Last Chross Day of 2011, and I made the cut. Way to end the blogging year! Congratulations to all my fellow listees today.
This has been quite a year for me, with some amazing highs. First and foremost, I published a book. Not just any book -- my autobiography. It took a year-and-a-half to write it, and after that, the process of formatting and pulling it all together for publishing began. With the help of a talented photographer and the uber-talented Zelle, I got a spectacular cover. In August, it officially went on sale.
The feedback has been beyond gratifying. To everyone who has purchased it, reviewed it, commented about it, written to me about it... thank you. So far on Amazon, I have sixteen 5-star reviews, and I have a collection of heartfelt private messages that I treasure. And shooting the promo video with Richard Windsor was great fun.
Other experiences this year: Last January, I flew to Connecticut to work with Sarah Gregory and "Tubaman" Paul for a few days. That was unforgettable; not just the shoots themselves, but hanging out with them, the house we stayed in (complete with two dogs), the snowstorm, the laughs. Such a blast!
Spanking Court came into my life this year as well. Again, it wasn't just about the shoots -- I met a group of wonderful people who were all so very kind to me, told me I was a joy to work with. I'm not the easiest person in the world to get along with, but when I'm with people I like, my hard edges soften and my fun side emerges. They have moved from Hollywood to Northern CA, which saddens me, but who knows what 2012 will bring. They have lots of plans for new content and I hope there will be a place for me in them.
This time last year, John was recovering from a strep infection in his blood that nearly killed him. He has since gained back all the weight he lost and his physique is the best it's been since I've known him. Fifteen years plus, and I still can't take my eyes off him. :-) He has been healthy all year and I am so, SO very grateful for that. Neither one of us is perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but it seems we are perfect for each other.
He still thinks I'm beautiful, no matter how old I get. Last night when he called, he said, "I'd like to speak to the cutest girl in the world, please." Of course, I had to be a smart-ass and reply, "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number," but it still gave me a big smile and warm fuzzies.
I had a fabulous year with ST, the top formerly known as New Guy. Week after week, we've had amazing scenes, but more than that, we have a close friendship that means a great deal to me. He's a special guy and I'm very lucky to know him. Here's to 2012 and lots more fun (and maybe some more videos!).
Of course, what goes up, must come down, and there have been some spectacular lows, some hurts and losses. I'd rather not dwell on those, however. They'll just start the waterworks going again, and really, I'm so fucking sick of tears. Overall, no one died, I have no work but I have money in the bank, I have a home I love, I have friends, I have John. If I were to make any resolution for the New Year (and I avoid them, as I don't believe in changes being dictated by a date on the calendar), it would be to try to focus a little bit more on the positives. Easier said than done, given my naturally pessimistic nature, but I'd like to try.
No big plans for New Year's Eve. Last year, John's next-door neighbor had one of his huge, noisy blow-outs that went all night, so I'm hoping that won't be the case again this weekend, but if it is, it is. At least I don't have to live next door to the guy; I can put up with him for one night. We will most likely see a movie and have a nice dinner out, and he has champagne waiting in the fridge for midnight.
I hope everyone will have a safe and happy New Year's Eve. May 2012 be a good year for us all. Thank you for visiting my little corner of the spanking blogosphere and I hope you'll keep returning. ♥
Ruminations, opinionated observations, darkly humorous blathering and the occasional rant from an outspoken kinkophile and unapologetic attention wh--, um, hog.
PLEASE NOTE: This blog contains adult subjects and content, and because of Google/Blogger's recent nonsense, I HAVE MOVED TO WORDPRESS. For my enlightened friends who wish to visit me in my new home, it's https://ericalscott.wordpress.com. Please bookmark it!
The rest of you? Please take your judge-y selves somewhere more wholesome, like here: www.wonderbread.com
Go on.... shoo!
The rest of you? Please take your judge-y selves somewhere more wholesome, like here: www.wonderbread.com
Go on.... shoo!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
I had to laugh
Some of my readers will remember posts from a couple of years ago, when John and I were scening with Craig Aych and his wife at the Lair de Sade dungeon. As you may recall, my scenes with Craig were awesome, but I didn't like the place or most of the people there. Way too much ADD (Almighty Dom Disorder). (No, I can't claim credit for that initialism.)
In particular, there was one DM (Dungeon Master) who used to strut around like a pompous peacock, implements sticking out of his pockets, flexing his muscles and talking tough. He and I never spoke to one another, but I was always aware of his presence (it was hard to miss him, really).
Here's an excerpt from an April 2009 blog, after playing:
We ended up hanging out in the kitchen for another hour, although I did very little talking. I sat and listened, this idiotic glowing grin on my face, feeling myself fade. Just one sour note marred the bliss; there was a guy in the kitchen (not going to give any name or details) who was talking a mile a minute, blustering away about how he manages his slaves. He beats this one, fucks that one, beats AND fucks this other one. None of his slaves is allowed to close the door when she uses the bathroom ("It's MY house, and I have complete access to EVERY room, ALL the time"). He went on and on about what he won't accept, and said, "You can tell me no, but only once. You say it a second time, and you're out the door." Charming.
I was leaning my head against John's shoulder, looking the other way and allowing myself to make disgusted faces. Part of me was thinking, "Turn it off, Erica, turn it off, don't listen, don't listen." ... there was nowhere to go but outside, and it was too cold and I was just too damned sleepy. I have to tell you though, folks, it took all my restraint to not snap, "Oh, Jesus Christ, get over yourself." What good would that have done? He'd just laugh it off and probably tell me something like I needed a few hours with him to set me straight. And I would have embarrassed John. I have to remember where I am, and behave accordingly. I just wish I could understand why this sort of thing makes me react so strongly. At least John validated me. He's usually the first one to chide me for being judgmental, but when I brought up how I felt about our blowhard buddy, his first words were, "Oh god, he was a BORE."
So why am I laughing? Well, this guy basically looked down his nose at me every time I was at the Lair, since I was so obviously a misfit there. Spanking? Meh. Cotton candy. He's into REAL submissives and slaves. Right?
Right. Guess who answered my Alt.com ad? LOL!
Give My profile a read If you want to talk write Me back
Yup, same guy. Writing to a clearly non-submissive, non-slave type, 14 years his senior. How desperate is he? What's the matter, Hot Stuff -- did your harem get sick of your domineering ass? Guess he doesn't recognize the sassy brat at the Lair who had a mouth and a voice and who rolled her eyes at him every time he used his.
Part of me wanted to reply: "I know who you are. I've seen you, and heard you, at the Lair. No, thank you." But then I figured it's even more of a diss if I just don't answer at all, or look at his profile. He's been looking at mine every day. And he can see that I haven't looked at his.
It's a strange world, folks.
In particular, there was one DM (Dungeon Master) who used to strut around like a pompous peacock, implements sticking out of his pockets, flexing his muscles and talking tough. He and I never spoke to one another, but I was always aware of his presence (it was hard to miss him, really).
Here's an excerpt from an April 2009 blog, after playing:
We ended up hanging out in the kitchen for another hour, although I did very little talking. I sat and listened, this idiotic glowing grin on my face, feeling myself fade. Just one sour note marred the bliss; there was a guy in the kitchen (not going to give any name or details) who was talking a mile a minute, blustering away about how he manages his slaves. He beats this one, fucks that one, beats AND fucks this other one. None of his slaves is allowed to close the door when she uses the bathroom ("It's MY house, and I have complete access to EVERY room, ALL the time"). He went on and on about what he won't accept, and said, "You can tell me no, but only once. You say it a second time, and you're out the door." Charming.
I was leaning my head against John's shoulder, looking the other way and allowing myself to make disgusted faces. Part of me was thinking, "Turn it off, Erica, turn it off, don't listen, don't listen." ... there was nowhere to go but outside, and it was too cold and I was just too damned sleepy. I have to tell you though, folks, it took all my restraint to not snap, "Oh, Jesus Christ, get over yourself." What good would that have done? He'd just laugh it off and probably tell me something like I needed a few hours with him to set me straight. And I would have embarrassed John. I have to remember where I am, and behave accordingly. I just wish I could understand why this sort of thing makes me react so strongly. At least John validated me. He's usually the first one to chide me for being judgmental, but when I brought up how I felt about our blowhard buddy, his first words were, "Oh god, he was a BORE."
So why am I laughing? Well, this guy basically looked down his nose at me every time I was at the Lair, since I was so obviously a misfit there. Spanking? Meh. Cotton candy. He's into REAL submissives and slaves. Right?
Right. Guess who answered my Alt.com ad? LOL!
Give My profile a read If you want to talk write Me back
Yup, same guy. Writing to a clearly non-submissive, non-slave type, 14 years his senior. How desperate is he? What's the matter, Hot Stuff -- did your harem get sick of your domineering ass? Guess he doesn't recognize the sassy brat at the Lair who had a mouth and a voice and who rolled her eyes at him every time he used his.
Part of me wanted to reply: "I know who you are. I've seen you, and heard you, at the Lair. No, thank you." But then I figured it's even more of a diss if I just don't answer at all, or look at his profile. He's been looking at mine every day. And he can see that I haven't looked at his.
It's a strange world, folks.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Interesting Xmas Eve
Y'all know where I stand with the holidays and with family dynamics (particularly dysfunctional ones). But I have to say, Xmas Eve at John's sister's house was remarkably pleasant. And since I'm more of an observer and bystander in these events, it's interesting for me to sit quietly, watch and listen.
I know John was hurt that all three of his siblings dropped the ball on Thanksgiving, so I was kinda relieved (albeit annoyed that it was at the last possible minute) that we got the invitation from his sister S for dinner. It turned out to be a very low-key time, with just eight of us. Not as overwhelming as past gatherings.
When I first met John's oldest niece and nephew (M and P), they were 14 and 12. And obnoxious. They displayed what I soon learned was the typical collective family attitude toward John -- a kind of disdain. Yeah, that Uncle Johnny sure is weird, isn't he? Never mind that he's the smartest of the four, or the most successful, career-wise. He's still the oddball who gave everyone compact fluorescent lightbulbs for Christmas ten years ago when they were new and expensive, because he's into saving energy and the environment. He's still the only one who never married or had kids, so he's not normal. He's still the one they always teased, picked on and made fun of. "We think you're a saint for putting up with him," his sister said to me, during my first year of dating John. Of course her kids were going to pick up on that attitude.
