For my Easter-celebrating friends...

Hope you're having a great day, bunnies!

Have fun on your Easter egg hunts:

Enjoy your Easter ham, or lamb, or whatever you choose to eat. And don't forget dessert: Chocolate-covered snot eggs!

OK, so some people call these Cadbury Creme Eggs. I think my description is more fitting. :-Þ

I know I posted this last year, but I still think it's none of Beulah's freaking business:

(Fortunately, a lot more often than Easter, thankyouverymuch.)

And finally, cute as it may be, please don't do this to your dog.

And don't even think about doing it to your cat. You'll probably lose an eye.

Happy Easter. :-)

Asked & Answered!

It's March 29, so Q&A month is nearly over. I figured I would take some time today to answer the questions some of you posed to me. I didn't get a whole lot of people, but several of you asked more than one question, so this will probably be a long entry.

MrJ: So: what are the 2, 3 most interesting changes in the spanking world that you have observed since you got involved? Etiquettes; networks; habits, whatever?

The changes in the video industry, certainly. With the advent of streaming content, Spanking Tube, etc., there is a whole lot more available for viewers than ever before. Shooting a video used to be a big production; now, more often, it's quick clips, no scripts, no elaborate story line. Also, the party scene has grown tremendously. It used to be that Shadow Lane and Crimson Moon were the only games in town, as far as big weekend parties were concerned. Now we have BBW, FMS, TASSP, and several other smaller groups; many more chances for spankos to congregate en masse. And finally, blogging has changed the posting world. It used to be all about forums and groups (Yahoo and MSN, the now-defunct SSS), but these days, blogs (and picture collections) are in the forefront.

MrJ: Why do you prefer winter over summer?

I don't like sunshine and heat. My happiest, most serene days are cloudy, gray and cool. Granted, I live in CA, where we don't have much of a winter. But I relish our rainy, dark days. I sleep better when it's cool. And I love it when it gets dark at 5:00! Daylight lasting until 8:00 annoys the hell out of me. Yes, I'm weird.

Lea: First, how many implements has your iron ass caused to bite the dust? ;-) Second, what piece of advice would you give to someone new to this?

Ha! I haven't kept count over the years. Several canes, yardsticks, hairbrushes, and a few miscellaneous items. Oh, and this butter paddle (from Spanking Epics, The Puritan):

It's difficult to choose one piece of advice for a newbie, since there is so much information. But I would say, "It's your body, it's your kink, it's your choice. Do what feels right to you; listen to your inner voice, rather than what others may dictate to you about how you should do things. If something doesn't feel or sound right, then chances are, it isn't. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, or play with anyone you don't want to. EVER."

Jade: Do you think it's best to get a warm-up first before getting spanked with hard implements like the tawse or hairbrush? Is it just a myth that having lotion rubbed on your bottom before a hard spanking stops the skin from tearing open? How many videos have you been in altogether? 

1. Absolutely, I am a big fan of warm-ups. I realize that some think they have no place in pure discipline scenes, but even a brief one helps the body and mind prepare for harder play. 2. I couldn't say; every situation is different. But it seems that if the skin is very dry, it would break more easily. I don't see a downside in using lotion (although some say it increases the sting!). 3. I had to think about that one a while! If I'm recalling correctly, between full-length videos and several smaller clips, I believe I've done 34 total.

Anonymous: Does having a blog ever get sort of "cumbersome" in that when you're experiencing things, instead of just letting go and experiencing the present, you're already thinking about how you'll write about it?

I wouldn't say cumbersome, since I love blogging. But sometimes, yes, I catch myself thinking about blogging while in the middle of a spanking experience. Not necessarily writing it out in my mind, though. More like, something happens, something is said, etc., and I think, "Oh! I'll need to remember that for the blog!" But if I catch myself ruminating too much, I repeat Alex's mantra of "Be here, now" in my head and force myself to focus.

Anonymous: I don't intend for this be be a nasty question, but I know it's not every one's cup of tea, or water. But I'm just curious. Does the spanking thing ever get old, boring or mundane and have you ever considered a different fetish for a change of pace? For example, something like doing an enema video? I know Enemarotica is always looking for fresh, talented and beautiful women. You are a gorgeous lady and it would be a huge hit with at least one of your biggest fans. And I'm sure such a video would be a best seller and make a lot of money.

Fair enough. First, spanking never gets old for me. I might have my times when I don't feel like it, but overall, it would be like sex or chocolate getting old. Or breathing. :-) Second, I never did videos for the money or the selling appeal, although I was certainly happy if they did well. I did them because they brought me joy, and there was something so perversely delightful about getting paid for doing something I loved anyway. There are a lot of things I could have done in order to shoot more (topping, F/F, other fetishes, etc.), but  that wouldn't have been fun for me. As for enemas -- remember, I had eating disorders for 20 years. I abused my body with laxatives, enemas and diuretics to purge myself of a couple of pounds so I'd be happy when I stepped on the scale. So enemas do not have a sexy connotation to me in the least. Not going there on video or in private.

Kaelah: Your relationship with John is an open one in the sense that you are both free to participate in kinky play with others. Could you imagine to give up that freedom under any circumstances?

The short and easy answer is no. But yes, easy for me to say when I don't have to make that decision. However, I don't think I could sacrifice that freedom and joy of playing with others. I love John dearly, but he does not fully meet my kink needs (nor I his), and I can't see being in a relationship where I couldn't indulge my need for spanking. I went without it for too many years; I won't go without it again.

Ronnie: Who would you want to play the role of you in a movie? What's your least favourite implement?

I'll answer the second one first, 'cause that's easier! :-) It would be a toss-up between those thick, thuddy wooden frat paddles and anything made of rubber. You might think that because rubber is flexible, it feels somewhat like leather. NOT!!

The first question is a toughie. I was thinking about a lot of the mainstream actresses around these days, and they're too young and classically beautiful (Angelina, Scarlet, Anne Hathaway). It would have to be someone kind of quirky, who could handle sarcastic humor and laughing at herself, but could keep it real for the serious scenes. Maybe Sandra Bullock?

Anonymous: Is there anyone in the spanking film industry you would like to play with that you haven't had the chance to work with up until now? Second question: Is there any scenario or script you would like to role play (either on film or in your personal life) that you haven't done before?

