Correspondence Hall of Shame, 12/31

Happy New Year edition! :-)

Haven't had one of these for a while, but I figured, what better way to close out 2010 than to give a few idiots a proper sendoff?

That’s one great ass you have there Erica. You look PHENOMENAL for 53!

Oh, now I'm PHENOMENAL. I suppose at 54, I'll be MIRACULOUS, and by 55, I'll be OTHER-WORLDLY. (rolling eyes)

hey sex you have a nice ass i would spank you all nite

Whatever. Mind if I sleep while you're doing that?

I could totally eat that ass!

Don't be ridiculous. What would I sit on if you did that?

that is a sweet lil’ ass. :) i’d enjoy making it red… and watching you drip from the sting.

Honey, it's not the sting that makes me drip, it's the man administering it. And in your case, I'd be the Sahara desert.

You can be my slut anytime, sweetmeat.

Wow, I can? Really? Cool! And you can go blow yourself anytime, mincemeat.

And finally, this edition's gem (and since when are subby boys so utterly filthy?):

I am 44 years old white guy want to be your slave [phone number] sex slave Xxxx I live in Hollywood zip code xxxxx with me you can do whatever I like when I was beaten and humiliated. You can piss my mouth, you can beat my eggs can have my ass hole, I suck dick and I lick pussy

OK, I'll play Domme for a few minutes. Here's your order: Go write "I will not send such unsolicited filth to a woman ever again" 100 times. And I mean write, not type. With a pen. In your toes.

Enough of this nonsense. On a serious note, another year is about to conclude. It was one of great highs and lows and everything in between. The lowest point was John's illness and all its complications and stresses. The high point? I met a wonderful new friend and play partner who provided fun, laughs and stress release. Life has a way of providing checks and balances sometimes. I only hope I've given him even half as much joy as he's given me.

And for tonight, I will be with my sweetheart. We'll have champagne and put the last few months behind us, start 2011 fresh with a kiss. I don't know what the future will bring regarding his health, but for tonight, we're putting it all aside and celebrating the moment.

To all my friends and readers, Happy New Year. Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, I wish you joy, health and serenity. xoxox

One more clip! :-)

This was the finale to last week's Christmas spanking.

It could have been over; he was winding down, and I was plenty sore and worn out. But despite that, somehow, I didn't want it to be over. I needed that final push. And so, I opened up my big yap one more time...

What you don't get to see, because the clip ends before the aftercare, was the part where I'm kind of curled around him with my head resting on his leg, and I voluntarily smile up at him and whisper, "Merry Christmas." No persuasion necessary. Amazing.

Guess you'll just have to imagine me being sweet. :-D

On my mind

So we're at John's sister/brother-in-law's house on Christmas, sitting in the living room chatting before dinner. I'm a bit off to the side, looking around, observing and absorbing my surroundings. S & J are both involved in academia, and the decor reflects it. Some of it seems a bit pretentious to me, as if it's screaming, "Look how SMART we are!" But perhaps that's my own prejudice.

I notice the expensive-looking chess board on the coffee table, listen idly as John's nephew shows slides on his laptop of his trip to Kenya. I look at the tasteful paintings on the wall, the stacks and stacks of collector LPs. My eye wanders to a side table next to my chair. Atop the table lay three books. The first two are books of poems, by Pablo Neruda and Ezra Pound, respectively.

The third is a book of drawings. Its title? "The C*** Coloring Book."

I kid you not.

I felt the usual visceral lurch of revulsion to that word, then felt angry and disgusted. Judgmental of me, I know. But I couldn't help it.

Later, John's brother and sister-in-law arrived... with their eight-year-old son. She sat in the same chair I'd been in earlier, and sure enough, she noticed the coloring book. I saw her face, watched her eyebrows shoot up. She picked it up, flipped through it. Then she put it back -- face down -- on the table, and put the other two books on top of it, so her son wouldn't see it. "Sorry," she said, "but I am so not ready for that conversation."

I don't blame her.

OK, so here's what's on my mind. Most of us spankos worry about accidentally exposing our kink. We hide our spanking videos and our BDSM paraphernalia, password-protect our computers, turn the spanking book titles inward in the bookcase. My coffee table bears Beatles tomes, not spanking art books. Why do we bother? Why are we so cautious about our innocent fun, when vanilla folks can blithely display that kind of crap for everyone to see??

Doesn't seem right, I'm thinkin'.

Oh, but spanking is degrading to women, they say.

Hummph. And coloring in women's hoo-has isn't?

I'll put any of our fetish erotica up against that coloring book in a bad-taste contest any day. I am betting that the coloring book would win.

Just my thoughts on a quiet post-spanking Tuesday.

Monday by the hours



Every Monday afternoon, just about this time, it hits me... I'm getting spanked in 3 1/2 hours. The home-stretch anticipation kicks in, along with the butterflies, the rapid heartbeat, the heightened color in my face.

I need to start getting ready. I shower, blow out my hair, dress. I choose something different each week, so he'll have no idea what I'm going to wear. What color will it be? What style panties? Dress up or dress down?

Time plays tricks on these afternoons. Sometimes it flies at warp speed, and other times it drags on and on until I feel like I might jump out of my skin. But before I know it...

Ack! Getting closer!

I put on my makeup, trying to control the slight tremor in my hands so I won't put out an eye with my mascara wand or swipe lipstick across my chin. Is my place tidy? Gather up the newspapers, throw the clothes in the hamper, straighten up the bathroom. Oh. Yeah. It's nearly 5:30 and I haven't eaten anything since 10 A.M. Make a light snack.

Fool around online for a while to distract myself. Brush my teeth. Make the bed. Kill a few minutes, then another few, and then I look up...



... and the butterflies multiply until they threaten to burst out of my chest. In five minutes, my phone will ring. I won't have to check caller ID; I'll know it's him, waiting for me at the outdoor intercom to buzz him in. He's never late. I let him in, and seconds later, my doorbell rings.

I don't know exactly how the evening will play out, as he keeps me guessing, changes it up a little each week. I will challenge him, and he will meet my challenge vigorously. Perhaps I'll cry, or perhaps I will giggle with sheer delight through the entire session. I'll be OTK for sure, but who knows...

...I might end up in the damndest positions as well.

I know this for sure, however. After the spanking is over, I will snuggle up against him and he will be gentle and soothing with me. We'll talk, after a while of companionable silence. Maybe (OK, probably) I'll get spanked again, since I can't seem to stop sassing for more than about a half-hour. And then...