But now, M and P are 29 and 27, and they've grown into nice adults. They are warm and affectionate with both of us and show a lot more appreciation and respect for their uncle than they ever did growing up. I watched John bask in this and it did my heart good.
He was the superstar of the evening, because he went into his wine cellar and contributed not only a bottle of 1981 Vintage Port, but a magnum of champagne. This is a hard-drinking crowd, folks. Both bottles were consumed (and do you know how freaking huge a magnum is??), and they wanted more. He also knew how to get a very old cork out of the port bottle without crumbling it into the wine. And, for presentation, he'd brought along a Waterford crystal decanter.
M just got engaged to her long-time boyfriend. He's going to be an engineer -- and John has been one for over 30 years. So he was the go-to guy of the night for answers on an engineering career. It made me happy to see that too. His family has always had this "Oh, John's such a know-it-all" air. His brother-in-law once said to me, "There are two ways to do anything -- John's way and the wrong way," which really pissed me off. So this was a pleasant change.
His sister, of course, was plastered early on. But I have to say, she was very nice to me. And so accepting of my food oddities. His other sister (you know, the one who can't cook anything without a quart of oil, several sticks of butter and a pound of cheese) certainly isn't. When we came to the dinner table, I saw that S had set aside a bowl of salad for me, before she put a rich and creamy dressing on it. My salad was plain, and there was a cruet of fat-free raspberry vinaigrette by the plate. She also filled my dinner plate with plain steamed cauliflower, before she poured cheese sauce over the rest of it. I thought that was quite considerate; stuff like that goes a long way with me. I feel self-conscious enough about being a picky eater and having an abhorrence for butter/cheese/heavy sauces, and I'm usually prepared for people to give me a hard time about it, not willingly accommodate it.
I was quiet most of the evening. We lingered at the dinner table for a long time; others were chatting it up, but I just sat and listened, fighting a bit of drowsiness from the champagne. I've never been much of a talker among John's family, which is one of the reasons they've always thought I was such a stiff. But then P started talking about a word game they all like to play (Bananagrams), and S said, "Oh, Erica would KILL you in that. Erica, have you ever played Bananagrams?" I'd never heard of it, so I said no. "Oh, you have to play! Wanna learn?"
I love games. I grew up playing every conceivable board and card game (and billiards, too), but I got out of the habit because John doesn't enjoy games. So I felt my enthusiasm and competitive side kicking in as we went into the living room and they showed me how to play.
John told me about this later: While I was in the living room, he'd lingered in the kitchen, helping to clean up. (I know John... part of this was to be nice and helpful, but most of it was so he could wash his own Waterford decanter and not have his intoxicated sister handling it!) He said S came into the kitchen and shooed him out, telling him he really should go in and watch us playing Bananagrams. "You have to see Erica -- I've never seen her so excited or animated! Go enjoy it!"
Sheeesh. How little she knows me, really. John said he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't answer, "Oh, I've seen her like that before. You should see her at a spanking party." (snicker)
We had thought we'd be ducking out around 8:30-9:00, as soon as we could politely escape. We ended up leaving at 11:30.
The family won't change. His siblings will always be people I really don't care for, and they probably won't ever regard John any differently. They're never going to be the close and supportive family he yearns for. But it sure was nice to hear M call out the door as we walked toward my car, "Love you, Uncle Johnny!" And he was cheerful the rest of the weekend.
Ugh. I'm so glad I was able to let go of the need for family validation. John hasn't been so fortunate. So, these good times mean a lot.
I guess the best I can do is keep reminding him what a wonderful man he is, and how I got the best of the [his last name] family. :-)
I know John was hurt that all three of his siblings dropped the ball on Thanksgiving, so I was kinda relieved (albeit annoyed that it was at the last possible minute) that we got the invitation from his sister S for dinner. It turned out to be a very low-key time, with just eight of us. Not as overwhelming as past gatherings.
When I first met John's oldest niece and nephew (M and P), they were 14 and 12. And obnoxious. They displayed what I soon learned was the typical collective family attitude toward John -- a kind of disdain. Yeah, that Uncle Johnny sure is weird, isn't he? Never mind that he's the smartest of the four, or the most successful, career-wise. He's still the oddball who gave everyone compact fluorescent lightbulbs for Christmas ten years ago when they were new and expensive, because he's into saving energy and the environment. He's still the only one who never married or had kids, so he's not normal. He's still the one they always teased, picked on and made fun of. "We think you're a saint for putting up with him," his sister said to me, during my first year of dating John. Of course her kids were going to pick up on that attitude.
But now, M and P are 29 and 27, and they've grown into nice adults. They are warm and affectionate with both of us and show a lot more appreciation and respect for their uncle than they ever did growing up. I watched John bask in this and it did my heart good.
He was the superstar of the evening, because he went into his wine cellar and contributed not only a bottle of 1981 Vintage Port, but a magnum of champagne. This is a hard-drinking crowd, folks. Both bottles were consumed (and do you know how freaking huge a magnum is??), and they wanted more. He also knew how to get a very old cork out of the port bottle without crumbling it into the wine. And, for presentation, he'd brought along a Waterford crystal decanter.
M just got engaged to her long-time boyfriend. He's going to be an engineer -- and John has been one for over 30 years. So he was the go-to guy of the night for answers on an engineering career. It made me happy to see that too. His family has always had this "Oh, John's such a know-it-all" air. His brother-in-law once said to me, "There are two ways to do anything -- John's way and the wrong way," which really pissed me off. So this was a pleasant change.
His sister, of course, was plastered early on. But I have to say, she was very nice to me. And so accepting of my food oddities. His other sister (you know, the one who can't cook anything without a quart of oil, several sticks of butter and a pound of cheese) certainly isn't. When we came to the dinner table, I saw that S had set aside a bowl of salad for me, before she put a rich and creamy dressing on it. My salad was plain, and there was a cruet of fat-free raspberry vinaigrette by the plate. She also filled my dinner plate with plain steamed cauliflower, before she poured cheese sauce over the rest of it. I thought that was quite considerate; stuff like that goes a long way with me. I feel self-conscious enough about being a picky eater and having an abhorrence for butter/cheese/heavy sauces, and I'm usually prepared for people to give me a hard time about it, not willingly accommodate it.
I was quiet most of the evening. We lingered at the dinner table for a long time; others were chatting it up, but I just sat and listened, fighting a bit of drowsiness from the champagne. I've never been much of a talker among John's family, which is one of the reasons they've always thought I was such a stiff. But then P started talking about a word game they all like to play (Bananagrams), and S said, "Oh, Erica would KILL you in that. Erica, have you ever played Bananagrams?" I'd never heard of it, so I said no. "Oh, you have to play! Wanna learn?"
I love games. I grew up playing every conceivable board and card game (and billiards, too), but I got out of the habit because John doesn't enjoy games. So I felt my enthusiasm and competitive side kicking in as we went into the living room and they showed me how to play.
John told me about this later: While I was in the living room, he'd lingered in the kitchen, helping to clean up. (I know John... part of this was to be nice and helpful, but most of it was so he could wash his own Waterford decanter and not have his intoxicated sister handling it!) He said S came into the kitchen and shooed him out, telling him he really should go in and watch us playing Bananagrams. "You have to see Erica -- I've never seen her so excited or animated! Go enjoy it!"
Sheeesh. How little she knows me, really. John said he had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't answer, "Oh, I've seen her like that before. You should see her at a spanking party." (snicker)
We had thought we'd be ducking out around 8:30-9:00, as soon as we could politely escape. We ended up leaving at 11:30.
The family won't change. His siblings will always be people I really don't care for, and they probably won't ever regard John any differently. They're never going to be the close and supportive family he yearns for. But it sure was nice to hear M call out the door as we walked toward my car, "Love you, Uncle Johnny!" And he was cheerful the rest of the weekend.
Ugh. I'm so glad I was able to let go of the need for family validation. John hasn't been so fortunate. So, these good times mean a lot.
I guess the best I can do is keep reminding him what a wonderful man he is, and how I got the best of the [his last name] family. :-)
Monday, December 26, 2011
Well, THAT didn't take long, did it...
Yes, I know. I'm obnoxious. :-)
Technically, it's still usable. It was the 26" Junior cane, and just a couple of inches snapped off. ST says he can sand and file the tip and it will be good as new, just a little shorter. But it seems I need to consider getting one of Cane-iac's tougher canes. One of those flexible ones. But I admit, I'm a little nervous about those! Someone on FetLife said I should try a Dragon Cane. I don't even know what the hell that is, but it sounds evil.
However, let's not be hasty. I do still have two other canes, you know. Which ST put to good use tonight, along with the leather slapper and all his other damn weapons of ass destruction. He was rather smug and gleeful about it all, too. "Oh, does that hurt?" Again with that! (snort)
I made it quite clear what I thought of his attitude.
He then made it clear what he thought of mine.
"If it makes you feel any better," he teased, "I'm not going to spank you again until next year." Oh, har har har.
We then watched our video on my TV, since he burned it to a DVD for me. After that, it was time to load the photos from his camera onto my computer. Of course, my computer decided to be temperamental and completely froze up, and I had to restart it. So we had a couple of minutes to wait...
Yup. Over the chair.
"Your computer was conspiring against you," he said. "It knew you needed more." Oy.
"Are you done now?" I snapped.
"I'm never done spanking you," he replied. "I just take breaks."
The man is insatiable. How fortunate, considering that I am, too. :-)
Less than one week and all this holiday business is over for another year. And can someone please explain to me why they're still showing Christmas commercials when it's December 26th? Feliz Navidad, my ass!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Off Topic: Holiday Reminiscence
(Yes, this post will be out of character for me. Have to keep y'all guessing once in a while, don't I?)
Something you might not know about me -- I love classical music. When I was growing up, I was exposed to three types of music in my home: 1) from my brother, rock and roll, 2) from my father, movie/theater soundtracks (yes, show tunes), and 3) from my mother, classical music. I had a special affinity for the latter and loved to listen to it at night before I went to sleep. I was familiar with many composers and their various pieces.
One piece of music I adored was Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker Ballet." I think everyone has heard bits and pieces of this ballet in their lifetime; for example, who hasn't heard this? Anyway, it's a Christmas-themed ballet, so every year at the holidays, there are several live productions of the Nutcracker. But when I was little, I never saw the ballet, just heard the music. I didn't know the story behind it.
