moving blog

I'm moving my blog so that it's under my Ms Cassandra email. Please go to This Cat Is Crazy

Stress and celebrity sightings

I think I'm simply worn down from the last couple of months. We have a very small staff on the publication I work for, and having one editor leave two months ago (or has it been three months?) has left us working longer hours and of course, a bit stressed.

I had scheduled an appointment to give blood after work today, so I took the 1 Train south to 66th Street and walked across town. The blood donation center is on 67th Street between 1st and 2nd avenues, and I used the long walk as a kind of an unwinding of the day.

Going cross-town right there takes you through Central Park, and it's still light enough at 6 p.m. to be a safe place to walk. It was a mild afternoon and I passed one large field where tons of people were throwing Frisbees around. I have not thrown a Frisbee in years; I used to love that, and was wishing I could join them. Others were playing catch or were engaged in other sports-like activities.

In the middle of all this there was ONE man, by himself, slowly performing Thai Chi moves. He looked like he didn't notice ANYTHING around him at all. What a state of being! Could I ever achieve that? In my current state of mind, no, but one-day-at-a-time, I'll keep working on it.

My blood must be thin, or maybe I don't have a lot of cholesterol, because the bag filled up very quickly. Afterward, the blood center technician wrapped my arm in this ridiculous self-stick gauze that was white with red hearts. Really, I did NOT need to be walking the streets of New York with this on... but they left me no choice.

Last time I gave blood I had two celebrity sightings on the Upper East Side. At least I THOUGHT I saw two famous people; I passed comedian Robert Wuhl (hey, check this out: http://www.hbo.com/events/rwuhl/) on 3rd near 63rd. Just a block or two later, Paul Giamatti came jogging by. I hardly ever see celebrities and maybe my eyes were deceiving me. But according to the NY Post, celebrities can be seen in many places in NY. And they do things just like you and me!

Getting silly now. Must get some sleep. Much as I'd like to, I can't take tomorrow off. Still too much to finish.

LOL for U

There's not much else to say. Can I has a cheezie now?

Trying to take it easy

It may be weather-related, but I've had a headache all day, and I'm tired and did not feel very productive at work today. Today my new supervisor started, and I'm waiting and watching to see how THAT will work out. The boss I've occasionally bitched about is still there, but the new boss will be in between me and the higher level one. So that might be good.

On the other hand, I'll surely be called upon to help the new supervisor learn the job, because I don't trust the big boss to do this. Sadly, I was not considered qualified enough for this position (I had applied for it) but am expected to show her the ropes. Oh well.

I don't like change very much, and currently all we are going by is her resume with a work history in black and white. Time will tell how we will all get along. Will her presence be a welcome relief after two months of being short-staffed? Or will she be difficult to work for, and will my job description change?

I am hoping for the best, of course. But -- kind of like watching our government at work -- I tend to assume the worst may happen. If so, well, I'll just roll with it the best I can, take notes, and blog about it later.

Weekend was very nice. We went to a small barbecue/scene party in New Jersey and of course, Rad spanked me. I was still sore from the other night! But I also got to play Ms. Cassandra for a little while too, which was fun.

Tonight, we go to bed early and try to catch up on sleep.

I promise to be good

Well, all right. let's not get too crazy here. I got punished last night for lateness on work mornings (I'm not ALWAYS late!) and for taking a few puffs on a cigarette two weeks ago, the last time we were visiting our friends R. & r., who are smokers.

I figured if I was breathing it anyway, I could imbibe myself a bit. Yes, I hate how smoking smells, it gets on your clothes, gives you nasty breath, etc., etc. but I did it anyway out of a desire for camaraderie. Rad was really pissed. He said he was disgusted and already punished me, and then last night he let R. punish me again. (He has sworn to REALLY give it to me big time if I do it again, including a few hundred with the strap !! and making me eat soap -- ewww! I guess he really doesn't like smoking...)

R. (since they both have the same initials I'll just use upper case for the top and lower case for the bottom in this relationship) is a very tough top from what I've seen, but I'd never played with her before last night. She spanked me really hard.