By now, he's gone. Another Monday has passed. I'm sore, stinging and sitting gingerly. And I am serene, happy, all my rough edges gone buttery soft. The butterflies are sleeping peacefully, dormant until it's time for them to come alive again...

Next Monday.

Post-holiday joy, and virus questions

What a fun treat -- came home from John's this evening and discovered that I was included in a special Christmas Chross list. I thought he had skipped the Spankings of the Week this week, due to the holidays. :-D  Always makes me happy to be in that illustrious list! I see, besides many of the usual great choices, two of my dearest buddies were highlighted as well -- Zelle and Wolfie -- for what I believe is their first time! Congratulations to all.

So, how was everyone's Christmas? What'd you do? John and I had a lovely and peaceful time. Friday night it was just us; we went out for sushi, then came home, lit a fire and watched It's a Wonderful Life. Saturday, we lounged and lolled around in bed until after noon. Nothing was open, so I'd brought soup and rolls to have for lunch, which we enjoyed with Christmas-y jazz playing in the background. Later that day, we went to his sister's for dinner. It was just family this time, no big wild crowd, and it was actually quite nice, just 13 of us. We had Cornish hens and braised rabbit for dinner, with salad and vegetables and mashed potatoes. Normally I'm a bit squeamish about the idea of eating Thumper, but I have to say the rabbit was incredibly good. I even had a glass of champagne, and John made fun of me because my face was flushed and I was giggling at everything. I'm such a lightweight!

We came home around 9:00 (it was pouring rain), lit the fire again, made tea and watched a Marx Brothers movie. I'd treated myself to a boxed set of their first five flicks -- love those guys! We didn't do much in the way of presents this year, due to John's illness... far too preoccupied for that. I'd noticed, when I cleaned his house that one time, that his vacuum cleaner was broken, so I bought him a cordless hand vacuum cleaner, the best one I could find. Not a very romantic gift, but practical, and something he'd never buy for himself. Plus chocolate, of course. He gave me a gift card from Kohl's, so I can buy some new clothes. And today when we were at brunch, I noticed there was a small wad of cash in my wallet that hadn't been there before. "Sweetie," I said, "where did this money come from?"

He just looked, shrugged and said, "Guess Santa thought you were extra good this year."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! See? SEE? I was good, dammit! New Guy lied when he said Santa was mad at me! Hummmmmpppph. Boy, is he getting a piece of my mind tomorrow.

I have a question for the blog experts out there. One of my readers wrote to me and said she thought she might be getting viruses off my blog! She wanted to give me a heads-up, saying that whenever she came on to read, her virus protection would catch something new. Also, it was happening when she went to Pixie's blog. I've also heard from her and others that people were getting viruses and various warnings when they went to the Spanking Spot.

What could this be? How does one's blog get infected by a virus? I mean, I've run all my programs and come up with nothing; I have no infections. If one's blog is transmitting a bug somehow, how does one stop it? And how do you know if it's really happening in the first place? I mean, if my blog had a bug, wouldn't it pass it on to everyone who comes on it? (According to my reader, it happens immediately.) And regarding Spanking Spot, I've gone on there many times to check on my blog votes, and haven't caught a thing. So what could be going on? Any clues? Anyone else having a bug problem with my blog? Or is it just a coincidence, something with Blogger and not with me, a browser issue, what? Blech.

Oh well. Not going to fret over it tonight; I feel too good. :-) Hope everyone had a very special holiday!

Chestnuts roasting on my flaming bum...

...Jack Strap nipping at my a$&,
Although it's been said, many times, many ways,
Merry Christmas, with sass! :-D

See, even I can have a bit of holiday spirit with the right coercion... er, coaxing.

I wish all of you a merry/happy/joyous/fun/peaceful whatever you celebrate! xoxox

My favorite clip, so far

I hope you guys are liking these! :-) Check out our oh-so-graceful transition from over the pillows back to OTK. But I think the funniest part is near the end.

I know everyone is busy with holiday stuff -- but if you do watch and you like, please tell us! We'll keep doing little vignettes like this periodically if readers enjoy them.

Stop the presses!

This just in... New Guy gets Erica to shut up! :-)  (well, for a few minutes, anyway)

Here come da clips! :-)

I got a bunch of them tonight, so I will post a couple now and then more tomorrow. If I do say so myself, we're funny! :-D  So be sure to turn your volume up so you'll hear our dialogue.

This one comes at the end of his so-called "warmup":

And in this one, he had the strange notion that y'all want to see my face. Imagine that.

You know, I think we're having way too much fun; the strict-discipline aficionados will be disappointed. I mean, a spankee isn't supposed to laugh, is she? :-Þ  (although I do think my color speaks for the caliber of discipline and the power in the strokes, don't you?)

Thanks to New Guy for getting us these so quickly -- more coming!

Preview of coming attractions

Since everyone is posting various Xmas-themed blogs, I figured I'd better get cracking and post the two small clips New Guy sent me from my Grinch spanking.

These are just teasers, y'all -- quite short. And again, if you're looking for polished and professional, great lighting, etc., it's not here. Just us being silly and having a little holiday spanking fun. :-)

Intro:



Some early banter (I love his little "What am I to do?" shrug into the camera):

He promised he'd send more today. Of course, wouldn't you know, @#$%ing AOL email is down and I can't retrieve anything, no matter which browser I try. AGGGGHH! I am hoping this glitch will be resolved post-haste.

More fun with paddles and straps and belts (oh my) to come!

The Grinch got spanked

For everyone who's always wanted to see me get spanked for my lousy holiday attitude, have we got a video for you.

New Guy showed up in the pouring rain tonight loaded down with toy bag, camera and tripod. I was quite ready for him, with a special holiday message attached to the back of my skirt.

Can't see my special message? Here, look a little closer:

That's right -- I have mistletoe pinned just above my butt. And you know what that means. :-) 

Interesting, though -- I thought it was hilarious, but he didn't seem to think so. He even made me take the skirt off! Of course, that was a good idea anyway, since the damn mistletoe was dry as hay (even though the package claimed it was fresh) and it was crumbling all over the carpet, the bed, everywhere.

So we recorded my thorough scolding and spanking for being such a Scrooge. I even had to say Merry Christmas 20 times (to 20 strap strokes) and "I'm sorry, Santa." @#$%!! I screwed up on the eight reindeer, though. I said "Stupid" instead of "Cupid." Silly me.

Ah, but you know what? When all is said and done, somehow I don't mind the holidays so much anymore. :-)

Clips will be up soon! Thank you, my friend. And to all a good night.