When I was in my early 20s, I finally saw The Nutcracker. A friend and I got tickets and went to the Music Center in downtown L.A., and for the first time, I got to see the beautiful tale that went with the music. Briefly, it is the story of a lonely young girl named Clara, who, on Christmas Eve, is given a handmade Nutcracker doll by her uncle, who is a toymaker. She is so enamored of it, she can't sleep that night, and sneaks downstairs after everyone has gone to bed. She finds the doll under the Christmas tree and falls asleep there with it in her arms. At midnight, everything around her changes, and her Nutcracker doll changes into a handsome Prince, who whisks her off on a magical journey with lots of treats and surprises.
Over the years, the ending scenes of the ballet have changed, but in the original version (the one I saw), toward the end, Clara and the Prince dance together, and the music takes on a somber, dreamy tone. You sense that something sad is about to happen. Sure enough, her uncle comes into the scene; he has come to take her back home (or, if you will, it's time to wake up from her dream, and her uncle is a symbol of reality). The dance becomes a poignant struggle for Clara -- you can see that she knows she must go with her uncle, she wants to obey him... oh, but how badly she wants to stay with her beloved Prince. The two extremes are highlighted by the fact that the Prince is all in white, while her uncle is in black.
As I watched this unfolding on the stage, over 30 years ago, I bawled like a baby. Not just because the music and the dance were so achingly exquisite, but because it touched me personally. After all, at that time, I was well acquainted with having dreams and fantasies that felt so real, were so compelling, that I wanted to immerse myself in them and never come back.
My life is not the same now. I have a prince of a man, and I made many of my fantasies come true. But I still love The Nutcracker ballet. And I still can't watch that scene, or hear that part of the music, without my eyes welling.
For those who might enjoy this, I did some digging through dozens of clips on YouTube and found my favorite version of this scene I love so much, with Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gelsey Kirkland. It starts out energetic, but the poignant pas de deux (French for "steps for two") begins about a minute-and-a-half into the clip.
I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.
Something you might not know about me -- I love classical music. When I was growing up, I was exposed to three types of music in my home: 1) from my brother, rock and roll, 2) from my father, movie/theater soundtracks (yes, show tunes), and 3) from my mother, classical music. I had a special affinity for the latter and loved to listen to it at night before I went to sleep. I was familiar with many composers and their various pieces.
One piece of music I adored was Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker Ballet." I think everyone has heard bits and pieces of this ballet in their lifetime; for example, who hasn't heard this? Anyway, it's a Christmas-themed ballet, so every year at the holidays, there are several live productions of the Nutcracker. But when I was little, I never saw the ballet, just heard the music. I didn't know the story behind it.
When I was in my early 20s, I finally saw The Nutcracker. A friend and I got tickets and went to the Music Center in downtown L.A., and for the first time, I got to see the beautiful tale that went with the music. Briefly, it is the story of a lonely young girl named Clara, who, on Christmas Eve, is given a handmade Nutcracker doll by her uncle, who is a toymaker. She is so enamored of it, she can't sleep that night, and sneaks downstairs after everyone has gone to bed. She finds the doll under the Christmas tree and falls asleep there with it in her arms. At midnight, everything around her changes, and her Nutcracker doll changes into a handsome Prince, who whisks her off on a magical journey with lots of treats and surprises.
Over the years, the ending scenes of the ballet have changed, but in the original version (the one I saw), toward the end, Clara and the Prince dance together, and the music takes on a somber, dreamy tone. You sense that something sad is about to happen. Sure enough, her uncle comes into the scene; he has come to take her back home (or, if you will, it's time to wake up from her dream, and her uncle is a symbol of reality). The dance becomes a poignant struggle for Clara -- you can see that she knows she must go with her uncle, she wants to obey him... oh, but how badly she wants to stay with her beloved Prince. The two extremes are highlighted by the fact that the Prince is all in white, while her uncle is in black.
As I watched this unfolding on the stage, over 30 years ago, I bawled like a baby. Not just because the music and the dance were so achingly exquisite, but because it touched me personally. After all, at that time, I was well acquainted with having dreams and fantasies that felt so real, were so compelling, that I wanted to immerse myself in them and never come back.
My life is not the same now. I have a prince of a man, and I made many of my fantasies come true. But I still love The Nutcracker ballet. And I still can't watch that scene, or hear that part of the music, without my eyes welling.
For those who might enjoy this, I did some digging through dozens of clips on YouTube and found my favorite version of this scene I love so much, with Mikhail Baryshnikov and Gelsey Kirkland. It starts out energetic, but the poignant pas de deux (French for "steps for two") begins about a minute-and-a-half into the clip.
I hope everyone had a wonderful weekend.
Friday, December 23, 2011
Happy Merry Joyous etc.
Or not. Whatever you're celebrating this weekend, enjoy it. And if it's like every other weekend for you, then that's OK too.
I am so jazzed that ST got our video, "It's a Wonderful Spanking," done and I was finally able to get it posted last night after several failed attempts. Just in time to be Chrossed! And I am in wonderful company this week with lots of fun holiday-themed blogs. The video has gotten a ton of hits; now, can we have a few more comments, please please please? :-D
Yes, I'm an attention whore. This can't be news to you. Well, if not for me, then definitely for ST. He worked hard and did a fabulous job cutting it all together.
A couple of shout-outs today. First, if you'd like to hear Richard Windsor's annual Christmas program (cool music and recorded greetings from several spanko people, including Pixie and Dana Specht), go here. Rich puts a lot of work into these shows and they are clearly a labor of love. I was very pleased to be included, as I was last year.
Also, Pandora Blake's Dreams of Spanking production site has officially launched! I know she's thrilled to pieces over it and I wish her all the best. Go take a look around.
And finally, for the F/M spanking aficionados among us, check out Dana Kane's latest hilarious Product Testing video. This woman has way too damn much fun. Cute apron, too!
So, what's everyone's weekend looking like? John's sister pulled one of her famous last-possible-minute "Oh, by the way, we're having dinner" invitations for tomorrow, Xmas Eve, so we're headed to her place for the festivities. John will bring champagne, for which I am grateful. Of course,we're stuck with we look forward to picking up his mother and taking her there. The good news is, she'll want to go home early, which is fine by us! More good news -- John's brother and sister-in-law are having Xmas Day dinner, but we weren't invited to that. Also fine. One dinner is enough, thank you.
Family or no family, I look forward to being with my beloved. ♥
Whatever you're doing, whomever you're with... have a great, stress-free, fun holiday weekend, y'all.
I am so jazzed that ST got our video, "It's a Wonderful Spanking," done and I was finally able to get it posted last night after several failed attempts. Just in time to be Chrossed! And I am in wonderful company this week with lots of fun holiday-themed blogs. The video has gotten a ton of hits; now, can we have a few more comments, please please please? :-D
Yes, I'm an attention whore. This can't be news to you. Well, if not for me, then definitely for ST. He worked hard and did a fabulous job cutting it all together.
A couple of shout-outs today. First, if you'd like to hear Richard Windsor's annual Christmas program (cool music and recorded greetings from several spanko people, including Pixie and Dana Specht), go here. Rich puts a lot of work into these shows and they are clearly a labor of love. I was very pleased to be included, as I was last year.
Also, Pandora Blake's Dreams of Spanking production site has officially launched! I know she's thrilled to pieces over it and I wish her all the best. Go take a look around.
And finally, for the F/M spanking aficionados among us, check out Dana Kane's latest hilarious Product Testing video. This woman has way too damn much fun. Cute apron, too!
So, what's everyone's weekend looking like? John's sister pulled one of her famous last-possible-minute "Oh, by the way, we're having dinner" invitations for tomorrow, Xmas Eve, so we're headed to her place for the festivities. John will bring champagne, for which I am grateful. Of course,
Family or no family, I look forward to being with my beloved. ♥
Whatever you're doing, whomever you're with... have a great, stress-free, fun holiday weekend, y'all.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
It's a Wonderful Spanking!
Here it is -- our 2nd annual holiday video! Thanks to ST and his intrepid editing, we have 16 minutes of spanking silliness for you. So without further ado, I present: My visit from Santa's demented lisping elf, Seymour. :-)
(oh, and because I know there are perfectionists like me out there who will point this out, I'll do it for you -- I got my cartoon characters mixed up. Yes, I know... it's not Elmer Fudd who lisps, it's Daffy Duck. Oh well!)
Hope you enjoy! For reasons unknown, the full version absolutely refused to upload, even after three attempts. So it's in two parts.
Part 1:
And Part 2:
(oh, and because I know there are perfectionists like me out there who will point this out, I'll do it for you -- I got my cartoon characters mixed up. Yes, I know... it's not Elmer Fudd who lisps, it's Daffy Duck. Oh well!)
Hope you enjoy! For reasons unknown, the full version absolutely refused to upload, even after three attempts. So it's in two parts.
Part 1:
And Part 2:
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Who are you calling an "old, wrinkled jerk"?? Bah.
Put down your coffee cup, your water, your juice, whatever, or you'll spew it. Check out Zelle's JibJab holiday card to me. :-D
Make sure you click on the Full Screen icon (lower right corner) to expand the screen and see the faces more clearly. Forget that! I made the screen bigger. Did you recognize everyone? (I can't believe she put David Selby in there. LOL!)
Oh, and she made a point of telling me she did NOT write the script. (snicker)
And why the hell is the turkey stuffed with broccoli?
Thank you, Zelle!
Oh, and she made a point of telling me she did NOT write the script. (snicker)
And why the hell is the turkey stuffed with broccoli?
Thank you, Zelle!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Today at the mall
Went against better judgment in hopes that an inspiration for John would strike. The man is impossible to buy for, but every now and then, I get lucky. This year, no ideas.
Parked two blocks away on residential street to avoid the crazily crowded lots. Walked in and looked at mall directory. Five million stores. He likes Old Navy. Every other store but Old Navy. He likes books. Five million stores, but not one book store. He likes CDs. No music stores left, either. It's a Kindle/MP3 world.
Wandered through mall. Walked into a couple of clothing stores to look at men's shirts. Very specific taste -- collared shirts, short sleeves, 100% cotton. Saw nothing like that. Left clothing stores.
Bought myself a 2012 calendar. Bad Kitties. Thought that was apropos.
Thirsty. Stopped at Food Court to get a soda. Stood in line 15 minutes for one freaking drink.
Went into Target, hoping music section might have some CDs. Nothing but rock and rap -- no classical or jazz, his two favorites. Left Target.
