Hobbies.

My first husband was a baseball player. Wouldn't you know, the first (and only) time I went to a ball game, I came home with a husband? You can't blame me, though. Jimmy made my eighteen year old eyes drunk with yearning. Every movement was magical. I watched him from the stands, his arm hurling the ball towards the mound with such force that I found myself woozy. All of his muscles were taught and lean and I couldn't stop myself from thinking about what that bundle of man would be like unleashed in my bed.

You can't blame me for sneaking into the locker room, either. To this day, I'm not quite sure how I managed to do it. All I know is one moment I was on the outside of that door marked MEN, hearing the laughter (they won) and feeling the steam coming up from under the door, and the next I was staring at Jimmy. I damn near fainted when I realized what end of him was facing me and remember thinking it simply wasn't possible for sex to work the way people said it did. Not when Jimmy looked like that. There just wasn't enough room.

For three and a half years, the longest I've ever been married to anyone, sex worked just like they said it did. And for three and a half years, I told everyone who asked that I developed the bowleggedness from my new-found hobby of riding.

The past traps.

I visited my childhood home today. It was run down and decrepit, which was not a pleasant feeling one usually gets from visiting happy places of the past. Many times, I simply wish to freeze certain events or places so that they never change and I can call on them whenever I wish. To bask their beauty, revel in the laughter or lick the quivering flesh just once more.

Of course, nothing works like that. Even photographs fade over time.

So, I hurtle myself forwards, towards anything and everything exciting and drink it all in the way Judy did. I'll avoid nail polish remover, though. I want to live, not die, for a high.

I might give the marrying a break though. I've been seeing this boy. Adorable thing, really. Worships the time we have together, the shows I'm in, my bed and my lips. The talk of marriage, exclusivity, forever came up again, though, like it always does. I kissed him silly, until he stopped talking me into a trap. I should know. It's one I've been caught in seven or eight times. I forget. It's easy to loose count after five or so. Plus, I'm not quite sure if Lazlo and I ever were legally married. I mean, sure, we woke up together in bed in Vegas with a marriage certificate next to us...but I have no idea who Lulu Lustee and Thurston Theodore Thatcher are.