Happy (hic) Holidays

So we went last night to John's sister's annual drunkfest... er, Christmas party. I've written about these before. Every year, his older sister and her husband have a gigantic holiday blowout at their house, with friends of theirs, friends of their kids, kids of their friends, etc. teeming through the house making merry. There is always a live band and dancing. And enough alcohol to sail a fleet of ships upon. (Yes, I know I ended a sentence with a preposition. I don't care.)

This is my 15th time at this gig, so I know the drill. We show up fairly early, eat, and enjoy the band before things get too sloppy/crazy/loud with all the imbibing. I wasn't sure if John would be up for it or not, what with all he's been going through. He's still itching and covered with rash, even though he's been off the drugs for two weeks, and his stomach has been acting up as well. However, he still wanted to make an appearance, and I thought what the hell, we didn't have any other plans anyway.

It started out OK. We got there around 8:00 (it started at 7:00) and they had just put the food out on the buffet table. As we ate and mingled with people we'd seen year after year, the band started. They were amazingly good -- a topnotch drummer, bassist, keyboardist and saxophone player. And a mediocre fiddle player. Unfortunately, he was the one who stood front and center and did all the talking, loudly. He warned us all: "You all need to drink a WHOLE LOT tonight, or you're going to find us very obnoxious as the night goes on." Swell.

John and I grabbed primo spots on the couch and settled in to listen to the band and watch everyone. John, as always, kept me in stitches with his pithy commentary on the other guests. I swear, they say women are snarky, but John can out-snark any of us. One woman did this weird thing with her hands when she was dancing, making them look like claws; he dubbed her "Pterodactyl Woman." Another had her hair wound up in two tiny buns on each side of her head; she became "Princess Leia." Yet another was wearing a rather strange outfit and he said, "Oh, I remember her. She was dressed inappropriately last year too." A young couple, already falling-down drunk at 9:00 PM, came onto the dance floor. They were a rather unlikely pair: he had a full-face beard and was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and faded jeans; she had on F-me shoes and sequined black top with her boobs threatening to fall out of it. John whispered to me, "OK, who's going to regret that hookup more in the morning -- Mountain Man or the Skank?" Shortly thereafter, she stumbled on her spiky stilettos and went crashing into the sax player. I'm thinking there wouldn't be any hooking up with her later... throwing up, perhaps.

It was OK for a while... we even danced a little, but the space was packed and I got tired of dodging lurching bodies and errant feet stomping on mine, so we sat back down. The band took a break and John went off to mingle, and that's when things went sour for me. I stayed on the couch, wanting to keep our spot (besides, it was freezing outside on the patio), watching all the action around me and trying to look interested. I was wedged up against an older guy on my left who was talking to someone on his left, and he was flinging his arms around as he talked. His right arm kept flapping into me, and he was oblivious to it. What did he think he was hitting, the side of the couch? When his arm and elbow crashed into me for about the fourth time, I gently shook his shoulder, and he turned to me in surprise. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear," he slurred. "I hope I didn't hit any of the wrong bits." Good lord.

I kept waiting for John to come back, but he was deep in conversation outside with his niece's fiancee, and finally I gave up my couch spot and wandered around. But everywhere I went, there was more noise, more intoxicated strangers and no one with whom I could connect. I saw John's brother there by himself; his wife was home with their son. He comes to these things and kind of hangs out on his own, saying little. As it happens, he was probably the only other person there besides me who was sober; he's a recovering alcoholic and he was nursing his fake beer, looking kind of detached and amused as if he was thinking, "Damn, is this what I used to look like?"

I suppose I could have tried to strike up a conversation with him, but I've never felt quite comfortable around him. He's always been the "cool one" in the family, whereas John was the smart one. And of course, John was the one who got all the teasing, was picked on incessantly, etc., while his brother was treated like he was some hotshot. I've always resented him for that, even though I don't think it was his fault. It's just another screwed-up family dynamic.

The band came back from their break, freshly stoned and with fresh drinks, and their music got loose and sloppy, the vocals more hollered than sung. It was only 11:00, but I suddenly wanted to go home so badly, I could hardly stand it. I went and found John, still chatting, and gave him our subtle secret signal that can mean a lot of different things, but mostly it means "He-e-e-elllllp!" What did the big oaf do? He laughed and said to his companion, "Oh, she wants to go home." Aaaggh.

No, I did want to go home. Now I wanted to kill him.

I left and went upstairs, hoping to find a place where I could find a little peace. But people were in the upstairs bedrooms and I could smell pot. Then I saw Pterodactyl Woman carrying Princess Leia over her shoulder. Things were definitely getting weird.

Fortunately, John realized he'd made a bit of a boo-boo and came looking for me. I told him this was all a bit too overwhelming for me and I needed to go soon, and he agreed. We hung out a little bit longer, listened to the band a bit more and watched the miasma of bodies swirling and banging into one another. By 11:45, we decided to go home. My ears rang for several minutes after we left.

I know this party went on all night. I know that it was considered a smashing success, as it is every year, and people will talk about it until it's time for the next one. What am I missing? Do I need to be plastered? I guess that's it. Drunk people are appealing only to other drunk people, I guess. When you're sober, you feel like you're in a very strange dream, where everyone around you is behaving in a surreal manner and nothing makes sense.

Anyway... I'm grateful for John, who had one beer and then switched to Diet Coke. I don't regret that we went. Now I know the holidays are nearly over... just have to deal with Xmas Day at the same sister's house, and then it's done for another year. Hallelujah!

Oh, and my reward for surviving last night? Tomorrow is Monday! ;-) Now that's MY kind of fun, and while my bottom might be a little worse for wear, my liver will be intact.

Yeah, I know. I'm a square peg in a round world in this instance too. What else is new??

Erica's Helpful Hints #6

Do not watch spanking videos with your top. Bad, bad move. They'll get evil ideas and you won't make it to the conclusion of the video without getting flipped over.

However, if you must take your chances and watch anyway, then for the love of God, make sure to avoid the following. When the top on the screen inevitably spouts one of those oh-so-familiar lines like "Is this getting through to you?", do NOT turn to the top beside you and ask, "Why do you tops all say the same stupid crap?"

There might very well be a spanking in stereo.



Yes, that is my butt times 2 -- in the foreground AND on the TV!
























One more thing, folks: In case you haven't heard, Brushstrokes is doing his annual Spanking Awards, and the list of 10 nominees for Best Spanking Blog of 2010 went up yesterday here. Much to my surprise and delight, I'm among them. This is the first time I've been nominated and several of my favorites are included on that list, so I am honored indeed.