Saw a mini-train chugging through the mall, shuttling small children. Looked at the side and saw it was named the "Red Caboose Express." Stood there staring at it and giggling. People passing by looked at me funny.
Went into one more clothing store, but sensibilities were assaulted by over-loud Xmas music. Left store without looking.
Went into Things Remembered (personalized gifts) and considered a nice coffee mug. They couldn't engrave it while I waited -- I'd have to come back to the mall later in the week. Forget that. Left Things Remembered.
Figured this was hopeless and left the mall.
Drove home in traffic. Took a gulp of my soda at a red light and it went down the wrong way. Had to pull into a parking lot until I stopped wheezing.
Got home. Went online and ordered John a gift card on Amazon.com.
Probably what I should have done in the first @#$%ing place.
Parked two blocks away on residential street to avoid the crazily crowded lots. Walked in and looked at mall directory. Five million stores. He likes Old Navy. Every other store but Old Navy. He likes books. Five million stores, but not one book store. He likes CDs. No music stores left, either. It's a Kindle/MP3 world.
Wandered through mall. Walked into a couple of clothing stores to look at men's shirts. Very specific taste -- collared shirts, short sleeves, 100% cotton. Saw nothing like that. Left clothing stores.
Bought myself a 2012 calendar. Bad Kitties. Thought that was apropos.
Thirsty. Stopped at Food Court to get a soda. Stood in line 15 minutes for one freaking drink.
Went into Target, hoping music section might have some CDs. Nothing but rock and rap -- no classical or jazz, his two favorites. Left Target.
Saw a mini-train chugging through the mall, shuttling small children. Looked at the side and saw it was named the "Red Caboose Express." Stood there staring at it and giggling. People passing by looked at me funny.
Went into one more clothing store, but sensibilities were assaulted by over-loud Xmas music. Left store without looking.
Went into Things Remembered (personalized gifts) and considered a nice coffee mug. They couldn't engrave it while I waited -- I'd have to come back to the mall later in the week. Forget that. Left Things Remembered.
Figured this was hopeless and left the mall.
Drove home in traffic. Took a gulp of my soda at a red light and it went down the wrong way. Had to pull into a parking lot until I stopped wheezing.
Got home. Went online and ordered John a gift card on Amazon.com.
Probably what I should have done in the first @#$%ing place.
Monday, December 19, 2011
Preview of coming attractions
Tonight, ST and I shot another Holiday Extravaganza! He showed up with his video camera and a fun idea; he even had a few props. I was laughing and clapping my hands like a kid -- yup, Ericaneezer Scrooge took a hike for a little while.
We were a little more ambitious this time, fooling around with different camera angles and shooting/reshooting the same scenes. And ST is going to be doing some very creative editing and special effects. OK, so the lighting wasn't perfect and we were a little off in our angles and we flubbed some lines, but we shot lots of variety and I know he'll have plenty to cut together and make something terrific out of it. It was hard not to crack up through it all -- in fact, I believe I did, several times, as did he. :-D How can you not laugh when you're being spanked by a demented elf with a speech impediment? (yes, really)
One goof we made -- we shot all the scenes, got all the extra snippets we needed, and then he put the equipment away while I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Only then did we realize we hadn't taken any stills! Arggh!
Oh well. You'll just have to wait for the video. But in the meantime...
I gave ST his gifts. I'd made him some brownies from scratch and had them nicely packed in a Tupperware container with a bow on it. Along with those, I'd gotten him the Leather Spanking Buddy from Cane-iac (I'd ordered it at the same time I ordered the first cane). Naturally, he just had to test it, immediately. And he passed the elf cap onto me.
Yeah... we're not too hammy, are we? ;-)
Poor sulky elf...
I love the Spanking Buddy! It packs a wallop, but it's a stinging, slappy, leathery wallop, not a thuddy wallop.
ST felt bad; said he didn't get me anything. I told him his gift to me is year-round. :-)
Stay tuned -- I'm hoping to have the first clip or two up by Wednesday.
And speaking of clips -- forget Clips4Sale. Not only do they have a 10-clip minimum, but someone told me they now require you to update and add new stuff monthly. Screw that! Something will work out. W.D.M.E. will be available again, somewhere. :-)
We were a little more ambitious this time, fooling around with different camera angles and shooting/reshooting the same scenes. And ST is going to be doing some very creative editing and special effects. OK, so the lighting wasn't perfect and we were a little off in our angles and we flubbed some lines, but we shot lots of variety and I know he'll have plenty to cut together and make something terrific out of it. It was hard not to crack up through it all -- in fact, I believe I did, several times, as did he. :-D How can you not laugh when you're being spanked by a demented elf with a speech impediment? (yes, really)
One goof we made -- we shot all the scenes, got all the extra snippets we needed, and then he put the equipment away while I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt. Only then did we realize we hadn't taken any stills! Arggh!
Oh well. You'll just have to wait for the video. But in the meantime...
I gave ST his gifts. I'd made him some brownies from scratch and had them nicely packed in a Tupperware container with a bow on it. Along with those, I'd gotten him the Leather Spanking Buddy from Cane-iac (I'd ordered it at the same time I ordered the first cane). Naturally, he just had to test it, immediately. And he passed the elf cap onto me.
Yeah... we're not too hammy, are we? ;-)
Poor sulky elf...
I love the Spanking Buddy! It packs a wallop, but it's a stinging, slappy, leathery wallop, not a thuddy wallop.
ST felt bad; said he didn't get me anything. I told him his gift to me is year-round. :-)
Stay tuned -- I'm hoping to have the first clip or two up by Wednesday.
And speaking of clips -- forget Clips4Sale. Not only do they have a 10-clip minimum, but someone told me they now require you to update and add new stuff monthly. Screw that! Something will work out. W.D.M.E. will be available again, somewhere. :-)
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Things are never as simple as they seem, are they?
As you guys may remember, I've been trying to figure out what I want to do with "When Danny Met Erica," the video Danny and I shot and produced together. For a few years, Shadow Lane was distributing it for us, but they're no longer distributing other people's material. Same deal with other video companies.
So I thought, OK, since everyone seems to have a Clips4Sale store these days, I might as well join in. I wrote to Tony and asked what I needed, since he had the master DVD. He said he'd break it up into three clips for me and then, if I had a C4S store set up, he'd upload them for me, or send me a disk, whichever I preferred. Very nice of him.
I'd heard setting up the C4S account is quick and easy. Not quite.
First, they require a scanned file of your ID, plus a scan of one of your bills (with your real name and address on it). I still don't have a scanner. I meant to get one -- I've been researching all-in-one printers and had finally narrowed it down to the exact make and model that I want. And it's out of stock everywhere. I called Epson and they said it's back-ordered, and they'll email me when it's in stock. So, still no scanner.
OK, that's an inconvenience, but doable. I just have to go to Fedex/Kinko's and use their scanner. However, there was another requirement. I have to have a minimum of 10 clips to establish a store.
I don't suppose they'll accept 3 instead of 10, huh? Even if I ask real nice? Blech.
So I checked out Spanking Library. I didn't see any minimum requirement there. But they said it's mandatory to give an address where 2257 documentation is available.
OK, I know what 2257 is -- that's the bit where you have to prove all people on camera were over 18. I don't have documentation and papers and photos and all that crap like the studios keep -- it was just a private little thing between Danny and me. He did put the 2257 notice in the video, because that's required. But I have no address to give them. Mine? Sure, I could do that, but what happens if they ask me to produce papers?
So forget them too.
Dammit! All I want to do is sell this film somewhere. It's too good a piece of work to not be available. And it breaks into three perfect clips, since it's comprised of three separate scenes.
Wish I were more savvy about these things. It's rather frustrating.
Oh well. In other news, I got an unexpected reprieve this weekend. John's sister and brother-in-law, for whatever reason, didn't have their annual holiday blow-out party this year. They've done it every year for the past 30 years or more, and I've gone with John every year since I've known him. I've written blog accounts of a couple of them, too. Basically, it's the same scenario each time: tons of people, live music, food I don't like, lots of noise, copious quantities of alcohol and pot, people getting progressively louder and drunker as the night goes on, dancing in a tiny area where there isn't enough room and people crashing into each other and stepping all over each other's feet, and me wishing we could go home. Yes, I know. I'm such a fun party girl.
I think I mentioned this before, but John's bro-in-law once made fun of me in the party invitation, writing, "You'll like this one, Erica -- we've invited several librarians and we'll be playing chamber music." Asshat. What can I say -- I'd much rather spend a few hours with a couple of good friends, a good meal and some champagne. Have a conversation during which I don't have to scream over a racket. I really can be fun in that kind of scenario. Honest. And if you think I'm some uptight librarian type, you lecherous boob, I've got a few websites I can show you.
One more bit of news: Since Late Bloomer came out, I've had a resurgence of sales for What Happens to Naughty Girls? However, I've been informed that it's no longer on sale at Amazon.com. No worries, as it's still very much available from its original site at Lulu. If you click on the picture of the book on the right (just below the picture of Late Bloomer), it'll take you directly to its Lulu page.
And don't forget, y'all -- if you've read LB and you liked it, and you haven't already done so, please drop by the Amazon page and leave a review. I have 15 so far, and every single one helps. Thanks. :-)
Anyway, tomorrow is the last chance before Hanuchristmakwanzadanivus for ST to spank the Scrooge out of me. Let's see if he makes any progress.
So I thought, OK, since everyone seems to have a Clips4Sale store these days, I might as well join in. I wrote to Tony and asked what I needed, since he had the master DVD. He said he'd break it up into three clips for me and then, if I had a C4S store set up, he'd upload them for me, or send me a disk, whichever I preferred. Very nice of him.
I'd heard setting up the C4S account is quick and easy. Not quite.
First, they require a scanned file of your ID, plus a scan of one of your bills (with your real name and address on it). I still don't have a scanner. I meant to get one -- I've been researching all-in-one printers and had finally narrowed it down to the exact make and model that I want. And it's out of stock everywhere. I called Epson and they said it's back-ordered, and they'll email me when it's in stock. So, still no scanner.
OK, that's an inconvenience, but doable. I just have to go to Fedex/Kinko's and use their scanner. However, there was another requirement. I have to have a minimum of 10 clips to establish a store.
I don't suppose they'll accept 3 instead of 10, huh? Even if I ask real nice? Blech.
