The Delicious Grace Of Moving One's Paw

A quirk of kitties--at least my kitty--that I never understood:

The whole mousie is never half as interesting as the tail of the same mousie just protruding under the door, or around a corner.

And then I thought: well, in a way it's the same impulse that makes humans find a half-dressed, half-lit figure more attractive than a straightforward nude. Or why the scariest part of the horror movie is right before the monster reveals itself...and why that's also often the best part.

Anticipation. Almost always more exciting than the event itself. Which requires a certain amount of imagination, or so I would have thought. Maybe it does, at that.

It's just not something I would have attributed to a cat, imagination. Because we don't, generally speaking. It seems too sophisticated. And yet, there it is. In fact, sometimes if the game's not challenging enough, he'll go around the corner and hide himself. Peekaboo. It's not the having; it's the stalking. But why?

I Want Candy!

...Now that I've been poking around the Candy Blog, which is, appropriately enough, all about the sweetmeats. (The sugared kind that you chew and swallow, yes).



I am learning a lot from this blog. Did you know that Kit Kat bars come in dozens of flavors, most of which are only available outside the U.S.? I didn't 'til I read Cybele's review of several of them, including the Japanese-specific wine flavor.





I don't know why the idea of this last (wine-flavored candy! wine-flavored Kit Kats!) sends me so. I don't even know if I'd like eating it, although I'm certainly willing to try. Something about the familiar made exotic, I suppose, if you want to get all quasi-academic about it. It just strongly gives me the surreal-yet-banal feeling of some of my dreams, which, in addition to the usual compendium of ravening wolves and flunked exams and so on, often feature such motifs as supermarket shelves stocked with "cherry milk," which I've looked for in real life, in vain. (Strawberry, yes; green tea, even, yes. Cherry, no. And no, I don't actually want to drink any of them).

Lipstick on your (lace) collar.

Oh, the joy of naming. This is one of the few sites I've seen that makes a distinction between "femme"--i.e. a feminine lesbian who's into butches, and a "lipstick lesbian" --i.e., a femmey lesbian who's into other femmes. Well, no, I take it back. It's one of the few sites I've seen that's celebratory of the latter without throwing attitude about the former (or vice versa, for that matter), and the only one specifically dedicated to the joys of femme-on-femme that's not aimed at men.

anyway, it works for me. I'm kind of a low-key femme--for me, lipstick and heels are dress-up, not daily--but I love women across the femmey spectrum as well as all the yummy accoutrements. Silk stockings. Crushed velvet. Creamy decolletage. Lashes for days. (erm, I meant to say "eyelashes," there, but the other kind can be fun as well...) And, of course, lipstick, satiny and sweet-tasting. Is there such a phrase as a "femme fetish?" I guess there is now.