Chross will win (and deservedly so); he's far ahead of the others. The poll is set up so that everyone can submit just one vote, so runner-up remains to be seen. Sooooooooo... if you like this blog, and you haven't already voted for one of my esteemed co-bloggers, show me some love and vote for me? :-) Pardon the Hollywood-ish cliché, but just being nominated is very exciting. Thanks!

New Guy's Theme

(Sung to the tune of Eric Clapton's "Layla")

In case anyone doesn't know this classic, here ya go:



What'll you do when I've been naughty,
And I'm waiting by your side
I've been sassing, and bratting much too long,
Now you're gonna tan my hide!

Newww Guy
You got me o'er your knees
New Guy
Your hand, it stings like bees
New Guyyyyyy
Darlin' won't you ease up on me pleeeeeeaase?

"Won't be givin' you consolation,"
You tried to warn me, with a frown
Like a fool, I made a fool of you,
Now you've turned me upside down!

Newww Guy
That hairbrush makes me burn,
New Guy
Will I ever learn?
New Guyyyyyyy,
Do you really have to be so stern?

You got control of the situation,
As I writhe around in pain,
Then your belt, imparts another welt,
My tears are fallin' just like rain!

Newwwww Guy
I'm lyin' on the bed
New Guy
My bottom's crimson red
New Guyyyyyyy
Oh my god, the paddle's still ahead...!

Newwwwwww Guy
Now the spanking's done
New Guy
I have to say "you won"
New Guyyyyyyyy
Finally sent the bad girl on the run!*

*well, until next week, anyway. ;-)

Despite those daggers I'm glaring, I had another spectacular Monday night. But you guys already knew that. :-)

Up, down, all around

Warning: I don't think this blog is going to be especially entertaining. Certainly not humorous, not sexy, no spanky pictures. Just me, in a strange place tonight.

Need to run something by you guys, a unexpectedly strong reaction I had to a clip I watched. I found it on FetLife, and it was a young woman being punished for texting and driving with a hard strapping/paddling.

I'm not much for harsh punishment videos, really. I'm pretty squeamish. But this one had a looooong string of comments, some of my friends had watched it, and I was curious. Also, I happen to think texting and driving is irresponsible, deplorable, and a whole lot of other -ibles and -ables. As one who has lost a loved one to a car accident, I have zero tolerance for those who treat a multi-ton vehicle like a moving entertainment center. So I figured I'd side with the top on this one.

The video was about 9 1/2 minutes long, but I only made it through a little over six minutes and had to shut it off. My stomach was in knots and I literally felt nauseated. And I felt sick and shook up for a good hour after that.

I know that a lot of people are into true discipline and punishment. I also know that harsh is relative, and what's light to one can be heavy to another and vice versa. Above all, I know this scene was 100% consensual, this woman wanted it, needed it and asked for it. It was real. But I couldn't bear it, even knowing logically that she posted it because she was proud of it and wanted people to see it.

She started to cry practically from the first strap stroke (on a white bottom; no warmup). The crying escalated to sobbing and pleading, then screaming in pain. She put her hands back frequently; he would warn her to move them, and when she didn't, he struck her hands. By the six-minute mark, her butt was trashed. It wasn't just red/purple or marked; dark pools of blood were forming and spreading under the surface of her skin, and I was terrified that the next hard strike would break the skin and send that blood flying in all directions.

I have to say the top's technique was flawless; he clearly knew what he was doing. His aim was perfect, no wrapping, etc. He was focused. But he scolded her throughout, in a loud, angry tone. No, he didn't call her names or anything, but his voice was extremely harsh. Between her screaming and his yelling, I had to turn the sound off. And finally, I just shut it off altogether.

I then read the comments... one after another, they praised the video. "Wow, that was awesome." "Now that's what a punishment should look like." "You deserved that and more." "Poor baby, you won't do that again, will you?" On and on it went; everyone thought it was great. What's wrong with me? What was I missing here? Why was I so utterly horrified?

I wanted to comment that this video was so brutal, I had to stop watching 2/3 of the way through. I wanted to write to this girl, even though I don't know her, and ask if she really was OK. I wanted to wrap her up in a big hug and protect her. Protect her? From what? She consented to it! Of course, I didn't comment and I didn't write to her. I knew I'd be perceived as judgmental and I didn't want to rain on her parade.

I'm not looking for people to tell me that I was right to react the way I did, that it sounds awful, that stuff like that is too much, etc. I don't really want validation here. I would like to understand why I reacted with such horror and revulsion, when I have taken strappings that hard. Was it her screaming and sobbing? Was it the condition of her skin? Was it that the top didn't seem at all regretful that he had to do this, that he was relishing beating her? On the other hand, for all I know, he gave her tender aftercare at the end of the video.

We all have things we don't like to watch. I just wish I knew why my reactions are so extreme. If I had been beaten as a child, I could understand that watching stuff like this could cause a flashback. But I was not.

Very strange and unsettling. Not sure where I'm going with this, but had to express it somewhere, and what better place than my own blog.

Not a good weekend. John has been off the antibiotics for a week now, but apparently they are taking a long time to leave his system. The itching and rash didn't get any better and he had such a bad week, he went back to the doctor on Friday. She gave him prescription-strength allergy meds instead of OTC this time, and a prescription-strength ointment. The meds didn't help much with the itch, but they made him hyper and even more irritable. I spent the whole weekend walking on eggshells, which backfired on me because my skittishness around him just irritated him further. I know he's miserable, I know he doesn't mean it. I tell myself over and over, wait it out, it will pass, he'll feel better soon and then things will be OK again. He'll be nicer. The man I love is still inside that angry, agitated shell.

Then other times, I wonder if it will ever be better. I feel very tired and overwhelmed sometimes. And then of course, I realize, if I'm tired, how tired is he? It's been so @#$%ing long... he first got sick toward the end of September.

Ugh. Double ugh.

Tomorrow is Monday. I will feel better tomorrow. Thank goodness for balance in life, for fun to smooth out the rough times.

Sorry for the drama. Sometimes, things suck a bit.

New blog -- everyone go see! :-)

Happy Friday! (and happy ChrossDay) :-D

My friend, the talented Dave Wolfe (of the popular WolfieToons) has started a new blog HERE. Everyone, please go read, comment, encourage, add him to your list -- he has lots to share and he's such fun. Plus, he's one helluva sweet guy. We've never met in person, but we've had much correspondence over the past several years and he's brought me many smiles and laughs.

In case you haven't seen any of his work (and if not, where have you been?) here's a toon he created for me on my 50th birthday:

"There's a crack in the mirror" -- HAR!