So I checked out Spanking Library. I didn't see any minimum requirement there. But they said it's mandatory to give an address where 2257 documentation is available.
OK, I know what 2257 is -- that's the bit where you have to prove all people on camera were over 18. I don't have documentation and papers and photos and all that crap like the studios keep -- it was just a private little thing between Danny and me. He did put the 2257 notice in the video, because that's required. But I have no address to give them. Mine? Sure, I could do that, but what happens if they ask me to produce papers?
So forget them too.
Dammit! All I want to do is sell this film somewhere. It's too good a piece of work to not be available. And it breaks into three perfect clips, since it's comprised of three separate scenes.
Wish I were more savvy about these things. It's rather frustrating.
Oh well. In other news, I got an unexpected reprieve this weekend. John's sister and brother-in-law, for whatever reason, didn't have their annual holiday blow-out party this year. They've done it every year for the past 30 years or more, and I've gone with John every year since I've known him. I've written blog accounts of a couple of them, too. Basically, it's the same scenario each time: tons of people, live music, food I don't like, lots of noise, copious quantities of alcohol and pot, people getting progressively louder and drunker as the night goes on, dancing in a tiny area where there isn't enough room and people crashing into each other and stepping all over each other's feet, and me wishing we could go home. Yes, I know. I'm such a fun party girl.
I think I mentioned this before, but John's bro-in-law once made fun of me in the party invitation, writing, "You'll like this one, Erica -- we've invited several librarians and we'll be playing chamber music." Asshat. What can I say -- I'd much rather spend a few hours with a couple of good friends, a good meal and some champagne. Have a conversation during which I don't have to scream over a racket. I really can be fun in that kind of scenario. Honest. And if you think I'm some uptight librarian type, you lecherous boob, I've got a few websites I can show you.
One more bit of news: Since Late Bloomer came out, I've had a resurgence of sales for What Happens to Naughty Girls? However, I've been informed that it's no longer on sale at Amazon.com. No worries, as it's still very much available from its original site at Lulu. If you click on the picture of the book on the right (just below the picture of Late Bloomer), it'll take you directly to its Lulu page.
And don't forget, y'all -- if you've read LB and you liked it, and you haven't already done so, please drop by the Amazon page and leave a review. I have 15 so far, and every single one helps. Thanks. :-)
Anyway, tomorrow is the last chance before Hanuchristmakwanzadanivus for ST to spank the Scrooge out of me. Let's see if he makes any progress.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Time for a Christmas carol parody
Several of us trot these out during the holidays; here's a few examples from the ever-brilliant parodist Lea. As it happens, I've borrowed one of the same songs she did, but I've gone in a different direction with it. I now present my ode to spanking implements, O Bag of Toys (to the tune of O Christmas Tree).
♪♫ ♪♫
O leather belt, o leather belt,
Your SNAP has my ears ringing
O martinet, o martinet,
Your tails are really stinging!
That hairbrush is,
One nasty pup,
I’m eating dinner
Standing up!
O leather belt, o leather belt,
It’s pain that you are bringing.
O razor strap, o razor strap,
Upon my bum you’re crashing
O wooden spoon, o wooden spoon
I don’t deserve this thrashing
The paddle makes
My bottom red
Why can’t he use
His hand instead??
O razor strap, o razor strap,
Straight to the Dumpster dashing!
O Cane-iac, o Cane-iac,
Your canes came in the mail,
Both 5/16” and 7/16”
Were whacked across my tail
I never mark, the stripes don’t last
But oh they smart, I’m learning fast
O Cane-iac, o Cane-iac,
My neighbors heard me wail!
O bag of toys, o bag of toys,
With nerves of mush you fill me
But if I threw you in the fire,
My top would surely kill me!
But when it’s all,
Been said and done,
I must admit,
You’re kinda fun.
O bag of toys, o bag of toys,
Don’t tell, but yes, you thrill me. ♥
(shhhhhh... that last part is a secret!) ;-)
(shhhhhh... that last part is a secret!) ;-)
Have a great weekend, y'all. Don't forget to vote for your favorite Blog of the Year.
Labels:
parody
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Very tough choice, I know
This year's Spanking Spot "Blogger of the Year" award nominations are up; a list of ten, and yours truly is among them.
I know it's cheesy to say it's an honor to be nominated, but honestly, it is. I mean, there are so many spanking blogs and talented writers, and to land on a short list of ten is an amazing compliment.
It's a difficult choice this year. I am in great company, including the P's -- Pink, Pixie, Poppy and Pandora. And of course, Chross. So winning isn't happening, but some votes from friends would be lovely and validating nonetheless! :-)
Voting is open until 12/21. Good luck, everyone!
I know it's cheesy to say it's an honor to be nominated, but honestly, it is. I mean, there are so many spanking blogs and talented writers, and to land on a short list of ten is an amazing compliment.
It's a difficult choice this year. I am in great company, including the P's -- Pink, Pixie, Poppy and Pandora. And of course, Chross. So winning isn't happening, but some votes from friends would be lovely and validating nonetheless! :-)
Voting is open until 12/21. Good luck, everyone!
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Buns of Steel Award + miscellaneous
On today's Spanking Court blog, I was named one of four recipients of the Buns of Steel Award (the others are Alex, Katarina and Cookie).
Here's the funny part, though. Cali wrote that all four of us broke an implement during our sessions. For the life of me, I can't remember breaking anything! I mean, wouldn't I have crowed about it endlessly on here if I had? Now Alex, she broke something. She snapped a paddle in half.
So, I wonder what the BOS award looks like. Will it look good next to this? :-)
In other blog news -- want a giggle? Check out Hermione's Wednesday WIN today. I don't know where she finds so many great pictures, but it made me laugh out loud.
And finally, in today's Idiocy Award:
(Warning: Men, you may want to stop here. Girly hormonal stuff ahead.)
Without going into too much detail, let's just say that when a woman is in menopause, her estrogen levels are reduced, which can affect her sex life. So, I have been recently prescribed low-dose estrogen cream. Now, considering that the word "vaginal" is in the cream's name, that's pretty much a no-brainer, right?
Wrong. On the package is a bright red warning label: "For vaginal use ONLY."
Really? What did they think I was going to do, stick it in my ear?
What's next? Warning labels on K-Y Jelly? "Not for use on toast."
(massive eye roll)
Here's the funny part, though. Cali wrote that all four of us broke an implement during our sessions. For the life of me, I can't remember breaking anything! I mean, wouldn't I have crowed about it endlessly on here if I had? Now Alex, she broke something. She snapped a paddle in half.
So, I wonder what the BOS award looks like. Will it look good next to this? :-)
In other blog news -- want a giggle? Check out Hermione's Wednesday WIN today. I don't know where she finds so many great pictures, but it made me laugh out loud.
And finally, in today's Idiocy Award:
(Warning: Men, you may want to stop here. Girly hormonal stuff ahead.)
Without going into too much detail, let's just say that when a woman is in menopause, her estrogen levels are reduced, which can affect her sex life. So, I have been recently prescribed low-dose estrogen cream. Now, considering that the word "vaginal" is in the cream's name, that's pretty much a no-brainer, right?
Wrong. On the package is a bright red warning label: "For vaginal use ONLY."
Really? What did they think I was going to do, stick it in my ear?
What's next? Warning labels on K-Y Jelly? "Not for use on toast."
(massive eye roll)
Labels:
Hermione,
Spanking Court
Monday, December 12, 2011
My second purchase from Cane-iac
OK, I confess -- I didn't get a new cane from Cane-iac.
I got two new canes. The Master's Choice JR 26" cane, and the OTK cane, which is 18". So now I have three total.
Some of you who find canes a bit horrifying are thinking, "WHY???" Others didn't even blink. John said, "Why didn't you order a whole bunch more? They break!" Oh, please. I'm breaking my own rule here as it is! What is it I always say? "If a top wants to use implements on me, he can damn well buy them himself!" Ah well. I guess ST shouldn't have to foot the bill for everything.
So tonight I got all three. Of course, two of them were the same thickness, so they felt similar. But the longer one was whippier. Overall, I'd say the 7/16" one is a bit thuddier and the 5/16" versions sting and bite more. And the 26" version whips more than the 18".
Oh, that's too damn specific for overall, Erica. OK. They all effing HURT! Is that better?
I confess, we didn't go for the "no warmup, more stripes" caning. In fact, we almost forgot the canes altogether, as ST went to town with his usual bag of tricks. But after I'd recovered a bit, I went to my bedroom and retrieved the canes. Yes, I'm insatiable. And I was curious.
ST had a grand old time doing the Three Bears routine with the three canes. Or should I say, the three bares. Although there was just one bare (mine).
I think the 5/16" version shows the striping a little better, don't you?
"Oh!" I said when we were winding down, "we need some product placement shots!"
No, this is NOT what I meant, smart-ass.
Sheesh. Everyone's a comedian.
Let's try this again, shall we? Here I am, happily showing off all three of my new toys.
As with the first time, quick delivery and excellent packaging. I am singing their praises once again. In fact, I posted something on Twitter about becoming a "Cane-iac Maniac," and Ms. Zelle happened to see it. Her latest creation:
(giggles) I'm quite the muse, aren't I?
I had a gyno appointment this morning (always a barrel of fun) and while I was there, they told me I should get a flu shot and a "dtap" shot (combination of diphtheria, tetanus and pertussis, AKA whooping cough). Ugh. I got one in each arm, and they warned me that I would have a fair amount of soreness, because they shoot directly into the muscle. Holy crap, they weren't kidding. Here's the good news: thanks to ST, I'm not thinking about the pain in my arms at the moment. :-)
I got two new canes. The Master's Choice JR 26" cane, and the OTK cane, which is 18". So now I have three total.
Some of you who find canes a bit horrifying are thinking, "WHY???" Others didn't even blink. John said, "Why didn't you order a whole bunch more? They break!" Oh, please. I'm breaking my own rule here as it is! What is it I always say? "If a top wants to use implements on me, he can damn well buy them himself!" Ah well. I guess ST shouldn't have to foot the bill for everything.
So tonight I got all three. Of course, two of them were the same thickness, so they felt similar. But the longer one was whippier. Overall, I'd say the 7/16" one is a bit thuddier and the 5/16" versions sting and bite more. And the 26" version whips more than the 18".
Oh, that's too damn specific for overall, Erica. OK. They all effing HURT! Is that better?