Don't even have to think about the first question; Eric Strickman, AKA Uncle Eric. I've never met him (although we've chatted online), but I would certainly love to. Have had a little spanko crush on him for years! Here he is spanking Samantha Woodley:

As for the second question -- you know, I need to come up with some new ideas. I've been so lucky, being able to play out so many of my favorite fantasies and scenarios (the damsel in distress, the older bottom/younger top, etc.), and I need to refresh my spanko bucket list. One scenario I always thought would make a cute video (and I haven't seen it to this date, although it may exist), would be an irresponsible taxpayer being audited by an IRS agent.

Loki: I was always curious as to the reasons behind your weekly play. Why do you do it and would it be a good idea for others?

I didn't always have these weekly sessions. For many years, when John and I were going to a lot more local parties and I was shooting now and then, I got a lot more spanking fixes and I only played one-on-one in my apartment periodically. I had play partners, but I would see them every couple of months or so. The regular thing started with Danny; he and I would see one another every other Monday. And then when I started playing with ST, his schedule was completely conducive to seeing each other weekly, so we did so. It just sort of evolved.

A lot of spankos are involved in relationships where they play regularly with their mate (particularly DD/HOH couples). John and I don't have that dynamic. And I crave spanking -- it fulfills me on so many levels. Hence, I find that the weekly intense fix helps me deal with the dearth of parties and shoots and so forth. Plus, I love the deep connection I have been able to forge with my tops in recent years; something that isn't quite as achievable with once-in-a-while play. I can't speak to whether or not it would work for others, but it certainly does for me. :-)

And finally --

Bobbie Jo: When are you going to write that book about the CHoS?

I need to, don't I. (sigh) I certainly have enough material for it! It's a matter of organizing and categorizing it into sub-chapters, then fleshing it out with explanatory writing. It would certainly be a different type of book in the spanking realm. At first I thought I should next write a full-length spanking romance novel (you know, kind of like Fifty Shades of Grey, but with good writing?). But now, it seems everyone and their kinky cousin is doing that. Anything I could produce would just get lost in the steamy shuffle. 

Yes, I really need to do this. It's a matter of finding (or making) the time.

Thank you, everyone who posted a question! Hope i answered to your satisfaction.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Overwhelmed with kindness

Don't worry, kids. One of these days I will get back on topic. No Chrossing for me this week, for sure! I was going to write up a nice long post of answers to the questions some of you posed to me, but I'm postponing that. Instead, I want to reflect on how kind people can be. I bitch a lot about cluelessness, small-mindedness and idiocy, so every now and then I need to switch up the focus.

Thank you to everyone who commented on my past couple of blogs, and thank you as well to those who read them. My blog hits soared the past couple of days, which almost never happens except when I'm Chrossed. I guess a lot of people could relate to the subject matter. Anyway, I've been really touched by the kind and thoughtful words people have shared with me, both on and off the blog.

Yesterday, when I was in that fragile, post-meltdown state, I got an unexpected email from, of all people, John's co-worker. One line: "John said you needed this," and he'd attached a photo. It was a picture of his 18-month-old daughter, sitting in a sandbox, seriously focused on her bright purple plastic pail. John knows there are few things in life that make me smile bigger than an adorable toddler. I may not want my own children, but I definitely appreciate how cute other people's kids are! That picture lifted my spirits.

Later when I spoke with John, I mentioned how all my new computer components are sitting in boxes on my living room floor (I have to make an appointment with my computer guy to set everything up, transfer files, etc.). John said, "Excellent! Let's celebrate your new computer," and he suggested we go to one of our favorite restaurants on Friday. Then he said to remind him to go to the bank on Saturday so he could cash a check. Yes, he's buying this computer for me. What a guy, huh? ♥ 

Today, I received a beautiful PM from a friend who wishes to remain anonymous, but I got permission to quote part of it, because it's too lovely to keep all to myself:

I just want to tell you that despite your needs, which are many, but don't all of us have lots of needs?, I think you have turned into a tremendously strong woman. My God, you are a writer, and in some ways you are the doyenne of spanking women. So many women look up to you for how to act in a classy way at a spanking party, and so many men crave to be around you at a spanking party. You glow at the parties and you set a standard of beauty and playfulness.

I do believe I'm speechless after that, so I will end here. 

Friends are the antidote to life's occasional suckage. I love you. Thank you for loving me.

FINE

You know that old cliché about how you should never believe a woman when she says she's "fine"? What nonsense. When I tell you I'm fine, I'm fine. In fact, I'm not just fine, I'm FINE.

Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic & Emotional.

No, I can't take credit for that one.

There was another reason why I was sad this weekend, but I didn't want to get into it last night on the blog. After Saturday, I really, really wanted to have some quiet, quality time with John yesterday. I wanted our usual brunch time very much. However, his sister had called him and asked him to trade days with her this week. So... he was taking his mother to lunch yesterday.

You're asking, "Why didn't you go with them?" Simple. I am done with seeing John's mother. I did it every Saturday for seven years, and I can't do it anymore. She complains constantly, and after what my mother went through, and what my stepfather is still going through (without complaining, I might add), I can't stand to listen to it. I'm afraid I'll lose my temper one of these times.

It nearly happened, right before my mother died. We picked John's mom up one Saturday, and she asked how my mother was. I said, "Well... unfortunately, she's in end-stage hospice right now. She's dying." She didn't say, "Oh, that's terrible," or "Oh, I'm sorry." What she said was, "Oh... Me too!" Before I could catch my breath, John intervened with a quiet but very firm, "No, Mom, you are not dying." But shortly after that occurrence, I knew I was done with this. So, I went to lunch yesterday by myself, and then went home. I figured, it's OK. It's one day. I'll see Mr. D in the morning, and everything will be all right again.

Then this morning came. He was due at 10, and I'd been ready since 9:30. But... to make a long story short, he overbooked his schedule this morning, and things ran late. Between that, the traffic, and the struggle to find parking because my goddamned street has no parking on Monday from 10 to noon, he came to my door at 11:45.

I was beside myself. I didn't want him to see it. I hate when I get like that. So I struggled and struggled to keep it together, taking deep breaths and looking everywhere but at him. I managed to tell him that this was really, really unfortunate timing, and I'd needed him to be on time. It was a bad weekend and I was not doing well. I apologized for overreacting.

"Don't apologize," he said. "You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. This one is mine; I f@&ked up this morning." I still couldn't look at him. If I looked at those kind, concerned eyes, I'd lose it. But then he quietly asked, "Do you want me to go?" And I lost it anyway. 