In other news: John finally got that godawful PICC taken out. No more IV! No more antibiotics! And not a moment too soon. The man was going mad with the side effects... suffice it to say that the last month was exceedingly unpleasant. The rash is still healing as the drugs work their way out of his system, but he's on his way to feeling much better. :-)

In case you're wondering what's become of the CHoS, I haven't received much material for it lately. I suppose that's good, huh? But it will be back, once I collect a couple more entries.

So, let's review: seeing my sweetheart tonight, tomorrow and Sunday, and then... it's Monday! And you know what Monday means! Am I a happy girl today? Yup.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Erica's Helpful Hints #5

Spankees, we've all been in this situation: You're OTK, the spanking has ramped up and you temporarily quiet down in an attempt to absorb it. And then your top crows, "No sass? Wow! I think I'm finally getting through to you!"

So smug. :-Þ

Tempting as it may be, it's probably not in your best interest to twist around, pinch his arm and say, "Wake up. You're dreaming."

It's damn fun, though. :-D

Thirty years ago today...

... I cried all night long over someone I'd never met, but who had been a part of my life for as long as I could remember.

A woman lost the love of her life. Two boys lost their father. The world lost one of its most brilliant voices.

A working class hero, a genius, an anarchist and an icon was frozen at age 40, with the remainder of his potential to be forever unknown.

Thirty years later, I still get tears in my eyes.

Miss you, John. Still.

I know this will sound sick, but...

... I love Mondays. :-)

Mind you, I haven't always. Used to groan at the thought of them, like everyone else, until just recently. Ever since I met New Guy and Monday became SpankDay. Now I feel like I have a three-day weekend every week.

We don't even bother with the small talk upon his arrival anymore. He's not in the door five minutes and I'm over his knee. Not that I'm complaining. I never was much for small talk anyway. How was your weekend? Fine. Nice haircut. Thanks. OK, that's enough of that. Spank now, talk later.

And spank he did.

On the couch.

Over the ottoman.

And then later, long after we'd wound down, he got some bug up his butt about something or another and we had an impromptu Round #2 over the dining room table with his belt. Pardon the clutter...

Enough locations, don't you think? Nah. He had to put me in the @#$%ing corner, too!

OK, so maybe, just maybe, I deserved a little of this. Some things have the damndest ways of slipping out at times. He was going on and on and ON with that belt of his, with a very long CCR song playing in the background. (One doesn't usually hear the extended version of "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" on the radio. It goes on about seven or eight minutes, I think.) Anyway, I complained, "Aren't you done yet?" and he replied, "Nope, this is the long version." Har har. I shrugged and said, "Well, at least there's something about you that's long."

That might not have been the most intelligent utterance on my part. Who knew. I think I screeched "I'm sorry" about six times in about as many seconds.

But I still giggled. I can't help it. I'm insatiable.

He said I never learn. I pointed out that if one doesn't learn, it's usually the teacher's fault. Funny, he took exception to that. But I do believe he'll keep trying to impart some sort of lessons to me. And trying. And trying.

I sure hope so. :-)

Wow! :-)

This blog is four months old, and today, I broke 100,000 page views! Special thanks and big cyber-hugs to Chross and his Spankings of the Week listings, which have no doubt sent 1,000s of those hits my way. I love how my views spike sharply upward on the Fridays when I get Chrossed! :-)

I have a query for my readers. I have my regular commenters (and I love you guys), and some periodic commenters. However, a whole lot of you never do, and I know it's due in part to the fact that I turned off the Anonymous comments option. I get emails and messages from people saying, "Hey, couldn't comment on the blog, but wanted you to know that I really liked..." etc.

Two weeks after I came to Blogger, some asshat took exception to one of my topics (and some of the comments on it) and went on a spree, insulting my readers with a barrage of his own nasty remarks. I erased and erased, but he kept reposting. I even directly pleaded with him to stop, but he would not. Finally, I had no choice but to turn off the Anonymous option, since Blogger doesn't allow one to block individuals. I have always endeavored to make my blog open and have people feel safe in joining in and making it interactive, and I wasn't about to let one malcontent ruin that.

Now, I'm toying with the idea of turning that option back on. If I do, I would have to be more vigilant. I might turn on Moderate Comments on the weekends. And I would have to ask all of you to help me out -- if someone were to hurl an anonymous potshot, they must be ignored. No replies, no acknowledgment, no engaging with them. I will delete their comments as soon as I see them.

What do you guys think? Do blogs feel more open and friendly when anyone can comment? Should I try allowing the anonymous comments again?

If you can't comment with your opinion, shoot me an email. :-D

Meanwhile, thank you for reading! You guys make me sooooooo happy when I see all the hits.



Of course I sit at my computer dressed like this. Doesn't everyone?

(Yeah, I know I've posted this shot before. But it fit so well into this topic!)

Have a great weekend, y'all.

To @#$% or not to @#$%

A while back, Devlin O'Neill blogged about cursing and how he does not use it (or allow it in comments) on his blog. Despite my yanking his chain sometimes, I understand his viewpoint that he wants everyone to feel comfortable and safe. But his post gave me food for thought. What are people's thoughts on swearing? Yes? No? What's too much?

Before I continue, allow me to state two points up front: 1) I do not condone hurling ugly names in anger, and 2) the "c" word is off the table, in any circumstance. That word should be banned from the lexicon, as far as I'm concerned.

Moving on... obviously, as you've noted in my own blogs, I do cuss. As with most things in my life, I employ moderation. Of course, moderation is relative. To one who is offended by relatively mild epithets such as "damn" and "hell," my swearing is beyond moderate. But on average, I'd say I use it for emphasis, rather than allowing it to usurp my vocabulary.

Can we all agree that a well-placed swear word can be hilarious? Granted, spewing them right and left makes them redundant (and obnoxious), but with the right timing and placement, an unexpected cuss word can make me laugh until my stomach hurts.

Take spanking videos, for one example. On the extreme side, I once watched a video from a company whose product is not to my liking (won't mention the name, but it's not anyone I've worked for!), and it featured two girls getting spanked who blurted the f word and the s word every other sentence, which I found distasteful. However, an example for the plus side is one of my favorite adlibs of all time. (And no, I wasn't the one who said it.) In Shadow Lane's Sting Operation 2, Samantha Woodley is confronted by her teacher (Lance Del Toro) for cheating on an exam. After wheedling and flirting doesn't budge him, she gets petulant and snaps, "I said I was sorry! Now forgive and forget, and fuck off!" Hearing that come out of her sweet little face, and her timing, made me double over.