I confess, we didn't go for the "no warmup, more stripes" caning. In fact, we almost forgot the canes altogether, as ST went to town with his usual bag of tricks. But after I'd recovered a bit, I went to my bedroom and retrieved the canes. Yes, I'm insatiable. And I was curious.
ST had a grand old time doing the Three Bears routine with the three canes. Or should I say, the three bares. Although there was just one bare (mine).
I think the 5/16" version shows the striping a little better, don't you?
"Oh!" I said when we were winding down, "we need some product placement shots!"
No, this is NOT what I meant, smart-ass.
Sheesh. Everyone's a comedian.
Let's try this again, shall we? Here I am, happily showing off all three of my new toys.
As with the first time, quick delivery and excellent packaging. I am singing their praises once again. In fact, I posted something on Twitter about becoming a "Cane-iac Maniac," and Ms. Zelle happened to see it. Her latest creation:
(giggles) I'm quite the muse, aren't I?
I had a gyno appointment this morning (always a barrel of fun) and while I was there, they told me I should get a flu shot and a "dtap" shot (combination of diphtheria, tetanus and pertussis, AKA whooping cough). Ugh. I got one in each arm, and they warned me that I would have a fair amount of soreness, because they shoot directly into the muscle. Holy crap, they weren't kidding. Here's the good news: thanks to ST, I'm not thinking about the pain in my arms at the moment. :-)
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Odds and Ends not in my book, Part 5
Since many of you seem to enjoy my "old Hollywood" recollections, here's another one -- the Marty Feldman story.
Even if you don't recall the name, you know when you've seen him and you'll never forget one of the greatest comedic faces of all time.
Here he is as Igor (pronounced Eye-gor) in Mel Brooks's "Young Frankenstein":
Many remember him this way. Me? I remember him as a frequent houseguest, and a sweetheart of a guy.
When I was in my early teens and living with my dad and his second wife S (the nice stepmother, not the mean one), Marty and his wife Lauretta (who looked a lot like S, with long dark hair and high cheekbones) came often from England for Marty's work here in the States. Whenever they were here, they stayed at our house. It was entertaining, to say the least.
Marty was pretty much the way you saw him on TV and in movies -- very hyper, energetic, wildly funny. He drank a lot of coffee (and alcohol), smoked like a fiend and couldn't sit still for five seconds. But so charming and very endearing. He was a vegetarian, and I remember S cooking separate vegetarian meals for him. Whenever there was a party and she'd make one of her favorite crowd-pleasers, lasagna, she'd make two -- one with meat and one without -- if Marty was there.
Not only was he hyper, but he was accident-prone. One summer night during one of our pool parties, he went charging through the patio door to the pool, intending to jump in, I guess. Unfortunately, while the glass door was open (thank goodness!), the screen door was closed, and he ran into it so hard, the screen split open the bridge of his nose. I still recall him sitting in one of the deck chairs, looking rather dazed, while his wife held tissues to his profusely bleeding nose.
It was so much fun having them as houseguests. But after my dad and S split up and we sold the big house, that all changed. Now he was with Vampira, and God forbid she associate with any of Dad's old friends who had also been friends with S. Stupid cow. So when Marty and Lauretta came to the States after that, they stayed in a hotel, and Dad and I would go visit them.
My #1 favorite memory of Marty is from one of those visits. (Some of you have heard this story before, so please bear with me.)
One Sunday, we were at the Feldmans' hotel; several others were there and they'd ordered a spread of food. I was 16 and already in the throes of my eating disorders, so I sat quietly without touching any of the food. Marty, fresh from all the wonderful treatment he'd had at our house, was determined to be a good and proper host himself, and he was also determined that he was going to get me to have something, even if it was just a beverage.
So, basically, he offered me just about everything liquid in existence, in rapid-fire succession. The conversation, very brief, went as follows, the replies flying like bullets. I don't think either one of us drew a breath.
Him: Erica, love, would you like something to drink?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Are you sure? A glass of wine?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: How about a soda?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Juice?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Water?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Coffee?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Tea?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Well, fuck you, then.
Me: Fuck you, too.
Very calm, very matter-of-fact, in that perfect English accent of his. Of course, afterward, he gave me a big hug and we both laughed.
Marty died in 1982, at age 48, of a heart attack. Way too damn young.
I'll never forget him.
Even if you don't recall the name, you know when you've seen him and you'll never forget one of the greatest comedic faces of all time.
Here he is as Igor (pronounced Eye-gor) in Mel Brooks's "Young Frankenstein":
Many remember him this way. Me? I remember him as a frequent houseguest, and a sweetheart of a guy.
When I was in my early teens and living with my dad and his second wife S (the nice stepmother, not the mean one), Marty and his wife Lauretta (who looked a lot like S, with long dark hair and high cheekbones) came often from England for Marty's work here in the States. Whenever they were here, they stayed at our house. It was entertaining, to say the least.
Marty was pretty much the way you saw him on TV and in movies -- very hyper, energetic, wildly funny. He drank a lot of coffee (and alcohol), smoked like a fiend and couldn't sit still for five seconds. But so charming and very endearing. He was a vegetarian, and I remember S cooking separate vegetarian meals for him. Whenever there was a party and she'd make one of her favorite crowd-pleasers, lasagna, she'd make two -- one with meat and one without -- if Marty was there.
Not only was he hyper, but he was accident-prone. One summer night during one of our pool parties, he went charging through the patio door to the pool, intending to jump in, I guess. Unfortunately, while the glass door was open (thank goodness!), the screen door was closed, and he ran into it so hard, the screen split open the bridge of his nose. I still recall him sitting in one of the deck chairs, looking rather dazed, while his wife held tissues to his profusely bleeding nose.
It was so much fun having them as houseguests. But after my dad and S split up and we sold the big house, that all changed. Now he was with Vampira, and God forbid she associate with any of Dad's old friends who had also been friends with S. Stupid cow. So when Marty and Lauretta came to the States after that, they stayed in a hotel, and Dad and I would go visit them.
My #1 favorite memory of Marty is from one of those visits. (Some of you have heard this story before, so please bear with me.)
One Sunday, we were at the Feldmans' hotel; several others were there and they'd ordered a spread of food. I was 16 and already in the throes of my eating disorders, so I sat quietly without touching any of the food. Marty, fresh from all the wonderful treatment he'd had at our house, was determined to be a good and proper host himself, and he was also determined that he was going to get me to have something, even if it was just a beverage.
So, basically, he offered me just about everything liquid in existence, in rapid-fire succession. The conversation, very brief, went as follows, the replies flying like bullets. I don't think either one of us drew a breath.
Him: Erica, love, would you like something to drink?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Are you sure? A glass of wine?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: How about a soda?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Juice?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Water?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Coffee?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Tea?
Me: No, thank you.
Him: Well, fuck you, then.
Me: Fuck you, too.
Very calm, very matter-of-fact, in that perfect English accent of his. Of course, afterward, he gave me a big hug and we both laughed.
Marty died in 1982, at age 48, of a heart attack. Way too damn young.
I'll never forget him.
Friday, December 9, 2011
Things That Annoy Me, Part Whatever
That's right, I've lost track. Really, it would be much easier to list the things that don't annoy me. But not as much fun and certainly not as cathartic.
Every now and then, I feel like ranting about a phrase or term that irks me. The last time I did, the phrase was "I'd take a bullet for you." First of all, that's a stupidly empty phrase -- people just say it to sound like Friend of the Year, when they know damn well they'll never have to prove it. And second, who says I want you to take a bullet for me? Then you're dead or maimed, and I'm left with lifelong guilt. No, thank you.
Anyway... today's phrase is the feel-good saying: "Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened."
OK, on its sweet and shiny surface, it sounds nice. Scratch off the veneer, and you'll see that it's utter BS.
Sure, it would be nice to completely bypass the normal grieving process of loss and skip straight to the warm and happy fuzzies. And maybe some people can do that -- if they are robots, or if they're lucky enough to be sociopaths who are devoid of those pesky human emotions.
Along the same lines, I recently came across a post where the writer was talking about the transience of some relationships. I can't remember the exact wording, but it was something along the lines of, "People come and go in our lives. There is no point in morning [sic] those who have gone; we should simply focus on what we learned from them."
Oh, kiss my ass. Tell you what, folks. Don't tell me not to cry, and don't tell me not to mourn. Don't invalidate my feelings. And if you don't, I'll do my part and I won't call you an idiot for spewing such drivel.
I'm not saying we should steep ourselves in grief and stay there indefinitely. But feeling sad, crying, etc. over something we've lost is part of the process, a step that cannot be skipped. It deserves acknowledgement and patience. Telling someone they shouldn't cry or grieve is the very thing that's going to keep them stuck. Because they'll shove down the feelings and never process them properly.
I know what you're thinking. "You have your own feel-good phrase that you trot out, Erica." Yes, I do. "The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy."
Let's review. Is there any part of that saying that tells the person not to despair? That denies or invalidates the existence of the sadness? No. It is merely a statement of hope, reminding the person that if they are capable of feeling deep pain, then in turn, they can also feel great joy. And they will, sooner or later. When I'm in the pits, I tell myself this, and I know that at some point, the tide will turn.
Here's a thought, folks: Next time you talk to someone who has just suffered a loss of whatever kind, spare them the invalidating homilies. Instead, simply offer them your most heartfelt "I'm so sorry."
Enough of that. In other news, my Cane-iac blog got Chrossed today, which makes me happy. That will bring even more attention to them, which they deserve. I received my second cane in the mail today, so it will be tested next Monday. :-)
And finally -- I may be an Uber-curmudgeon this time of year, but let it not be said that I can't laugh at myself. Check out my December persona, courtesy of the brilliant Zelle. :-)
Those glasses are not mine; she Photoshopped them on. Damn, she's good! Oh, and where did she get a photo of me making such a smug face? Where else... it's my mug shot from Spanking Court.
Have a great weekend, y'all.
Every now and then, I feel like ranting about a phrase or term that irks me. The last time I did, the phrase was "I'd take a bullet for you." First of all, that's a stupidly empty phrase -- people just say it to sound like Friend of the Year, when they know damn well they'll never have to prove it. And second, who says I want you to take a bullet for me? Then you're dead or maimed, and I'm left with lifelong guilt. No, thank you.
Anyway... today's phrase is the feel-good saying: "Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened."
OK, on its sweet and shiny surface, it sounds nice. Scratch off the veneer, and you'll see that it's utter BS.