First I got pissed because I felt she was punishing me for a made-up reason. She said I "took" one of her cigarettes. I had been sitting with her girlfriend, r., and ASKED if I could have one, did not know they were R.'s.

Rad was watching us play and when it started to get really painful and I protested, he told me to get back into position. I finally said, "All right. I accept the punishment for smoking" (couldn't get my head around "stealing a cigarette," since that's not really what happened).

After Rad and r. watched R. spank me for a while (yes, I know there are too many "R" names in this blog), Rad took r. into her bedroom and gave her the spanking SHE had been asking for.

r. is a REAL brat (not like me!) and ALWAYS needs spankings. I'm "just" a procrastinator who can't organize her time well. Oh, and I sometimes indulge in things that are not good for me. I figure I gave up my main addiction, so once in a while I can misbehave in other areas, right? All right, maybe not.

So, R. also paddled, caned, and finally singletailed me. It was VERY hard to take, I was yelling a LOT. Rad said he could hear me all the way from the bedroom. I let her go as long as she wanted to, though. After my week, I really needed this kind of release. I also love that I have marks, and I can still see them this morning.

The end is near

It's Friday, I worked like crazy all week and now it's nearly the weekend. I'm still stressed but in a sort of non-emotional way (lots still to do today, but I'm not as anxious about it). I have a story to write; I'm going to work on it on the bus this morning. The lead is written so hopefully the rest'll all flow like butter when I get into work later.

After work, we're planning to visit and play with friends at their home. The top in this relationship is someone I've never bottomed to before, and she wants to make up for that tonight. She is apparently a VERY hard spanker. I'm not entirely sure my head space is there for it yet, but I can usually get there quickly and, after this hectic week, it may be a good release.

She knows how to use a single tail, and I might ask her if she will use that on me since I like that type of play. I find it sort of meditative, not as frantic a feeling as a hard over-the-knee thrashing. Rad going to top her girlfriend, and says she's been bratty all week and really needs it.
Will, perhaps, report back later. Time to get this party (AKA work) started...

I'm annoyed --- what else is new?

WHY am I getting so annoyed lately? It must be the heat. It's so sticky and muggy here; my sinuses are really clogged up; I've had a headache on and off for two days.

We were in the grocery store tonight after work, and at the checkout I started to head to the end of the counter to bag the groceries (Rad was paying). Then I saw there was already a guy down there bagging. Oh, that's cool. I looked at him again and I saw he was not wearing a store uniform or name tag, however -- and then I noticed the tip cannister on the corner of the bagging area.

All right. I opened my mouth. I say, "Excuse me, do you work here?" The kid said, "Yes," but he didn't sound too certain. I said, "Oh, okay. I was just wondering why there was a tip jar there."

The kid gave the cashier a look. Rad gave me a look. I know he thinks I should just be quiet. Pick and choose your battles, he says. Yes, I know, I know. There are many, many other things to get bugged about, like the Korean ladies who come into a restaurant pushing DVDs while you're trying to eat, and the loudmouths in the Starbucks, and people who stand suspiciously too close to you on the train platform so you have to really watch your bag (to randomly name a few).

Still ... this gets to me. I just don't like the implication that I should tip in a non-tipping situation. I don't like it at Starbucks, or Dunkin Donuts, or anywhere else where's there's counter service. I hate it in a restroom, where a lady hands you a paper towel you could have ripped off the roll yourself. I HAVE tipped at Starbucks on occasion to get rid of some change, but ONLY if the employee is nice to me -- otherwise forget it, and regardless of how little these employees are paid -- no one is obliged to tip. At sit-down restaurants, I'm always generous. That's where you're SUPPOSED to tip.

Rad and I had a discussion after we left the grocery store. I said I'd try harder to not open my mouth at the slightest provocation. I felt justified in expressing my views while we were still at the store. But I probably really didn't do too well with that, come to think of it. I was indirect and passive-aggressive. Not the best way to register a complaint.

Blogger's block strikes again

Just got back from a business trip over the long weekend, which was quite successful, but the work is not finished and I still have to write an article about the event. I had my laptop with me over the weekend, but the weekend was hectic and I barely had time to check emails, let alone blog. By Sunday, when I flew home, I was exhausted. I know this is not a good excuse, however, and I'll get back to blogging soon.