The short version? We did not play today. Instead, he stayed with me for four hours, and I spent about three of them crying. I just couldn't stop. He was so sweet to me... hugged me, smoothed my hair, got tissues and wiped my eyes and face, let me talk about everything. And I was so damned embarrassed, I wanted to hide from him.

Funny about depression and sadness. As much as I crave attention, as much as I want to be seen, I don't want to be seen at all when I feel this bad. I wish I could be invisible, simply disappear out of sight until I get a hold of myself. So no one can see what I consider the raw ugliness.

Somewhere in the midst of it, I hiccuped, "Well, in case you weren't aware of it, this is what depression looks like."

"Hmm," he mused. "You know, it's not scaring me off. Not at all. I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

Later, when I had calmed down a bit and was starting to feel the shame of the emotional fallout, I apologized to him again. And once again, he told me I had nothing to apologize for, and he was so sorry he added to the stress of my weekend.

I sighed. "You shouldn't have to deal with this. You didn't sign on for all this drama -- you wanted a play partner."

"Yeah," he replied. "And look what I got instead... this beautiful woman."

Oh, Jesus Christ. If I cried one more fucking tear, I was going to dry up and blow away.

Emotional excess is exhausting. When he left, I knew there was no way in hell I was going to the gym. Not today. I had precisely enough energy left to take a shower. And even that was a stretch.

He asked if I'd like him to come back tomorrow, and we'd play. Tempting as that is, I said no. Since today was a complete wash, tomorrow I need to be an adult and do stuff. I need to work. I need to work out. 

Should I have pushed forward and scened with him today? Maybe. But I don't think so. My head was in the wrong place, and sometimes, spanking is not the answer. (Did I just say that???) Better I should wait until we can both fully relish it. Today, I needed kindness, an ear, a pair of arms.

And because I got it, tomorrow will be better. Thank you, Mr. D.

OT: A bit sad

Please forgive me while I talk about life a bit, y'all. I am sad tonight. Nothing that I can do about it, and it will pass. I feel like talking about it, and yet I don't want to bother anyone with it. So I will put it here for whomever chooses to read it.

My stepfather turned 95 on Friday. Freaking ninety-five!! We drove out to his place yesterday to take him to dinner. He was happy to see us, making his usual jokes and not complaining at all, but I still ached for him. He's so feeble now, so stooped over, walks very slowly with a cane. It takes him a long time to get up and down, but he never asks for help. He is not supposed to drive anymore, but he still does once in a while. He had someone coming over a few times a week to help him out, but that didn't work out at all and now he's completely on his own again. He can't even take a bath anymore, which he used to love, because once he gets in the tub, he can't get himself back out. His eyes have gotten so bad, he can't read anymore -- something else he loved. What the hell kind of life is this?? He forces himself to eat, because he's never hungry anymore. He used to be a strong, strapping man of 6' 2" and about 180-190 pounds. Now he weighs 149. Christ... I used to weigh more than 149.

He misses my mother. I wish I could say the same, but truthfully, I do not. I miss who she was, but I said goodbye to that person years ago. I wish I felt some sort of connection to her, wanted something that was hers. But my mother and I never had the same taste in things; not in decor, not in clothes, not in jewelry or accessories. She wore pins and brooches and chunky beads; I like delicate necklaces and bracelets. She loved scarves; I don't get scarves, or how to wear them, at all.

When she was still somewhat lucid, she used to tell me, over and over, that she wanted me to have her pearls. I knew nothing of these pearls or what they looked like, but she kept talking about them and I knew it meant a lot to her that I should have them. However, she couldn't remember where she put them.

After she passed away and M was asking me if I wanted anything, I mentioned the pearls, but he knew nothing about them and had no idea where they were either. Recently, after she'd been gone for nine months, he finally found an old jewelry case high on a forgotten shelf. In it were several pairs of costume earrings and a few pins. And a double-strand choker of pearls.

So, he finally gave them to me this weekend. I waited to feel something; a thrill, a connection, a sense of continuation from mother to daughter, an eagerness to wear them myself.

I felt nothing. Sure, they're pretty. But they're not my style at all.

The clasp was intricate and complicated, and neither John nor I could get it open. So I wrapped the pearls up in a paper towel and put them in my purse. After we said good night and left, John promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat. I cried quietly for about a third of the 1-1/4 hour ride back home, making sure I didn't awaken him. I'm not sure why. I just felt so damn sad and sorry for my stepdad. But I didn't feel like talking about it; I needed to focus on the drive.

When we got home, John asked for the pearls and after playing with a clasp for a while, he finally got it open, and he immediately put them around my neck. Again, I waited to feel something. They were cold, very heavy and uncomfortable on my neck, and that was all. I couldn't wait to take them off.

This makes me sad. I have things of my father's that I love: some of his books, his poems, one of his Emmys, pictures. But nothing of my mother's connects me to her, emotionally. Not even those pearls.

As you might remember, a few months ago, my stepmother gave me a necklace that she'd worn for 50 years. I loved it from the first moment I saw it, and I feel such pride and joy in wearing it. She's not even related to me, and yet her piece of jewelry means more to me than my mother's. If my mom knew this, it would break her heart.

I guess it's a good thing that she's not here to know.

I wish it were different. But it isn't, and that's just how things go sometime. I can't conjure up a sentimentality I don't feel.

Anyway. I am seeing Mr. D tomorrow morning, same as last week. I don't even care about the schedule flip-flop. I need to see him, and sooner is better than later. My head is spinning on my shoulders and needs to be screwed back on.

Later this week, I will write up my answers to your questions. Meanwhile, it's not too late to post one, here.

Rant: You want to do WHAT to yourself??

OK, kids. It's been a while since I posted anything controversial. Lest you think I'm mellowing in my advanced age, never fear. I have just as many "WTF???" moments as ever. And lately, I've had a few over some of the stuff people do to their bodies.

Yes, I know. Don't judge. Live and let live. We all have different ways of expressing ourselves. Blah blah blah. I get that. But come on. There are some things that permanently alter the body in ways that can be only described as mutilation. I can understand the desire for pain; I certainly have it to some degree. But I do not want permanent damage or alteration to my flesh.

