Happy (hic) Holidays

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Erica's Helpful Hints #6

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

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

There might very well be a spanking in stereo.



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
























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

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

New Guy's Theme

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Up, down, all around

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ugh. Double ugh.

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

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

New blog -- everyone go see! :-)

Happy Friday! (and happy ChrossDay) :-D

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a great weekend, y'all.