(Does a blog about not being able to come up with a blog topic count as a blog?)

Anyway, there were witnesses who, I hope, will report back to my boss about my brilliance over the weekend. I was very nervous about having to do some public speaking -- a brief talk in front of a large crowd; and conducting a workshop on Saturday. Both went well, I think. I was pretty well prepared for the workshop and did a decent job of leading a back and forth exchange with the audience. Not something I've ever done before, so I was happy it worked out. The weekend conference, beyond being a lot of work, was fun for me. I met a lot of interesting people.

I hate still feeling insecure at work, though. I do the best that I can and I think that I'm doing all right, but I want to be a little more confident and assertive; I'm not quite there yet. Strangely, I DO think that topping more in my scene life helps me in my work and vanilla life.

Anger and guilt

I saw my therapist last week and it felt like an unproductive session, even though I felt fairly normal, couldn't identify any major anxieties, didn't think there was anything earthshattering that I needed to unload. When I left I was saying to myself, Am I wasting my money? Do I really need to sit here every week talking? Does she think I'm just a pathetic, self-centered whiny bitch?

As I walked down Lexington Avenue after the session, I soon realized the voice questioning my need for therapy was the same voice that frequently pops up and says, "Don't ask for help, you're on your own -- deal with it."

I didn't realize I was angry until someone pulled a maneuver on the street -- this lady just HAD to walk in front of me and cut me off -- then immediately slowed down. Once I got onto the train, I again got angry, this time at a "bully" who was blasting music on a little radio/CD player with no earphones. (I call them bullies, because I feel like they're laughing at all of us who are too nervous to actually say anything, let alone do anything, about their rudeness).

I felt powerless and angry. Yet I hate that I get angry. I felt guilty for feeling angry.

And why else do I feel guilty? Shall I count the ways? "I'm not a good enough friend," "I gossip too much," "I surf the internet too much at work," "I don't help other people enough," well, I could keep going, but you get the idea.

So all these feelings were not expressed to my therapist, and should be, except for the vicious cycle that's running through my head: "Don't make yourself too vulnerable. If you tell her how you feel, it may just be left hanging there, unrelieved." I don't know if that's true, and all of these feelings may just be part of my normal cycle, my usual down phase just before my time of the month.

Public speaking, public play

Last night we headed to Paddles for the TES spanking night. TES stands for The Eulenspiegel Society (http://www.tes.org/), a NY-based BDSM society that's been around for 37 years. They host workshops, demos, and talks on various scene topics. (This coming weekend is the TES Fest in New Jersey; details: http://www.tesfest.org/. I can't attend as I'm traveling for work, but I recommend it for anyone wishing a broader picture, more knowledge about what's out there.)

TES also hosts a spanking night, with a talk or a demo, once a month at Paddles. Last night, the "theme" was a "most spankable butt" contest. Because of the downpour in the early evening, a lot of people stayed home, so when I got there, I was the only woman. Yikes. I hadn't planned on entering the contest, because ... well, you know, I didn't want to make things unfair for everyone else (ha)!

But when no other women showed up, the organizers figured they better switch gears. The contest was cancelled and they asked Rad and me to join the guest moderator, Jesse, and give a little talk about public play. They also asked me if I could spank any of the men in the audience who wanted a spanking. I said, "Sure!"

The audience was small, still mostly men (two other women had come in by then). I had no idea what was going to come out of my mouth, but I got up and started talking, and then I made Rad take over for a little while, and then Jesse said a few words. Finally I asked for volunteers. The guys were only a little bit shy, several jumped right up to get spanked. It was a lot of fun. While spanking the first guy, I gave a little mini-lecture on safewords -- especially when playing with a brand new partner whose limits you don't know yet.

I always try to let Rad be my first and last top of the evening, so I asked him if he "wanted" to come up and spank me. As if. And boy, did he!