Sure, it would be nice to completely bypass the normal grieving process of loss and skip straight to the warm and happy fuzzies. And maybe some people can do that -- if they are robots, or if they're lucky enough to be sociopaths who are devoid of those pesky human emotions.
Along the same lines, I recently came across a post where the writer was talking about the transience of some relationships. I can't remember the exact wording, but it was something along the lines of, "People come and go in our lives. There is no point in morning [sic] those who have gone; we should simply focus on what we learned from them."
Oh, kiss my ass. Tell you what, folks. Don't tell me not to cry, and don't tell me not to mourn. Don't invalidate my feelings. And if you don't, I'll do my part and I won't call you an idiot for spewing such drivel.
I'm not saying we should steep ourselves in grief and stay there indefinitely. But feeling sad, crying, etc. over something we've lost is part of the process, a step that cannot be skipped. It deserves acknowledgement and patience. Telling someone they shouldn't cry or grieve is the very thing that's going to keep them stuck. Because they'll shove down the feelings and never process them properly.
I know what you're thinking. "You have your own feel-good phrase that you trot out, Erica." Yes, I do. "The depth of your despair will be the height of your joy."
Let's review. Is there any part of that saying that tells the person not to despair? That denies or invalidates the existence of the sadness? No. It is merely a statement of hope, reminding the person that if they are capable of feeling deep pain, then in turn, they can also feel great joy. And they will, sooner or later. When I'm in the pits, I tell myself this, and I know that at some point, the tide will turn.
Here's a thought, folks: Next time you talk to someone who has just suffered a loss of whatever kind, spare them the invalidating homilies. Instead, simply offer them your most heartfelt "I'm so sorry."
Enough of that. In other news, my Cane-iac blog got Chrossed today, which makes me happy. That will bring even more attention to them, which they deserve. I received my second cane in the mail today, so it will be tested next Monday. :-)
And finally -- I may be an Uber-curmudgeon this time of year, but let it not be said that I can't laugh at myself. Check out my December persona, courtesy of the brilliant Zelle. :-)
Those glasses are not mine; she Photoshopped them on. Damn, she's good! Oh, and where did she get a photo of me making such a smug face? Where else... it's my mug shot from Spanking Court.
Have a great weekend, y'all.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Implement Aversion
The other night, Poppy posted a poignant blog about losing an implement she loved. Not literally misplacing it, but having it taken from her, because a miserable excuse for a man ruined it for her with an abusive scene. She asked us if we've ever had our feelings change drastically about an implement because of a bad experience.
It got me thinking. Most of us have our "hard limits" when it comes to certain implements. But why? Because they scare us? Because they simply hurt too much? Or is it because we have a negative association with them?
I have to say, I've never had the misfortune of having some asshat ruin a beloved implement for me. But I did have someone turn a soft limit into a hard one.
You all know I prefer leather over wood, but all wooden implements are not created equal. Thicknesses, types of wood, etc. all make for a variety of sensations. But I've never liked those heavy, rectangular paddles, the "frat" style. They thud me down to the bone and they feel horrible to me, with or without holes in them. They don't even make a satisfying sound -- instead of a hearty smack, they land with a dull thunk. When I thought of those paddles, one word came to mind: brutal. And brutality was never something I enjoyed in my spankings. But still, I played with them now and then, at parties and so forth.
About four or five years ago, I met a man from the old SIN board. We did the usual coffee thing, talked, etc., and then he came back to my place to play. I liked his style and his scolding, but toward the end, he was way too touchy-feely and I had to tell him to stop. When we spoke afterward and he wanted to know if I'd like to get together again, I said yes, but he needed to keep the sexual touching out of it. He said he would.
The next time he came over, he had a bag with him, which he handed to me. "I got you a present," he said. The bag was from a local adult toy store. When I looked inside, my heart sank.
He'd bought one of those frat paddles -- it was huge and thick, exactly what I hate. The price tag was still on it, and it wasn't cheap. But wait, there's more. Also in the bag was a Pocket Rocket vibrator. WTF? I barely knew this guy -- what the hell was he doing buying me something that personal?
OK, kids. Here's where I 'fess up and say yes, even with years of experience, we can still screw up. I should have followed my instincts and told him sorry, but I've changed my mind. Take the gifts back, I don't want them, and I don't care to play after all. But I didn't. I felt bad because he'd spent all that money, and I figured the least I could do was to have another scene with him.
It was dreadful. No, he didn't try the wandering fingers thing again. Instead, he just beat the hell out of me with that @#$%ing paddle -- too fast, too hard, too everything. He did stop when I cried. But they weren't the good tears. They were tears of pain and frustration with myself and that sense of betrayal and violation we feel when someone hurts us.
The guy was utterly freaking clueless. After I calmed down a bit and we were talking, he asked, "So, did I give you what you needed?" Wha...?? Needless to say, I was a bit shocked by the question, and I replied, "Well... maybe a little too much."
I didn't say it in a snotty way. But he then reached over, grabbed my hair and snapped, "Are you being smart? Because I'll beat your ass all over again if you are."
(shudder)
Another one of my red flags -- when the spanking is over, it's over. You don't get to be harsh during aftercare. That's the time when you're supposed to be nice.
"No," I said meekly.
The cherry on the sundae was his suggesting that I use the Pocket Rocket he'd given me... in front of him. I declined. "Perhaps I should spank you until you do," he threatened. That did it. "NO," I said, very firmly. "Perhaps you shouldn't."
After he left, I felt sick. I hurt. I was marked. I looked at that effing plank of wood he'd left behind and I wanted it out of my sight. Without overthinking it, I took it down to the Dumpster and chucked it. I suppose I could have given it away... but I didn't want anyone else to suffer from it either. If I'd had a fireplace, I would have burned it.
Oh, and I tossed the Pocket Rocket too. I know, I know. Wasteful. I didn't care. It was all tainted with his ickiness.
After that, frat paddles became a hard limit. Not that it's a great loss, though, because I never really liked them.
I have every confidence that Poppy will move past her aversion, with time and patience and proper treatment from her current, most excellent top. What about others? Do you have a story behind your implement aversion? Do you want to get over it, or does it not matter?
It got me thinking. Most of us have our "hard limits" when it comes to certain implements. But why? Because they scare us? Because they simply hurt too much? Or is it because we have a negative association with them?
I have to say, I've never had the misfortune of having some asshat ruin a beloved implement for me. But I did have someone turn a soft limit into a hard one.
You all know I prefer leather over wood, but all wooden implements are not created equal. Thicknesses, types of wood, etc. all make for a variety of sensations. But I've never liked those heavy, rectangular paddles, the "frat" style. They thud me down to the bone and they feel horrible to me, with or without holes in them. They don't even make a satisfying sound -- instead of a hearty smack, they land with a dull thunk. When I thought of those paddles, one word came to mind: brutal. And brutality was never something I enjoyed in my spankings. But still, I played with them now and then, at parties and so forth.
About four or five years ago, I met a man from the old SIN board. We did the usual coffee thing, talked, etc., and then he came back to my place to play. I liked his style and his scolding, but toward the end, he was way too touchy-feely and I had to tell him to stop. When we spoke afterward and he wanted to know if I'd like to get together again, I said yes, but he needed to keep the sexual touching out of it. He said he would.
The next time he came over, he had a bag with him, which he handed to me. "I got you a present," he said. The bag was from a local adult toy store. When I looked inside, my heart sank.
He'd bought one of those frat paddles -- it was huge and thick, exactly what I hate. The price tag was still on it, and it wasn't cheap. But wait, there's more. Also in the bag was a Pocket Rocket vibrator. WTF? I barely knew this guy -- what the hell was he doing buying me something that personal?
OK, kids. Here's where I 'fess up and say yes, even with years of experience, we can still screw up. I should have followed my instincts and told him sorry, but I've changed my mind. Take the gifts back, I don't want them, and I don't care to play after all. But I didn't. I felt bad because he'd spent all that money, and I figured the least I could do was to have another scene with him.
It was dreadful. No, he didn't try the wandering fingers thing again. Instead, he just beat the hell out of me with that @#$%ing paddle -- too fast, too hard, too everything. He did stop when I cried. But they weren't the good tears. They were tears of pain and frustration with myself and that sense of betrayal and violation we feel when someone hurts us.
The guy was utterly freaking clueless. After I calmed down a bit and we were talking, he asked, "So, did I give you what you needed?" Wha...?? Needless to say, I was a bit shocked by the question, and I replied, "Well... maybe a little too much."
I didn't say it in a snotty way. But he then reached over, grabbed my hair and snapped, "Are you being smart? Because I'll beat your ass all over again if you are."
(shudder)
Another one of my red flags -- when the spanking is over, it's over. You don't get to be harsh during aftercare. That's the time when you're supposed to be nice.
"No," I said meekly.
The cherry on the sundae was his suggesting that I use the Pocket Rocket he'd given me... in front of him. I declined. "Perhaps I should spank you until you do," he threatened. That did it. "NO," I said, very firmly. "Perhaps you shouldn't."
After he left, I felt sick. I hurt. I was marked. I looked at that effing plank of wood he'd left behind and I wanted it out of my sight. Without overthinking it, I took it down to the Dumpster and chucked it. I suppose I could have given it away... but I didn't want anyone else to suffer from it either. If I'd had a fireplace, I would have burned it.
Oh, and I tossed the Pocket Rocket too. I know, I know. Wasteful. I didn't care. It was all tainted with his ickiness.
After that, frat paddles became a hard limit. Not that it's a great loss, though, because I never really liked them.
I have every confidence that Poppy will move past her aversion, with time and patience and proper treatment from her current, most excellent top. What about others? Do you have a story behind your implement aversion? Do you want to get over it, or does it not matter?
Labels:
bad scenes,
limits,
paddles
Monday, December 5, 2011
My first purchase from Cane-iac
This summary is not available. Please
click here to view the post.
Really??
OK, if people want to put up holiday decorations, that's their business. But I think my neighbor across the hall has gone a wee bit overboard.
Check out what I get to look at every freaking time I open my door:
Check out what I get to look at every freaking time I open my door:
Is it me, or is this a bit much for one little apartment door? The up-close-and-personal effect is rather cluttered. "Let it Snow"? We're in California, toots. Not happening.
And will you look at the size of those balls!
(yeah, that's what she said)
I wonder if she's rigged her doorbell to play a Christmas carol.
