are heading to OC for a day and a half next Thursday after I leave Cook Lib--we've got a free 3-bedroom condo to ourselves; all we need is some plastic sheeting, a jug of Astroglide, and a swing. Oh, and some bottled water.

The last three times I've been to OC there's been a hurricane and I couldn't get in the water. It's been like 3 years since I've been there--and my previous trip was two or three years before that. I remember when Yahtzee's folks had their fucking mansion down there Duck and Yahtzee and I would hit Rehobeth four or five weekends a year. Those were the days.