After that I "opened it up" to anyone who wanted to top OR bottom. I only got one taker from the top side, a newbie, who did just fine and gave me a moderate (AKA "good girl") spanking. Another audience member confessed he needed a school paddling in front of the "class." He even presented me with a proper wooden paddle to use. Ms. Cassandra kicked into gear, lecturing him just like a school teacher would. Then she let loose with ten very hard -- but slowly paced -- strokes with the big paddle. He reacted quite nicely and I think he was satisfied.

After that, Jesse took over again and invited a newish couple, J. and L. from Boston, to come to the front and play. They ended up being very entertaining. J., the husband, gave his wife L. FIVE HUNDRED strokes with a variety of implements for something silly she'd done. She had a real cute bottom (plus she could take a LOT) and they both had the audience laughing with their banter back and forth.

It was a fun night. When regular play started, Rad led me back to the main stage and gave me 36 with the cane. We had just gotten new canes shipped from WhypDancer (http://www.canes4pain.com/). I also got to paddle and cane H., a subbie I sometimes play with. I loved hearing the rattan whistle down and his little yelps of pain afterward. He rewarded me with a foot massage when we were done. I never turn down a foot massage, and he happened to know what he was doing -- always a plus!

Rad and I were pretty much done for the night after that, and we said our goodbyes and headed home.

Coming through the pain

I play a lot, as people who know me know. I am a slut, a greedy little SAM, who needs a lot, and who's lucky to have a husband and friends who will give it to her on a pretty regular basis. And, I've been playing since my early twenties. So I know by now that a spanking is going to hurt.

Still, I tend not to think about that. I seem to FORGET how much it hurts until it's actually happening. I'll be over Rad's knee and when he starts to spank me it seems harder than EVER. (He has a very hard hand.) Is my pain memory very short; my pleasure memory longer? (Does this have anything to do with my addictive nature, why I drank for so many years? ... )

When a spanking (belting, caning, paddling) starts to feel too hard, my body reacts. I struggle. This, to me, is the beginning. This is where my top pushes me back down, orders me to stay in position and take my punishment, or physically restrains me -- a leg locked over my legs so I can't kick, or actual ropes or duct tape or something else locking me into position. Then when the punishment continues I REALLY have no choice, and I start to panic, and my top still keeps going. And going. And only stops when HE thinks I've had enough.

I'm not a safe-word type of girl. Don't use them very often. Feel sure that all the tops I play with respect them, would stop if I used one (I HAVE, on a few occasions) and would never harm me. Hurt me -- yes. Harm, no.

And the top pushes me to the point of panic, where I think I can't take ANY more, and he MAKES me. Oh god, no... I'm completely out of control, my body is not my own, during this period. I have no choice in anything.

And when he stops, at last, after that, we're sweating and breathing hard and the struggle comes to an end, I am high as a f***ing kite.

That's a scene.

Consumed by work right now

I don't want to talk about the spankings I still need and what Rad may or may not do to me when we go to Paddles this Saturday night. I'm overwhelmed with deadlines at work. Last night I took work home and shut myself up in the bedroom with it for an hour. So I missed the Florida Moonshine regular Tuesday chat and Shadow Lane chat. I'm going to be continuing my work on the bus this morning, as I have to prepare for a 10:30 a.m. meeting.

I may have mentioned a while back that I was promoted at work. I had applied for my boss's job when she left, but the higher-ups decided to open up and fill a higher-level position. I was technically qualified for the more advanced position, but they went with someone with more managerial experience. Problem is, she won't be starting for another few weeks. I've been covering for my old supervisor for nearly two months now. (Funny, isn't it? -- we won't promote you to this job, but -- go ahead and do it until we hire someone!)

In a strange perverse way I LIKE the responsibility, and I'm getting to be more creative than I was before. I've been asked to conduct a small workshop, which is something I've never done before. Plus I'll have to speak briefly in front of maybe 1,500 to 2,000 people at a conference next weekend. I'm trying not to think about THAT too much. I'm okay with all of this, oddly confident, actually, but much planning needs to be done. I need to work out a format for my workshop, decide what I'm going to say and what my coworker, who's helping, is going to say.

But no matter what, there's a lot of extra work, and I'm working some extra hours, and I have stress.

I don't feel a good balance in my life right now. I need to connect with people, not just kinky people, but my vanilla and ex-drunk friends, too. Need to connect, yet ... feel like I'll have to FORCE myself to dial the numbers. Haven't even talked to family members in a few days.