No, I'm not talking about tattoos. I have no issue with tats, even though I don't have any myself. As long as you think carefully about what you want forever inked on your skin (in other words, don't do it on impulse, on a bet, or in a drunken stupor), and do it safely, then have at it, I say. If I were to get a tattoo, I know exactly what I'd choose. A "tramp stamp" (on the small of the back, just above the bottom) of a pair of lips puckered into a kiss, and underneath that, an arrow pointing downward. :-)

I'm not talking about piercings, either. OK, some of them are extreme. I can't help but shudder when I see rings through nose cartilage or studs on tongues. But here's the good news about piercings: If you get sick of them, you can let them heal up and go away. Should the day come when you decide you're sick of jewelry snagging on clothing and tearing your pink bits, you can remove it and the holes will reseal.

This, however, will NOT reseal:

What in God's name possesses people to do this to their earlobes? And this wasn't even the largest hole I saw while perusing pictures. And if you think this is unattractive, you should see what the flesh looks like when you take the jewelry out. And you're stuck with that. Forever. Unless you have some sort of elaborate cosmetic surgery to repair it.

Why stop there, people? Why not slit the earlobe vertically, pierce both pieces and hang little weights on each one? Then, after the earlobe pieces have stretched into strings, you can tie them together into a bow. How festive! You could paint them red at Christmas time. Or blue for Hanukkah, if you're so inclined.

I'm also not going to touch on the spectrum of burning/branding/scarring. My mind can't wrap about that and I don't want to offend anyone. But there is a specific form of body alteration that I can't comprehend to save my life, and it begs for a hearty "WTF????" It's a form of penile mutilation, called subincision. Essentially, it's a split dick. The underside of the penis is split lengthwise. Deliberately.

I will spare you the photos of that. But I've seen one, up close and personal. It was at a BDSM party (naturally), and a young man in attendance was fully naked. The first thing one noticed about him was the multiple piercings, everywhere. All over his face, several on his ears, his nipples, his genitalia. The guy had more metal on him than a Kay Jewelers. But when he showed us his subincision, I damn near ran from the room. 

"Oh, my god," I hissed to John. "How... why? How does he pee??"

"Sitting down," John replied. I will never forget that image. And I can't help but wonder what happens when this guy gets a little older and regrets his youthful folly. Sure, all his piercings will heal if he wants. But that split dick is forever.

Earlier this week, I saw a funny e-card that read: "The newest rising trend is anal bleaching. Good idea, since some assholes really need to lighten up." I laughed. Then thought, "Wait a minute. Anal bleaching? WTF??"

So I Googled it, and sure enough, it's real. They actually do it in salons. It started out as a porn star thing, but it's not just for porn stars anymore.

Who the hell even thinks about stuff like this?? WHY? I mean, has a woman ever been rejected because her back door is the wrong hue? Maybe in an HBO version of Seinfeld:

Jerry: Betty Jean is really hot, but I'm gonna have to dump her.
George: Why??
Jerry: Well, ya know, it's her a$$hole. It's too dark.
George. Oh. Yeah. Hate the dark a$$hole.

I also read further about the damage that can be inflicted upon that oh-so-tender tissue if the procedure is done improperly. Yeah, don't try this at home with a mirror and a bottle of Clorox.

Better yet, don't do it at all. Just say no to ass bleach.

Yeah, I suppose I've offended some body modifiers, and I regret that. But I really do wish some of the extremists would think very carefully about how permanent these alterations are. You have one body, and you have to live in it the rest of your days. It's your house, not your amusement park.

Rant over. Have a great weekend, y'all. OH! And happiest of birthdays to our very own Wolfie! :-D

Any questions?

Apparently, March is Questions and Answers month among the blogosphere. Mind you, I've been yammering at you via blogs, FetLife posts and books for years, so I don't know if there's anything left to ask me. But just in case there is, please feel free to pose a question to me in the comments section, and I will answer all to the best of my ability in a future post.

Warning: any anonymous nasty questions will be given an equally nasty answer, ala CHoS.

Hypothetical example:

Anonymous: Why are you such a bitch?
Me: Because I know people like you.

So do be nice, k? :-D  Not that 99% of you won't be, of course. Just covering my bases here.

Happy Spring! (Meh. I prefer winter.)

On 3/18/2013, Erica Was Flexible

You laugh. But as I'll be the first to admit, flexibility is not my strong suit. It's not even my weak suit. Hell, it's not even in my wardrobe.

I had hoped that Mr. D and I could return to our Monday afternoon/evening routine, now that things have quieted down for him. However, his teenage daughter, who was living with her mother, has now moved in with him. So, until they get a routine established and she is settled, he wants to be home in the evenings for dinner. So he contacted me last night and asked if 10 o'clock was too early for me.

Uh... you mean, a.m.? *gasp*

I am a creature of habit, y'all. I don't relate to Sheldon Cooper on Big Bang Theory for nothing. Mondays follow a set pattern; I get up around 8:30, have breakfast and coffee, and head for the gym to get the first workout of the week over with. Then I come home, shower, dress and get ready for Mr. D later. And after he leaves, I (then in a blissful stupor) settle in for the night. However, with Mr. D planning to be here from 10 a.m. until 3 p.m., I would have to do things in reverse order. Damn. Who feels like suiting up and heading for the gym after a long spanking session? Not me!

But I did it anyway. Because I wanted to see Mr. D, and I need to work with him and his life, which is wayyyyy fuller than mine. Because it won't freaking kill me to be a little more fle... fl... flexi... f-word.

So at 10 a.m., I was ready. At least he could stay a while this time -- none of that two-hour nonsense. I was fully buzzed on my morning coffee when he arrived and very happy to see him.

We don't start playing right away; we always talk. Sometimes for as long as an hour. But eventually, he'll grin at me, pat his lap and say, "C'mere, you."

Today, I didn't particularly need stress release. I didn't need to cry. I just wanted to hunker down and revel in the sensations, and he delivered them with aplomb. (and a peach, too) I am so loving this newer technique he's got going on, where I can't tell what he's going to do next, where the flurries take my breath away. 

Of course, some things never change. You know how tops are; they all have their signature phrases and questions that they ask over and over, thinking they'll get a different answer at some point. With ST, it was "Oh, does that hurt?" (insert eye-roll) And with Mr. D, it's "Who's in charge here?" To which I always calmly give the obvious reply: "I am." "We'll see about that!" he blusters. OK, I'm waiting. What is it I'm supposed to see? :-)

I'm so glad Mr. D likes all styles of panties. I have boy shorts, tangas, bikinis, thongs -- he loves them all. Today, I had a very cute, brightly colored thong.