My thoughts on the ever-controversial word in the spanko scene: ass. Some people mistakenly think I disapprove of the word, but I don't. Where I don't like it is within a spanking scene. The phrase "You're getting a bare-bottom spanking, young lady" causes my stomach to flip-flop and my nether regions to react the way nether regions react; whereas "I'm going to beat your bare ass, bitch," makes me recoil in disgust. However, outside of scene conversation, there are times when only the word "ass" will do. I mean, calling someone a "dumb-bottom" or hurling off a snappy, "Oh, kiss my behind" just doesn't cut it.

When I was growing up, I didn't hear much swearing in my house. Sometimes I'd overhear cuss words when my older brother was in his room with his buddies, but my mother never swore in front of me. As I grew into adolescence, I thought she was quite the prig, using words like "golly" and "gee." Little did I know.

One summer day when I was 16, I was in her house, which had no air-conditioning. It was miserably hot and she had gone into her bedroom to attempt a nap, pulling down the shades and running a fan. But I guess it was simply too hot for her to sleep. Suddenly, she came bursting out of the bedroom in her underwear and yelled, "Aaaaaaaagh, it's so FUCKING HOT in here!" I was shocked! Who was this woman?? "Maaaaaa!" I said, laughing. "Well, it is!" she snapped. I guess she figured I was old enough to hear how she really talked! LOL

For many of you, cussing has always been around on TV, and certainly in movies. I'm old enough to remember the opposite, when you not only couldn't say "damn" or "hell," but you couldn't say "pregnant," you couldn't show a married couple in one bed, toilets didn't exist, etc. Of course, now on premium cable, they say everything, and even on network TV, several cuss words and references to bodily parts pass the censors.

Which brings me back to the moderation thing. No, I really don't want to return to the era of dialogue like "Honestly, Father," "Geeee, Wally," and "Well, gollllllllyyyy!" Wholesome, they called it. Another show comes to mind, a more current one -- Big Love. Because it depicts a Mormon family, there is no swearing. And I have to admit, sometimes the lack of swearing is jarring to my ears. They fight a lot, and somehow, hearing a heated "Darn you, Nicki!" or "Margene, what the H do you think you're doing?" doesn't ring true for me.

BUT -- when it's nonstop filthy mouth like on The Sopranos? Too much for me. I don't find South Park all that funny.

Returning to the humor aspect, there is one thing I do miss from bygone days of television -- innuendo. Nowadays, humor is so in-your-face dirty, spelling everything out, and so few people know the art of subtlety and suggestion anymore. The late, great Groucho Marx, on his show You Bet Your Life, could imply a world of ribaldry by simply looking into the camera and raising his eyebrows. In that era, it wasn't what was said -- it was what wasn't said that could bring on the side-splitting laughter.

One of my favorite examples of this is a classic clip from the Tonight Show, circa 1965, with the wonderful Johnny Carson. Actor Ed Ames, who played Mingo on the TV western Daniel Boone, was demonstrating how to throw a tomahawk, hurling one at a crude drawing of a cowboy figure. The tomahawk landed squarely in a most unfortunate area, and the audience exploded in laughter, as did Ames. Carson, however, didn't laugh, and didn't speak. He merely stood there, a very naughty smile twitching on his lips, looking at the tomahawk, then at Ames, then the audience, his face speaking volumes, while the laughter went on and on. And finally when it started to die down, with his perfect comedic timing, he uttered a line that made the howling erupt anew. It was one of the longest sustained laughs in television history.

If you haven't seen this clip, do watch: it's priceless.



So where am I going with all this? I guess I wanted to open the floor and see how people feel about cussing in general. Does it bother you? Are there circumstances where you think it works well? Do you think there's too much of it in the overall media nowadays?

And just so you know, I do appreciate moderation in comment cussing as well. ;-)

Sharing another clip

This one is from later in the scene, where we'd moved from OTK to my ottoman and he'd broken out the heavy artillery -- his belt, a big black strap and that godawful paddle.

For those who have always wanted to see/hear me count and say "Thank you," (arrgggh) here you go. Twenty with the black strap. Watch out for #16; apparently, that one "got through to me."

P.S.: Remember, everyone, I really do like this. :-)

Ow...

Who named it the "sweet spot," anyway? There's nothing @#$%ing sweet about it. Not feeling very sweet at this moment, lemme tell you.

I don't know what he was so tweaked about. OK, so I didn't get all dressed up for him this time. It was cold and I wanted to dress a little more warmly. But I thought what I had on was rather cute and cheery. It was a sweatshirt, but such a pretty color! And don't you think the design on the front is darling?

Check out that post-spanking hair; what a mess! LOL

See, he's saying "Don't Wanna" -- isn't that precious? I thought it was most inappropriate that I had to remove it. (sulk) I swear, there's no pleasing that man. And to have to assume this undignified pose, to boot. Most unflattering too. Look at it now, 'cause you'll never see it again!


Why does it feel like he ramps it up every single week? I don't know how he does it. When he commented on my sassiness for perhaps the umpteenth time, I said in what I thought was a beseeching tone: "But that's what you like about me!" He laughed. Briefly. Then replied, "Yeah, but it doesn't mean I'm not going to give you a good spanking for it. Because that's what you like about me. Isn't it!"

Yes, dammit...

I wanted it to burn and sting. I wanted that sweet release. And finally, I got it.

Guess what? Remember that three-pack of spoons he brought a few weeks ago -- I'd broken two of them, but the third one held up? Well, now that sucker is toast too, three for three.


He hung out for about an hour and a half afterward, and of course, couldn't leave without Round Two on the couch. After that, I was so blissed out, I just wanted to stay across his lap, snuggle into him and go to sleep. But alas, I had to let him up; his dog was waiting for him at home, after all.

Mmmmmm... of course, since it's the freaking holidays, I'm going to need this therapy on a regular basis. Yeah, yeah, shut up, Erica... you need it on a regular basis year-round, you insatiable wench. :-)

Fortunately, it seems he's rather insatiable himself...

A two-fer: a clip AND a rant

I'm home... and I promised more clips, didn't I. New Guy posted a bunch of them on FetLife, but on there, only the people who "support" (read: donate money to) FetLife get to watch the videos, so many won't be able to see them.

This little clip is my favorite. I love his reactions to my big mouth. :-D

So, Thanksgiving is over. One down, one to go. Er... I mean, wasn't Thanksgiving lovely?? Oh, whatever. I'll tell you when I'll give thanks -- when John gets that @#$%ing PICC out of his arm and he doesn't have to inject those @#$%ing antibiotics any more. Just a couple more weeks... he's so miserable. :-(

You all have heard me bitch and moan and rant about the holiday season; I have nothing new to say at this point. So for those who are new to my blog, I'm reposting a rant from December 2007, just for grins. Remember all that fuss about whether you should say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays"? Here's my take on that life-or-death decision. Enjoy.