Rad and I have kind of been hiding out together recently, it seems. Sometimes we don't talk for a while even though we're in the same room. We're each fooling around on the computer. But it's really nice to have him here, to be ABLE to talk to him when I want to, to comment on something I just read on some blog, to go over and hug him spontaneously.

Sometimes he just gets it in his head that I need a spanking, and next thing I know I'm bent over his knee and he's peeling my underwear down...

Ahem. I wasn't TALKING about spanking. How did that get in here?

Sandy is "punished"

What I probably should have gotten was a long, hard, over-the-knee spanking, but we always have to worry about our annoying downstairs neighbor. Instead, after I got home last night, a little before bedtime, Rad ordered me into the bedroom. (Do you think his punishing me had anything to do with me walking into the kitchen earlier in just matching pink panties and bra, putting my arms around him and saying, "Daddy? I was a bad girl..."??)

It was to be the cane, with a flogging to follow. I was parading around in just the pink panties and a tight, too-small t-shirt that has a cartoon of a cat and the words, "I ♥ My Pussy." I can do white trash as well as the next girl, you know.

He made me take the panties off and lie across the bed in just the t-shirt, with my bottom raised over two pillows. He took out the thicker cane, the one that's probably about the width of my thumb or maybe middle finger. Not as stingy as the thinner ones. Not as wicked as the even-thicker "Thumper."

And then he gave me twenty-four strokes. Slowly, the way a caning's supposed to be, where you feel each one sink in and slowly subside as you anticipate the next. I like having a set number. It's easier to deal with your chastisement when you have a specific end in sight.

After the caning, I was allowed a brief pause. But then he told me to kneel up and strip. I peeled the shirt off and lay back over the pillows. He took the small, multiple-stranded flogger. This is one with hundreds of thin, rubbery strands, and it's very soft, with a normal stroke, and is pleasurable.

But when Rad really swings it, I feel like I'm being hit with something solid. It's a big thuddy impact, and I do like thuddiness, but he pushed me beyond my pleasure zone. He whipped my back with this until I was crying out and writhing. There was a short pause, then a second burst of whipping until I cried out again. He also whipped my bottom, went back and forth between my back and my butt.

It was delicious pain, just enough, just what I needed. No, it didn't REALLY feel like punishment, and it was followed by pleasure -- which I don't think I need to describe.

RIP to a comedy genius

Just heard George Carlin died last night at age 71. He's always been someone I've always admired for his wordplay, writing, and simply making you think.

A classic bit, dated or not, it's hilarious:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTyzTJTNhNk

Of thongs and belts

(dupe from MySpace)

We were going clothes shopping yesterday and I thought I might be trying on bathing suits, so I put a thong on instead of regular panties. They make you keep your underwear on when you try on bathing suits...

But you know, just because a girl puts on a THONG, there's no reason to assume that she needs or wants a spanking -- OR needs to be bent over the bed for a belting.

However, Paul seemed to think otherwise, so that was exactly what happened. Just a little belting, about ten strokes. Very stingy.

I've been busy spanking other guys all weekend, my arm is tired, and I think I need some REAL attention tonight. I already told my "daddy" that I was a bad girl and needed to be dealt with.

Will let you know what happens.

Girly stuff

So, I wanted to talk about this crazy thing called a "pedicure," which is now mandated in NYC if you are a girl and wish to wear sandals or open-toed shoes.

Now, I'm pretty new at this pedicure thing. I only got my first one two years ago. It was wonderful (Dolly in Maryland had treated me for my birthday; thanks, Dolly!) and I was sorry I hadn't done it before. On the other hand, I don't like obsessing about my toes and spending money I don't have to spend, so since that first one I've only gotten two or three more -- usually before a major party. It's a once-in-a-while treat.

But yesterday it was time to get one, since I was going to top a guy who wanted to give me a foot massage after I whipped his ass.

I found a nail place on 8th Avenue that wasn't busy. Right away, the cosmotologist is treating me special. "Would you like the deluxe pedicure with a massage?" she asks. I'm thinking, wow, I just want my toes painted... I ask the price, and it was double, so I said, "Maybe next time."