You can't see from the back, but the front had a bright turquoise bow, the same color as my shirt. Despite the meager protection they offered, they still didn't stay up.

He alternated between his hand, the leather paddle and a wooden paddle, so swiftly that I could barely tell what was what. It went on until I was just teetering at the edge. Then he leaned down and whispered, "Are you ready to rest for a while?"

To this, I vigorously shook my head. "That's my girl," he said. "Finish me," I whispered back. "Please finish me." He did.

After that, he sat beside my head on the bed, stroking my hair. Not even opening my eyes, I crawled up against him so that my head rested on top of his thigh. He took some more photos. Honestly, I didn't like how any of them came out; I didn't think they were flattering of me. I freaking hate my big ears! But perhaps you guys will like this. It's a lovely moment.

Doesn't he have a delicious skin tone? He's American born, but his heritage is Hispanic (although I think I know more Spanish than he does!).

I was in a sweet, dreamy state after that. I murmured something along the lines of "You're such a wonderful man," and he replied, "I want to make you feel like that, too."

"You want to make me feel like a wonderful man?" 

"No, smart-ass. You know what I meant. I want to make you feel wonderful."

"You do."

Guess what I showed him? I dragged the old chestnut "Naughty Secretaries Week Part 2" out of my closet -- my first video ever, from 2000. I was thinking he'd laugh at it, but he liked it! "This is 13 years old??" he asked. "You look the same!"

"Oh, get out of here," I snorted. But he insisted. "Your butt hasn't changed at all. If I didn't know when this was from, I'd have thought you shot it a few months ago."

I'd say his check is in the mail, but I don't have any money. So my eternal gratitude is in the mail.

He left at 3:30, and I reluctantly scraped myself together, put on workout clothes and got my butt to the gym. Ever do an intense workout right after a spanking? I do not recommend it. But that perverse part of me welcomed the biting sting. I was so mellow and happy, I didn't even care that it was now prime time and everyone and their uncle was at the gym, so I had to wait for nearly every damn machine. I stood patiently waiting, thought about where I'd just come from and smiled. Ah, if only all these people knew the state of my bottom beneath these leggings.

Mr. D assures me that the time switch is temporary. He, too, likes being able to stay into the evening, go to dinner, etc. But for however long it is, I'll work with him. I'll try to be... you know. That damned f-word.

He's definitely worth it. ♥

Sunday potpourri

While walking through my apartment building on the way to the laundry room, I saw this on a neighbor's doorstep:

Of course, I would have liked it even better had it said "NICE PANTIES." You know how certain words inexplicably skeeve you? I feel that way about "underpants," for whatever reason. It has to be "underwear" for general use, "panties" for women and "shorts" for men. But anyway... made me wonder who lives there. :-)

Next up, a stray photo from our Vegas weekend a couple of weeks ago. You know, if we spankos ever get our own channel, we simply must have a sitcom called Everybody Loves Alex.

So today is St. Patrick's Day. In preparation, I brought a green t-shirt to John's to put on this morning. However, we showered first. And while I was drying off and about to dress, John swooped over, exclaimed that I wasn't wearing green and started pinching me. My sides, my butt, my boobs. "You're not either!" I cried, lunging for him. In one fluid move, he ducked out of the way, snatched up his green bath towel and slung it over his shoulder. "There," he said, continuing to assault me with his pinchy fingers.

Finally, he let up and left the bathroom so I could dress in peace. When I came out, imagine my shock when I saw that, after all that fuss, he was dressed in khaki shorts and a plaid shirt of tan and rust shades -- no green!! "Where's your green??" I hollered. He just gave me a look of disdain. "Don't be ridiculous," he said loftily. "That's a child's game."

I swear, that man is going to send me to an early grave.

Hope everyone had a nice weekend. :-)

OT: Things that amuse me

Most of you know what I think of the 21st-century phenomenon of being glued to one's cell phone. Having gotten my first smart phone last year, I do understand the addiction somewhat. But I think there are times when one needs to detach from the damn thing for an hour or two.

Case in point: the gym. You're there, presumably, to exercise. Not to sit on the equipment that others are waiting for while you text. Not to conduct a conference call on the treadmill, walking 1.5 miles an hour. Not to stand in the middle of a packed exercise class, shouting into your phone to be heard over the music and the instructor's count.

I figured the one place where people couldn't text is in a class. You're holding weights a lot of the time, so you don't have free hands. After last week, I can no longer say that.

About halfway through last week's class, we finished the standing work and then lay on our mats to do floor work (leg lifts, sit-ups, etc.). A young woman next to me started texting while we were doing leg work, busily pumping one leg and then the other while she tapped at her phone, never breaking stride. I marveled at this, since I suck at multi-tasking.

Then the instructor had us go into a forearm plank. Ah, I thought. Surely she can't text now. For those who aren't familiar with a plank, it's when you prop yourself up on your forearms and your toes, with your body in one long, straight line (the plank). It looks like this:

If you think it looks easy, it isn't. Assuming the position is easy, but holding it for a minute or more requires core strength to keep your body rigid like that. Your butt wants to drop down, or thrust upward.

Anyway, I watched as this woman got into position, and, with her phone lying on the mat in front of her hands, continued tap-tap-tapping onto the screen. I couldn't help it; I burst out laughing. She looked up and smiled, and I said, "I wish I had a camera right now."

After class, she told me she texts because it distracts her from the pain of the exercise. Well, whatever works. If I'd tried to text while exercising, I'd end up in traction.

Speaking of planks, I'm reminded of years ago, when I was crushing on my personal trainer, and we were doing planks in one of his classes. I hadn't quite mastered the form yet, and he called out, "Erica, much as I love looking at it, get your butt out of the air. You're not a TV aerial."

LOL -- and what a dated reference that is, huh?

Brief encounter

Today, Mr. D and I had only a little over a two-hour window in which to play. His son is home from college for spring break, and they spent Saturday-Monday skiing in Mammoth, and tonight they were having a barbecue. So, not much time. (sigh) Mr. D promised he'll make it up to me next week. But you know what? We may not have had a large quantity of time today, but we made every minute the highest quality. :-)

I didn't want him to have to bother loading pictures and sending them when he got home, because I knew he'd be busy, so we used my camera today. The advantage to that is that mine is much smaller and lighter, so he can use it while I'm OTK.

And yes, I was having a wonderful time.