Warning -- the following rant is sacrilegious. If that sort of thing offends you, please stop reading here!

I don't know where any of you stand with the dumbass controversy about whether one should say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays. Personally, I don't give a damn either way. I happen to say Happy Holidays, simply because it's generic and covers everything. But it doesn't bother me if someone says Merry Christmas to me. I mean, it's just a phrase. At this time of year, it's the same as saying hello and goodbye. But people make such a freaking fuss about what to say. Good grief, do people really have nothing better to whine about? I'm sure the homeless people on skid row don't care whether or not someone says Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays to them.

I was watching the news the other night, and they had one of those "human interest" stories they tack on at the end of the war and the rapes and the natural disasters, just for a little feel-good moment. Apparently, some little podunk town somewhere in South Bumf**k decided they've had enough of Happy Holidays, and they're going to reclaim Merry Christmas. One merchant in this town has big signs up in the store, reading "It's OK to say Merry Christmas!" All the employees wear buttons that read, "Merry Christmas." Yes, the Christ is in red.

They interviewed the owner of this establishment, looking very righteous in her button and her loud, cheery Xmas sweater from Bobbie Sue's House of Dreck, and saying, "We need to remember what Christmas is about -- it's about Christ." She went on to say that any customer in her store who says "Merry Christmas" gets a 5% discount.

Give me a break! So now, every greedy so-and-so in that town is going to flock to that store and cheerfully say the designated phrase, just to get the discount! Some Christmas spirit, that is. Hell, I'd say Merry Christmas, or Happy Kwanzaa, or Joyous Toenail Clipping Day or whatever the hell you want me to say, for a discount.

I wonder how the owner would react if a customer came in, piled up the counter with half the store's merchandise, then said, "Merry Christmas -- now give me my damn discount."

Yeah, I know, I'm bad. Tell me something I don't know. :-)

A couple of teaser clips! :-)

New Guy was busy today on his day off, pulling clips from our Monday night footage. And he has given me the OK to post some here.

Because I'm such a brat, I'm going to leave you with a couple of teasers, some more light-hearted stuff, and save the ouchie clips until after the weekend.

For the first one, I didn't even know the camera was on yet -- we were prepping for the scene. Very impromptu, but fun, I thought!

The radio was on in the background. Makes me giggle that the song playing in this clip was Sexy Sadie. ("Sexy Sadie, you broke the rules, you laid it down for all to see...")

Oh, and check out Mr. Hammy looking into the camera!  LOL

In this quickie, I had made a smart-ass remark (fancy that) and he'd reached in his bag for a paddle. After one swat, he realized that he'd grabbed the wrong one -- one that I'd given a hard NO. Oops! In his eagerness to get rid of it, he... well, you'll see. :-)

I hope everyone had a pleasant and peaceful Thanksgiving! Have a great weekend, y'all.

Thanksgiving thoughts

Happy Turkey Day, everyone. No, I'm not posting a holiday rant. Not yet, anyway. Just having a quiet and reflective morning and wanted to share some thoughts.

Some of you may know this -- Thanksgiving was actually my favorite holiday for many years. No religious overtones, no gifts to buy, no cards to send... just a day where you got together with loved ones, had wonderful food and if you were of a mind to, counted your blessings.

I loved going to my mother and stepfather's for Thanksgiving. My mother and I have always had our ups and downs, but on Thanksgiving, all that was put aside. I looked forward to arriving at their place; it would be warm and cozy, filled with mouth-watering smells and festively decorated. There was usually an eclectic bunch present; Mom had always been one to take in the people who were by themselves, at loose ends, on holidays. Over the years, I'd brought my share of friends who had no other place to go, and they were warmly welcomed.

No one cooked like my mother. Her turkeys were always tender and juicy, even the white meat. She'd collect all the drippings and juices, put them in the freezer until all the fat rose to the top, then skim it off. I don't know how she thickened the gravy, but she didn't use flour and it was never lumpy or pasty. She always put in plenty of cooked fresh mushrooms, because she knew I loved them. Oh, and her stuffing... I could have made a meal of that alone, mountains of it. I hate yams, and you can have mashed potatoes anytime. Pass on that disgusting Thanksgiving staple, the goopy green bean/mushroom soup casserole with canned fried onions on top. (Not that she ever made that!) But my mom's stuffing -- starchy Nirvana.

She and my stepdad and their friends were partial to a lemon cheesecake from Baker's Square pies for dessert. However, I thought cheesecake after all that rich food was utterly gross, and besides, you have to have pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. So I always brought one.

Even cleanup was fun, as we'd crowd into the kitchen, wrapping leftovers, washing dishes, laughing, sated and giddy with carb/tryptophan overload. I figured since I didn't do the cooking, the least I could do was help with the mess afterward and I enjoyed doing so. I'd spend the next couple of nights there. After John came into my life, I'd come home Saturday morning and spend the rest of the weekend with him. He'd be with his own family on Thanksgiving; we'd mutually agreed that he'd see his, I'd see mine, and we'd get together afterwards.

It was a lovely place to be. I felt like a kid again, or at least how a kid should feel... comfortable, loved, well fed and cared for. Safe.

Then my mother began her slow descent into dementia, and everything changed.

Thanksgiving went from warm and pleasant to not-so-pleasant, then uncomfortable, then spectacularly awful. There were tears and fights and ruined food. And finally, it was over. My mother went into an assisted-care facility, and that was the end of Thanksgiving as we knew it.

For the past two years, I have refused to acknowledge Thanksgiving. I have treated it like just another Thursday, staying home and watching DVDs, reading, whatever I felt like doing. John continued to do his own thing with whichever family member was in town; I was always welcome and I knew that, but I didn't want to go and begged off. He understood and didn't pressure me, although I know he was disappointed. I couldn't help it. It was too damn depressing for me and I preferred to withdraw and ignore the whole thing.

This year is different. This year, for better or worse, I think I'm ready to rejoin the living.

We are invited to John's sister's house later this afternoon; most of his family will be there. I have many mixed feelings about going, but above everything else, I want to be with John. I know he wants me there and I want to be there for him. It's one meal, it's a few hours. I could have lost him in recent weeks. On this day, I want to be with the person in my life for whom I'm the most thankful.