She cleans off my old polish then sticks my feet in the water, which is deliciously warm and feels great. I'm reading a book, trying to act like I do this all the time and I'm bored, but really, I'm eating it up. I don't exactly know what's going on down there. She lifts one foot out of the water, starts cleaning and trimming and pushing cuticles. Then the other foot. Then more trimming, followed by more soaking. Finally she drains the tub and starts rinsing me off. She opens a little cabinet near her and takes out a towel, which was heated. She lays that over my legs and feet, presses it in, dries me off. Holy shit, that feels good. I'm practically purring. Next she massages my feet. Then starts massaging my calves. It feels terrific, but I say, "You know I only want the REGULAR pedi, right?" She nods and keeps massaging. This is the regular pedi? This ROCKS!

Meanwhile, I'm sitting in a massage chair that's been rolling, pounding, and squeezing up and down my back and neck this whole time.

The clinician rips off a piece of plastic wrap, slaps something onto it from a tub on a counter, and wraps this around my heel. It's warm and the plastic keeps the heat in. "What's that?" I ask. "Parafin," she says. "It makes your heels soft." "Ohhhh, nice," I murmur as she does the same with the other heel.

Only after all that does she finally put the color on my toes. She does a very nice job, considering that I've kind of beaten the crap out of my nails this summer. Then off I go with the little paper slippers to the drying area. She tells me I need to sit with the fan blowing on my toes for ten minutes. Okay, I think, opening up my book again. Suddenly, she's back, comes up behind me and starts rubbing my neck and shoulders! Damn, can this get any better? She massages me for about five minutes.

What an experience. I feel like a princess! Ok, enough girly stuff for now.

Send me your blog URL

I'm adding interesting blogs to my blog roll, so if you know of any, please let me know. (this is still in progress and if I know you and you don't see yours listed here, I'm still working on it).

My husband recently started a blog called radspace (http://radspace.wordpress.com/) which has some interesting thoughts about the scene. Check it out when you get a chance.

Me, I'm thinking about what to write today and kind of in a haze. I know I need a spanking, but that's obvious -- when don't I? Maybe we can go to Paddles tomorrow and play.

Gotta get to work and will come up with a topic later. Of course, suggestions welcome.

the tower of temptation

Can someone tell me how I'm supposed to work with this monstrosity calling me from the office kitchen all day? This is ridiculous. Diet is out the window for another day.

I took a little walk at lunch, did a scene tonight (that counts as another workout), and will do my pushups before bed. But I think I should have had better will power.

Do I have something to say?

AKA, "who needs a big-ass paddling?"

The internet seems to be sucking the life out of me. I sat staring at my computer screen for the last couple hours before dinner, doing what? -- Looking at spanking web sites, reading other people's blogs, reading gossips, answering emails -- everything but writing, which is the number one thing I SHOULD be doing. Suddenly, in my mind what I have to say has become irrelevant. "No one wants to hear it. Why bother?"

This is where my head is at. I wanted to post a real Florida Moonshine party report, but I was too exhausted the first couple days back and now everyone else has reported on it ad nauseam. Whatever I contribute now will be boring. So my comments have been reduced to, "Yeah, great party!"

I turned 45 on Thursday, with little notice on FMS, Shadow Lane, or any other site I belong to. That's just as well. I really do not want to be reminded that I am now fully, solidly, and undeniably entrenched in middle age. I am not feeling sorry for myself. My life is really, really good right now. Probably better than it's ever been. And I think I look pretty darn good for 45. I just did 50 push ups in a row a little while ago (my goal is 150 for today since I skipped two days). I'm pretty active and I don't have any major health problems.

But I do have issues, and things that I would like to overcome, and I'm not getting out of my rut and overcoming them. And I wonder if I can.

My main issue is -- when am I going to get some GUTS and start doing what I feel the urge to do? When am I going to restring my guitar, pick it up, and play it in public again? When am I going to write a song again? When am I going to stop telling myself I can't write -- and just start writing? When am I going to start creating a new mosaic? When am I going to finish decorating the apartment...