Although that didn't stop me from sassing him. At some point, I don't remember what he did or said, but I said, "Don't be such a butt."

"Excuse me?" he said. "You're saying that to me when I've got my hands on your butt?"

I shrugged. "Hey, I could have said 'Don't be such an ass.' " I swear, I don't get points for anything.

He also discovered this afternoon just how ticklish I am. Ack. I am @#$%ing toast.

I'm not quite sure what happened today. Maybe he'd read all my descriptions of the varied techniques I experienced over the Vegas weekend. All I know is that I've come to recognize his technique and I was quite familiar with it -- until today. He completely switched everything up, varying the tempo and intensity, alternating fast flurries with slow whacks, slapping all over both cheeks. I was surprised, breathless and thoroughly loving it, arching my bottom up to his hand and moaning like a damn porn star.

After about five seconds of corner time...

... we moved to the bed and onto implements. Again, I had no idea what to expect or how he was going to do it. Oh my god, I loved that so much. Maybe it's because I knew our time was limited, but I soaked up all the pain and impact and was eager for more. 

Gawd, how I love what this man does to me.

After that, he massaged my feet and my calves with those magic hands, and then we cuddled a bit before he had to leave. I was so limp and blissful, he wouldn't even let me see him to the door; he just tucked me under the covers and let himself out. I lay there for about an hour, basking, before reluctantly dragging myself out of bed and to the computer to do some work.

Mr. D tells me that he loves and needs our play every bit as much as I do. I'm so glad. Because I couldn't imagine keeping all this enjoyment to myself; it's so much nicer to share it. :-)

Hope everyone is having a nice week so far. And thank you so much for all the wonderful comments on my last blog. They made me feel so good! ♥ I almost forgot to bitch about how much I hate Daylight Savings Time. Almost.

Somewhat OT: Girlfriends

I've been in kind of a strange place ever since we came back from our Vegas party. A lot of it was the typical post-party drop, the return to reality. But underlying that was something else. An observation about others, and mostly about myself. So please pardon me while I go on a long-ass ramble that doesn't really have a conclusion or a solution, just me being me.

This particular gathering was small, so I got to see people in a more intimate setting. And while I felt such a lovely kinship with my friends there, a peaceful sense of belonging, there was also that old familiar sense of otherness. Because as I watched people interact, I realize that there are some very deep friendships going on here, particularly between the women. No, I'm not talking sexual; I'm talking about that special affection and closeness that women share. Men have their special guy bonds, and women have their ways of bonding too. I saw a lot of this last weekend. And I realized I do not have this depth of girlfriend-ly bond. I love a lot of these women, and I believe they love me too. I believe they enjoy seeing me and it's definitely mutual. But I am no one's bestie. No one calls me one of their girls, or their sister. I am not even a third cousin once removed. Not really. 

It wasn't always like this. In fact, before I met John 16 1/2 years ago, all my dearest friends were women. My first adult best friend was Julie, whom I met when we were both art majors in college. We became fast friends, going through our junior and senior years in college, then getting our first job together in the same office. All through our 20s, we were the best of friends, sharing all our secrets, hours and hours of movies and dinners and laughter and tears. When I finally lost my virginity, she was the first person I told. (She'd lost hers several years before. That slut! :-) ) My mother was crazy about her. Her parents called me their third daughter.

I think we were in our mid-20s here. Look at my short hair!

When she got married in 1987, I was one of her bridesmaids. The only reason I wasn't the maid of honor was because that went to her sister. Her mother liked me so much, she bought my bridesmaid's dress for me.

Then Julie got pregnant and had her first child. And everything changed. Slowly, but surely. Our girly times were over. Whenever I saw her, she was half of a couple. She had other priorities now, a husband and a baby. My life seemed kind of frivolous next to hers, she lost interest in what was going on with me, and I could no longer relate to her. Eventually, we drifted apart.

She called me once, 15 years ago, when my father died and she read about it in the paper. Five years ago, when we both turned 50, I sent a birthday card to the address I had for her, but it was returned to me. I still think about her, still see bits of her in my apartment in the gifts she gave me over the years. I wonder how she is. Her boys would be grown now.

Then there was Sue, a woman I met at one of my jobs. She was bright, funny, educated, and a Beatlemaniac like me. She worked for the Hollywood Bowl Museum for a while, and we went to Bowl shows together, as well as a couple of Beatlefests and several movies. She also reviewed plays and used to invite me along. We, too, shared a lot, loved each other dearly.

Deja vu. She got married, had kids, faded out of my life. I know this is a common thing with friends in their 20s/early 30s, when one has kids and the other doesn't. Still sad, though, to have it happen twice in a row.

In my 30s, when I was involved in 12-step, I made two very close girlfriends, Pam and Beth. They had very different personalities -- Pam was more introverted like me, while Beth was extroverted. Sometimes I'd hang with one or other, and sometimes both. We were so close, so supportive of each other. I can still remember giving a talk at one of the conventions, and the two of them cheering me on in the audience, waving this goofy stuffed penguin at me. (Yes, the same one you've seen perching on my couch.) The three of us celebrated a lot of personal milestones together over the years. But then things changed. First, Beth got angry at me because I let her down one time; I wasn't there for her the way she'd wanted me to be. I apologized profusely, but she never quite forgave me and things faded with us, even more so after she and Pam had a falling out. Pam and I stayed friends longer, but after a long-term relationship ended for her, she then moved back in with her mother after her father passed away and became rather reclusive. I haven't spoken with either of them for years.

These days, I guess you could say John is my best friend, and the person with whom I spend the most time. He and I are both loners, he more so than even I. John is the only man I know who doesn't have "guy pals." I have some women whom I see now and then, and I have my online friends and party friends whom I love. But am I in touch with any women regularly, doing coffee, visiting, talking, texting, sharing? No.

I realize I have no one to blame but myself for this. Perhaps blame is too strong a word. It's just the way it is. I realize that the way one cultivates and keeps these special, close friendships is by constant contact. I read the blogs and party reports, I see how the tightly knit women are always traveling to visit one another, spending lots of time. When they're not together physically, they are bound by texts and Skype. And when they do get to see one another, they spend every possible moment together, savoring each other's company.