Labels:
bah humbug
Friday, December 2, 2011
Correspondence Hall of Shame, 12/2
We interrupt the ongoing drama with a humor break.
can u handle powerful MASTER?
Yup -- I click DELETE.
Hey sexy gorgeous I will u a full body with candle lights and shared some wine with you and giving u a nice kiss!! How are u?
At the moment, perplexed. You will me a full body with candle lights? I'm sorry you died, but really, couldn't you just give it to charity? There are so many unfortunate half-full bodies out there.
I wish I had a room with cages, chains, whips and other toys for you...desire to have you tied up with ropes
give you spank, whip, hear moaning, suck and bite your breasts, bite your buttocks, penetrate your vagina and your anus all night
fornicate in the streets, in the forest, in the car... but also want a wife, a girlfriend, a friend, a lover
You want four women? How greedy of you.
I had to laugh -- notice how he used all the proper formal words, even though he was discussing my complete defiling. Fornicate??
i want to expierence what you like. i want to do something other than just fuck....maybe i might like spanking you.i do not know.
And you never will know, I'm afraid.
I'm still amazed buy the shape of your but
can u handle powerful MASTER?
Yup -- I click DELETE.
Hey sexy gorgeous I will u a full body with candle lights and shared some wine with you and giving u a nice kiss!! How are u?
At the moment, perplexed. You will me a full body with candle lights? I'm sorry you died, but really, couldn't you just give it to charity? There are so many unfortunate half-full bodies out there.
I wish I had a room with cages, chains, whips and other toys for you...desire to have you tied up with ropes
give you spank, whip, hear moaning, suck and bite your breasts, bite your buttocks, penetrate your vagina and your anus all night
fornicate in the streets, in the forest, in the car... but also want a wife, a girlfriend, a friend, a lover
You want four women? How greedy of you.
I had to laugh -- notice how he used all the proper formal words, even though he was discussing my complete defiling. Fornicate??
i want to expierence what you like. i want to do something other than just fuck....maybe i might like spanking you.i do not know.
And you never will know, I'm afraid.
I'm still amazed buy the shape of your but
My but what?
And finally:
For the last 18 months, I have been "involved" with a lovely, stacked redhead who just cannot get enough spanking ... seeps as if the harder I spank her, the hotter she gets ... we work on squirting as well, and during our last "session" she got so hot being spanked that she soaked the bed with her ejaculation ... which was HOT.
If you are interested in an encounter with a mature couple ... participating in hard spanking threesome fun, let me know and we can set up a "spanking conference" to introduce ourselves.
(scrubbing vigorously with brain bleach) Ummm... no. No, thank you. And speaking of bleach, you may want to do some laundry.
In other news... Mother Nature had a major tantrum here in Southern CA this week, with a "Santa Ana wind event" the likes of which are seen only once every 5-15 years. Hardest hit was the San Gabriel Valley... where John lives. He stays in Orange County all week for work, but he'll be coming home today, to a completely dark town. Thousands of people in several cities have no power, and the power company is restoring it, city by city. It's estimated that John's town may not have power for another two to four days.
I called him last night and asked him to please call one of his neighbors and get the lowdown from someone who's there, because the news always makes everything sound so much more horrible. He said he'd call me back if he heard any bad news about his house, and he hasn't called, so no news is good news. I'm hoping he will come home later today and find nothing more than a lot of leaves and branches to sweep up and some spoiled food in the fridge. And then he'll be coming here for the weekend.
Always something, isn't it?
Stay safe, y'all. And have a great weekend.
Labels:
CHoS
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Contrary Action
That's a tool we shrinkees learn early on -- contrary action. You get a negative impulse, you counteract it with a positive action. You don't feel like doing something that's good for you, do it anyway. Do the contrary. For a contrarian such as myself, you'd think that would be a piece of cake. Not so, however.
So, I don't feel like writing. Tough. I'm writing anyway. Because I need to.
I didn't see ST on Monday night. I've had a bit of a wonky stomach on and off since last weekend, and on Monday when I tried to push through it at the gym, I got dizzy and broke out in a cold sweat. I knew something was off when the thought of lying on my belly and getting whaled on made me feel nauseated. So I cancelled. I didn't cancel because I've been depressed, because I really did want to see him. Anyway, I had nothing else I felt like writing about, so I took a break.
Yesterday came and went. Despite the fact that I didn't post my usual Monday night blog, it apparently didn't register on the blogosphere radar. I got four messages asking where my post was and if I was OK. Four. Talk about humbling. Surprise, surprise -- Erica isn't the center of the universe.
So all day yesterday, I isolated. I didn't tweet, post to FetLife or anything else. I thought, fuck 'em all. I could completely disappear and no one would notice or care. Familiar territory, one I've visited many times in my life.
That got old. REALLY quick. I never wanted children, so having an inner five-year-old got tiresome immediately. Isolating and withdrawing is my go-to mechanism, but time and again it has proven that it doesn't work for me.
Last night on the phone with John, I said that I don't know why I can't break out of this loop. I am consciously aware of all the good things and good people in my life, and yet, all I seem to be able to do is focus on the negatives and the losses. I know I'm being ridiculous, I know that others are probably looking at me and wondering what I'm crying and whining about. So why can't I just knock it off?
He said because that's how you are. It's what you do. You can't help it.
Yeah, I guess.
I know one thing for sure. Beating myself up and saying I should be feeling this or that doesn't work. And completely removing myself from everything doesn't work either. So fuck it. I'm writing.
Recently on FetLife, someone posted a journal entry, a poem about her depression. It reminded me of something I'd written a couple of years ago; I think I posted it on my old MySpace blog, but I'm going to repost it now. She wrote of hating her depression; I chose to write of accepting it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I embrace it, perhaps it will settle down and leave me be for a while.
Guess I'm not going to get Chrossed this week. Oh well. I can't always be entertaining, interesting or titillating. Sometimes, I'm just plain neurotic little me. But I'm here. I do not plan to disappear. It's too lonely, even for me.
MESSAGE TO DEPRESSION
Hello, old friend
Been a while.
More time passes between your visits these days.
Sometimes, I even forget you’re out there.
But I know you wait for me.
Wait for a chink in my armor, for a weakened state.
Then you slip inside and make yourself at home, in your old familiar surroundings.
I feel you deep within my bones, weighing down my every step.
Sucking the color and light from my world.
Singing sad songs to me, telling me lies.
I look in the mirror, and I see you reflected there.
But you know what?
Your visits are shorter.
You may be strong-willed, but my will is stronger.
The love of my friends, the love I have for myself, is more powerful than your malevolent force.
I know I will never fully vanquish you.
You’re like a virus lying dormant, waiting for its host’s vulnerability.
But while you used to stay with me for months, for years, now your duration is merely a week or two, sometimes days. Or even hours.
Suddenly, a day goes by, and I realize I haven’t cried.
My bed once again becomes a vehicle for peaceful sleep, rather than a refuge from the world outside.
I remember that life is good.
So, while you’re here, enjoy yourself.
Come join me under the covers in the darkness.
But don’t get too comfortable.
Because you’ll be going. Soon.
So, I don't feel like writing. Tough. I'm writing anyway. Because I need to.
I didn't see ST on Monday night. I've had a bit of a wonky stomach on and off since last weekend, and on Monday when I tried to push through it at the gym, I got dizzy and broke out in a cold sweat. I knew something was off when the thought of lying on my belly and getting whaled on made me feel nauseated. So I cancelled. I didn't cancel because I've been depressed, because I really did want to see him. Anyway, I had nothing else I felt like writing about, so I took a break.
Yesterday came and went. Despite the fact that I didn't post my usual Monday night blog, it apparently didn't register on the blogosphere radar. I got four messages asking where my post was and if I was OK. Four. Talk about humbling. Surprise, surprise -- Erica isn't the center of the universe.
So all day yesterday, I isolated. I didn't tweet, post to FetLife or anything else. I thought, fuck 'em all. I could completely disappear and no one would notice or care. Familiar territory, one I've visited many times in my life.
That got old. REALLY quick. I never wanted children, so having an inner five-year-old got tiresome immediately. Isolating and withdrawing is my go-to mechanism, but time and again it has proven that it doesn't work for me.
Last night on the phone with John, I said that I don't know why I can't break out of this loop. I am consciously aware of all the good things and good people in my life, and yet, all I seem to be able to do is focus on the negatives and the losses. I know I'm being ridiculous, I know that others are probably looking at me and wondering what I'm crying and whining about. So why can't I just knock it off?
He said because that's how you are. It's what you do. You can't help it.
Yeah, I guess.
I know one thing for sure. Beating myself up and saying I should be feeling this or that doesn't work. And completely removing myself from everything doesn't work either. So fuck it. I'm writing.
Recently on FetLife, someone posted a journal entry, a poem about her depression. It reminded me of something I'd written a couple of years ago; I think I posted it on my old MySpace blog, but I'm going to repost it now. She wrote of hating her depression; I chose to write of accepting it. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I embrace it, perhaps it will settle down and leave me be for a while.
Guess I'm not going to get Chrossed this week. Oh well. I can't always be entertaining, interesting or titillating. Sometimes, I'm just plain neurotic little me. But I'm here. I do not plan to disappear. It's too lonely, even for me.
MESSAGE TO DEPRESSION
Hello, old friend
Been a while.
More time passes between your visits these days.
Sometimes, I even forget you’re out there.
But I know you wait for me.
Wait for a chink in my armor, for a weakened state.
Then you slip inside and make yourself at home, in your old familiar surroundings.
I feel you deep within my bones, weighing down my every step.
Sucking the color and light from my world.
Singing sad songs to me, telling me lies.
I look in the mirror, and I see you reflected there.
But you know what?
Your visits are shorter.
You may be strong-willed, but my will is stronger.
The love of my friends, the love I have for myself, is more powerful than your malevolent force.
I know I will never fully vanquish you.
You’re like a virus lying dormant, waiting for its host’s vulnerability.
But while you used to stay with me for months, for years, now your duration is merely a week or two, sometimes days. Or even hours.
Suddenly, a day goes by, and I realize I haven’t cried.
My bed once again becomes a vehicle for peaceful sleep, rather than a refuge from the world outside.
I remember that life is good.
So, while you’re here, enjoy yourself.
Come join me under the covers in the darkness.
But don’t get too comfortable.
Because you’ll be going. Soon.
Labels:
depression
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