And hey, there are bright sides. John has two sisters: one prepares food that is tasty and reasonably healthy; the other one's cooking makes me feel like all the blood in my body has been replaced by butterfat. Fortunately, the former is doing the cooking today, not the latter. :-)

All right -- time to do some laundry, get some other things done and then prepare to head out. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday, whatever you're doing. I wish you peace, happiness and a thankful heart this day.

Erica's Helpful Hints #4

Just tell him that you were scratching the bridge of your nose. You're allowed to have an itch, aren't you? Well, aren't you?

That's your story and you stick to it. :-)

Lights, camera...

...sore bottom! Guess who brought a video camera along with his toy bag tonight?

Since it had been two weeks (and I was in big trouble for my "helpful hints"), I decided to welcome him sweetly and got all dressed up -- black dress (one I can't wear in public, but it's great for play), garters, stockings, the whole bit. How timely, as it turned out I was going to be on camera. He'd asked me a couple of visits ago if I'd like to shoot one of our sessions sometime; I said sure and then forgot all about it.

You know, for an amateur, first-time thing, we got something fairly decent, I think. I should have turned off the stereo in the background; you can barely hear our dialogue as it is. But live and learn. We turned on every light in the room, and it seems the brightness was sufficient. And ladies and gentlemen, you heard it here first: New Guy is a ham!! He was totally playing to the camera, ramping things up, making clever comebacks to my sassy comments.

Him: I think it's time to bring out the paddle.
Me: No-o-o-o-o....
Him: No? Who are you to tell me yes or no?
Me: Hey, I still have a voice!
Him: You may have a voice, but you don't have a choice.

Argggghhhhh.

The final 20 with the paddle reallllllly pushed my limits. Ow, ow, ow. Had to count them, too. He cut me a little break -- earlier in the scene, with 20 of the big strap, I had to count them and say "thank you" after each one. But for the finale, I just had to count, nothing else. Whatta guy, huh? (I didn't help my case any by saying "fuck you" instead of "thank you" at first. We had a few do-overs.)

He did the last four strokes in rapid succession, and #20 made me thrash around so hard, I rolled off the side of the ottoman and tumbled onto the floor. No, I did not do that on purpose. Came out looking pretty funny, though.

Nothing funny about this, though:

Yikes. Yes, it's as sore as it looks. But amazingly, despite this outrageous manhandling, I'm feeling quite relaxed and in my happy place. :-)

See, don't I look blissful?

Night night...

Nice restful weekend -- NOT!

So there I was, looking forward to going to John's on Friday. I was already feeling kind of tired and blech, due to an unfortunate blowout with one friend and worries over another one who has been very ill, so I just wanted to hang out on this rainy, cloudy weekend with my sweetie and relax. Ha!

When I got to his house, despite the fact that it was rainy and cold out and I was all bundled up, I noticed when I entered that his place was as cold as a morgue, the windows were all open and fans were blowing. WTF? John was ironing some shirts and thrust a Yellow Pages at me. "Please look up refrigerator repair and start making some calls. My refrigerator is broken." He said he'd come home that afternoon after having been gone all week (he stays in Orange County during the week, in a motel that is walking distance from his work, rather than make a huge commute every day), and everything in his freezer had melted into a big mess and all the food in the fridge was rotting. He'd spent the last few hours cleaning and now he was trying to catch up with his laundry.

This was bad enough, but what would normally be an aggravation and inconvenience was an emergency. John has IV medicines that must be kept refrigerated. Getting this thing fixed pronto was crucial.

So I got on the phone and started calling repair companies. The best I could find was one who said they'd come the following morning between 9:00 and noon. We took his meds and drove them over to his mother's house, then went to dinner -- it was after 9:00 and we were both starved, but figured OK, the fridge will get fixed in the morning.

We waited for three hours next morning... no show from the repair people. John called around 11:30 and was told the guy was on his way, and would be here by noon. Noon came and went. At 12:15, I called, and they said the tech was stuck in traffic and would be here within an hour. We were stuck there, couldn't go anywhere, couldn't get lunch, and we were getting on each other's nerves. The place was freezing, since turning on the heat made John's itching worse. I got back into his bed with all my clothes on and piled on the comforters, and read.

When 1:30 came, I got on the phone yet again, and when they told me the tech would be there within a half-hour, I lost it. "Don't tell me that; you keep saying that and he doesn't show up. I'm telling you this is an emergency -- my boyfriend has medications that MUST be kept cold and we need to get this fixed. You promised us between 9:00 and noon, then 1:00, and now it's 1:30. We could have gone with someone else, but now it's too late; we're depending on you." He said he'd have the tech himself give us a call from the road. I asked him if I had his word on that and he said yes. (Not that his word meant that much, really. But I think I sounded convincingly urgent and he realized I wasn't going to stop haranguing him until he made good with his promises.)

Long story short, the tech finally got there at 2:45. Traffic, he said. Rain. Accidents. The operators overbook and promise people the moon. Whatever! He then told John that his compressor was broken and he could either replace it ($700) or put an "accelator" on it that would get it working again, but there was no guarantee on how long that would last -- could be five years, could be two weeks. Swell! John figured $700 plus a few hundred more could buy him a new fridge, so he went with the accelator (for $200). Beggars can't be choosers.

We ate for the first time around 3:30, then had to run a bunch of errands, buying food, going back to John's mom's to get his meds, etc. Would have been nice to have a peaceful evening at home after all that, right? Nahhhh. His next-door neighbor had a party. No peace and quiet for us.

Sleep would have been elusive, anyway. Poor John is still going nuts with night-time itching from his meds. When he had his dressing changed on Friday, the doctor gave him some Zyrtec (allergy medication) and told him to try that, and if that didn't work, try Benadryl. So John tried the Zyrtec that night; didn't help. He was tossing and turning and I finally had to leave to go sleep on the couch. The next day we bought him Benadryl; guess what? That didn't work either. So I slept on the couch Saturday night too.

By today, we were a pair of exposed nerves. Fortunately, before I left, we talked it out, agreed to write off all the sniping and arguing as an incredibly bad weekend and we'd be OK next time. But folks, this is why I've never married. I was so, so glad to come home to my own quiet little place. I need space where I can withdraw and regroup. I would lose my mind if I didn't have my own place to come back to. (Yes, I know I'm ending a sentence with a preposition. I don't care.)

After I settled back in, I checked email and found a proclamation from you-know-who that I should enjoy sitting while I can, because I wasn't going to do so for a week after he was done with me. Really? Be still, my heart. :-) Finally. It's been two weeks and it feels like two months.

Onward. Ahead is lots and lots of sleep and some very special attention. Just what this girl needs.

Hope everyone had a much more peaceful and fun weekend!