Me? I hate the phone. I rarely text, and I've never Skyped in my life. And while I love spending time with beloved spanko people, I burn out quickly. I need down time, quiet time, time without interacting. Last weekend, six of our friends had a suite together. It had two bedrooms, but still, that meant a lot of closeness and being around each other the entire time. I read the accounts with a pang, wishing I had that kind of camaraderie, then realized, who the hell am I kidding? That kind of situation would have driven me up the wall... I would have needed my own room, my own space, my time alone to refresh and decompress. Only then would I have been able to be civil and pleasant and fun to be around.

John and I don't entertain. Neither one of us has even given a party or a dinner. It's just not in us. I don't know why, but it's just the way we are. At our age, we're not likely to change. People can change aspects of their behavior when they really want to, but I don't think they can change their core behavior. I've been an introvert and a loner all my life. 

So, I get to have my solitude, my quiet time, my peace. But I sacrifice a degree of closeness along with that. I miss out on being fully treasured, as I would be if I were fully available. And that makes me sad sometimes.

I'm grateful for John, because he gets me. He knows it isn't that I don't like people; I just can't handle too much interaction without getting exhausted. He and I talk about this stuff after a party, after a gathering, when we're still feeling the afterglow of the unaccustomed camaraderie. We say let's go to more parties, let's meet some new people in L.A., let's think about maybe having a few people to John's house. But then time passes and it doesn't happen. We are who we are.

Just today, on my way home from John's, I stopped to get groceries. I was feeling tired; we'd been out late last night and lost an hour's sleep due to the time change. As I entered the market, I saw a woman I knew and hadn't seen for a while. A normal, social person would have gone up to her to say hello, give a hug, shoot the breeze for a few. Me? I ducked in the other direction. My first reaction was, "No, I'm tired, I don't want to talk to anyone."

I admire social people, and envy them sometimes. There are times when I wish I were a different type of person. But then I wouldn't be me. I've spent most of my life coming to terms with me, learning to accept Erica with all her quirks and foibles. People still care about me and seem to enjoy my presence. Having our friends last week say, "No, you can't leave, you're forbidden to leave," brought tears to my eyes. Some of the hugs I received were so warm and wonderful. Despite myself, I am loved, and I love. 

I guess it's up to me to, once again, accept my limitations, and work within them. There will always be things other have that I don't, and vice versa.

It's life.

If you're still reading, thanks for letting me ramble.

Hair of the dog

When I told Mr. D last week that we'd be off to Vegas for an extended weekend and I couldn't see him on Monday, he said, "Tuesday, then?" Right away, I answered, "Can we do it Wednesday instead?"

I've been down this road many times; I know how I am after one of these spanko gatherings. I needed Tuesday for decompression. It was a day slated for sleep, for blogging while my memories were still fresh, for basking in the afterglow, for reading an endless stream of posts and comments on FetLife, for downloading and organizing photos. It was a day for hovering in that nether region between the blissful escape of the weekend and reality.

By Tuesday night, reality was settling back in. I picked up my held mail at the post office; all bills. In my spacey state, I locked myself out of my apartment, and my manager snapped at me when I went to ask him for the spare key. I knew it wasn't personal -- his wife is ill in the hospital and he's stressed -- but it still hurt, since he's usually so nice to me. John called and confessed that, though he'd kept it from me so I wouldn't worry, he had been terribly fatigued all weekend and was on his way to the doctor for blood work. (Don't worry, any fellow party-goers; it's nothing contagious. He's infection-prone and everything affects his bad heart, which in turn exhausts him.) The weekend comments and reminiscing on FetLife were dying down, and being replaced with talk of the upcoming BBW. So... by Wednesday morning, I was in full drop mode.

Wednesday was when I knew I'd need Mr. D. And I did.

We didn't play for quite a while after he arrived; just sat on my couch and talked. He'd read all my blogs, so he had questions and I filled him in on details. When I spoke of the closeness I'd experienced over the weekend and how I wished everyone weren't so far away, my voice broke, and he pulled me into his arms. "I'm here," he said.

He said we didn't have to play if I wasn't up for it. Even though I wasn't marked, I was still quite sore, and I had a teeny little scab just below my right cheek when my recurring weak spot had opened up a bit on Friday night. So I knew I wouldn't be up for a thorough session, but I did want a hand spanking from him very much, and told him so.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Whatever you need. Today, it's all about you."

Despite my blues, I smiled. "Silly man," I replied, "it's always about me."

The spanking was exactly what I needed, just enough, connecting me back to the good feelings and recharging my batteries. After he left, I worked out for nearly two hours after taking a week off. I showered, felt the hot water stinging my bottom like hundreds of little needles, and I grinned blissfully.

This weekend will be low-key, and will seem even more so after last weekend's festivities. But that's OK. I am a bit melancholy, but not depressed. I will be with John and we'll take care of each other. And Mr. D, who is going skiing for a long weekend, will be back to see me next Tuesday. "Be here, now," I must remember. Now is good.

Have a great weekend, y'all.

Keep Calm and...

Unless you've never been on the Internet in your life, I'm sure you've seen the various posters floating about that begin with the words "KEEP CALM." After doing a bit of Googling, I found out the origin of these was a British poster, circa 1939, at the beginning of World War II.

Lately, this has become a meme, and there are sites where you can generate you own version of this poster. It's very cool, actually -- you can change the colors, the fonts, the sizes, even swap out the crown for another picture. And of course, there are several spanko versions floating around.

At first, I found this meme a little irritating. It was all over the place, and I found myself thinking, "Stop telling me to keep calm. What if I don't feel like keeping calm, dammit?" But then I came around. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

So, in honor of last weekend and Ten's predilection for mammaries, I created my own version.

Yes, she's seen it. She likes it. :-)

The "Fifty Freaks" Weekend, part 4

Sunday morning I got up earlier than I normally would have, because Strict Dave's Court was at 11:00. I confess that I was kind of edgy and out of sorts; tiredness was catching up to me and this was our last day, so I felt a bit off. I sent John to the suite ahead of me so he could get us a seat, and I went down to the coffee bar to get us both some coffee (caffeine for me, decaf for him). That woke me up a bit and I felt better in a few minutes. When I walked into the suite, the first thing I saw was Ten and a few others staring out the window at the brilliant blue sky filled with clouds. When I saw what they were looking at specifically, I had to take a picture.

No comment, as I believe the picture speaks for itself. ;-)

Poor Dave -- he didn't wake up until 10:45! Some sort of snafu with alarms. So SDC didn't start until around 11:30, which was OK because a lot of people were late anyway, straggling in after our late night. 

I've been to several of these courts, but I've never put in a charge or had anyone file a charge against me. Can't say that anymore! John filed one against me, for having a faulty GPS and not trusting his directions. (Yes, these cases are often ridiculous.) He presented his case, and then it was my turn to defend myself. I was off to a rocking start when I began with, "Your Honor, with all due respect to the court, the plaintiff is a pontificating peckerhead." After I made my defense, John called Jada to be his witness -- and she totally backed ME up! :-D So I was declared innocent, and John was assigned 15 minutes of "personal service" to me.

The cases went on -- Whooperine charging Ten because she messed up his hair; Stacymacy charging Beth because she desecrated her stuffed bunny; Ten charging PTL, because when Ten mashed her face into PTL's boobs, she got a nosebleed. (Yes, really.) Jules was framed for drawing an unflattering picture of Dave, but it ended up she didn't do it. (It was SO great to see her! She was so sweet, telling John and me how much we'd be missed at BBW.) And so on... until I got called up on another charge by John! This time, it was able my disrespect for the good people who run the Hofbrauhaus and how I insulted the waitress by making her put on a mustache to give me a swat. Once again, I defended myself rigorously, bringing up my reputation and so forth. We even showed Judge Dave the 40-second video. However, he saw me as innocent once again... but this time, he gave me six swats with the strap for contempt of court (I dropped the F-bomb). Win/win!

After court was over, we lingered in the suite for a long time, saying goodbye to the people who were leaving that afternoon. I reluctantly said goodbye to Alex, and she had someone snap a picture of the two of us (I don't have that one yet, however). Before we headed out, we wandered into the bedroom off the foyer to see what was going on in there. While talking with some friends sitting on the bed, we heard a racket from the bathroom, and then Ten came running out -- stark-ass naked and covered with bubbles.

Yes, I am posting this with permission -- I asked her twice, just to be sure!

Mike W. came out after her, scolding her and spanking her for making such a huge mess with bubbles in the bathroom. I went in to see what they were talking out -- I don't know how Ten did this, but the ginormous oversized bathtub was piled way up high past the rim with mountains of bubbles! It looked like she'd dumped an entire quart of bubble bath in there, or something. While I was laughing, would you believe that brat started throwing bubbles at me? So I snatched up some myself and flung them at her. Next thing I knew, the two of us were having an out-and-out bubble fight, plastering bubbles all over each other. Yes, I was fully clothed. I had bubbles all over my clothes, in my face, fogging up my glasses, up my nose. I wish someone had taken pictures of that event! 

We finally got out of there and had a late lunch, stopping to chat with Gino for a while before heading back to our room to rest. That night was the final gathering, with birthday cake for Joe, Gino and StoneHand -- Joe had gotten a beautiful big sheet cake and had the names on it. I'd been standing near the bar chatting with people, but then felt like sitting, so I went over to the couches. One was completely filled, so I sat on the second one. Mr. Rob looked over and said, "Oh, are you sitting there all by yourself?" He then got up, sat down next to me and patted his lap. Well, now! Considerate of him to come keep me company, don't you think?

He was a good guy -- he knew I was sore, so he kept it on the lighter side, which I appreciated. I swear, I come to the end of these weekends and I'm so damn sore, but I still want to play! I did do more watching than playing on Sunday night, though, but it was OK, since I'd done quite a bit myself and I'd checked off nearly everyone on my list of scenes I'd wanted. (I wanted to play with Strict Dave, but I love to play long and hard with him and I just wasn't able to do it at this time.) Besides, there were such fun things to watch: Joe strapping Missy; YS strapping Beth and Ellee side by side bent over two barstools; Dave belting otkdesire and StacyMacy over the same stools. It's so hot to watch precision players wielding straps -- those things aren't easy to aim and it takes skill.

Later, I wandered into the bedroom and found Joe spanking otkdesire, with Gino and Ten watching. I sprawled on the carpet and joined them, watching Joe experiment with his left hand, since his right hand was completely "assed." He said it was a scientific experiment -- riiiiiight! I was a little sleepy, so at some point, I stifled a yawn. Otkdesire caught me and threw me under the bus, saying, "Erica needs to go next -- she's bored!" Hummmph.

Joe and I seem to have developed a tradition at these parties, doing a scene on the last night and seeing what lasts longer -- his hand or my butt. (He calls it our World War III.) So over I went, down came my PJ pants and he started whaling away with his left hand (which is every damn bit as adept and powerful as his right, thank you very much). He mentioned our "war" again, so I lustily started singing, "Over There," changing the lyric "The Yanks are coming" to "The spanks are coming." It was our usual battle of wills with lots of banter, and we ended up calling it a draw (as we always do). :-)

Around 1:00, Dave and Stacymacy were leaving to go get food. I knew we wouldn't be there much longer and I figured this would be our last chance to say goodbye to them, so I went over to hug Stacy and then Dave. He asked me if we were going to BBW or FMS, and I sadly shook my head and said we wouldn't see each other again until Shadow Lane. He hesitated for a second, then said, "Well, do you want a quick six with the strap right now, before we head out?" YES! So he bent me over that well-used barstool, leaned down and checked in. "How are you? You sore?" I said a little, but I knew this was the last scene of the weekend, so he shouldn't worry about it. "OK, I'll make 'em good ones," he said. And yes, he certainly did. Then he added another couple of short sets with another belt, for good measure. A lovely hug and then he was out the door. Then, I knew I was done.

Shortly thereafter, John and I decided it was time to go. When I reluctantly got up and retrieved my purse, both Kelley and Ten blurted, "No! You can't leave! Erica, you're not allowed to leave." Ten actually blocked my path. Damn, I love these people so, so much! My heart was very full at that moment, after this extended weekend of being with friends and feeling so wanted and appreciated. It was hard to leave, but I knew we were getting up at 7:00 a.m. and we still had packing to do. It was time. So, after one last round of motorboating from Ten, we gave hugs all around and headed out.

The next morning, I was practically comatose, I was so tired. And very sore. But despite the sadness over having to leave, I still felt happy too. It had been an amazing time. Even the ride home was perfect, no traffic at all. John and I made it back to his house in record time.

Thank you, thank you so much to Joe and Ten, and to my friends, old and new, for making this weekend such a special time for me. Above all, thank you to my beloved, who has accompanied me to every party over all these years and without whom I can't imagine attending. ♥

OK, I'm finally done. Goodnight, y'all.