And, as far as the BDSM scene goes, when am I going to stop telling myself that subs are just a dime a dozen and to a top, I am nothing but another butt? "Yes, I can take a good spanking, but so can lots of younger women with firmer asses..."

This is one reason I got into topping. I LOVE the attention. I never got much attention when I was younger, heavier, tens times shyer, and tens times more worried about what other people would think of me. Being in the scene gives me lots of attention. And I think I'm pretty good at topping, although I do have much to learn.

I feel so much competition as a sub; I feel I am vying for the tops' attention. I don't feel that as much, as a top.

Problem is, I don't REALLY get my deep needs met as a top. I really need to submit if a scene is to be a quality scene for me. Whether that's submitting to someone's control for several hours, or simply submitting to a level of pain -- that's what I crave.

Sigh. Well, at least I've gotten some words out, which I haven't done most of the week. I may revisit this later.

And I do have something to say, I think...

some new pics

the cat who loved feet...


Riverside Park, near where I work, with George Washington Bridge in the distance. I just liked how the shot turned out.

Stuffed

A friend and some friends of hers went out to a Korean barbecue place tonight for dinner; we completely pigged out. It was so good. My diet has gone completely to hell and pretty much so has my exercise plan since the accident. I am back to doing pushups, finally, and walking, but not much else. It's all right. I won't eat as much tomorrow, and I'll go for a walk (if it doesn't rain).

We bought a new car today; see picture -- it's a Toyota Scion. A short, somewhat boxy car that has a terrific safety rating, decent mileage (not as good as the Yaris, but close), plus a lot of new gadgets. You can plug your i-Pod in and listen through the radio! How cool is that?

We go to Florida in one week for Florida Moonshine party. It's going to be a busy week, still have to get haircut, pedicure, new underwear. Maybe somewhere along the way P. and I will get to play...

repost of my blog about the accident

This is a repost of the blog I wrote about my car accident on May 4, for anyone who wants to know. I might not keep it up here long, since I feel like I've talked about it too much and I don't want to press my luck.

But here's what happened:

We were on the Long Island Expressway, driving home after a good night of play and socializing at Paddles. Paul was driving, as usual. I was tired, a little sore, distracted, not paying attention to the road. I was probably checking emails from my phone, something I like to do.

Suddenly I heard Paul say, "Look out!" I felt the car swerve suddenly. I jerked my head up. What's happening? (A dog had run onto the LIE and Paul had swerved to avoid it). I didn't see this, had no time to figure things out. It was happening too fast. Next there was this unbelievably loud crunch of an inpact -- someone's slammed into us, I thought -- but the car kept moving, we were spinning, tumbling, I'm being tossed, the car kept moving, speeding toward some certain impact.

"Here we go!" I thought, not sure which body part would be struck first. I might have thought the words, "Oh, God!" but I didn't have time to really pray. I registered that I was upside down and still moving, and that we were going to hit SOMETHING, and there was about to be a fucking shitload of pain. I was going to be mangled, my face was going to smack into the windshield, my arm was going to be crushed, bones would break, my whole head was about to be pulverized.

The thought, "I'm about to die," didn't really enter my consciousness, however. It was just a terrified anticipation of major pain.

And then the car stopped. My face, my arms, all other body parts were intact, as far as I could tell. I was alive. Was I upside down? I was unable to determine this completely. (I was). I heard Paul's voice then, sounding very frightened. He called my name and said, "Get out of the car. Get out of the car!" I didn't realize till later he had seen a lot of sparks as the car was dragging on its roof. He was scared the car would burst into flames. Where was he? Was he next to me? How could I get out of the car? How do I unbuckle my seatbelt? Would I fall if I unbuckled my seatbelt? "How?" I said, beginning to shake, my teeth chattering. "I'm trying..." I have to try. Where's the buckle?

Someone reached over and unbuckled my seat belt; hands helped me out of the car. We were on the highway but no cars were going by. Traffic on the LIE has stopped. Strangers had stopped to help. There was a truck driver, an off-duty female police officer, a couple other guys. I couldn't see very well. My glasses had fallen off. I saw our blurry car tilted up, resting on its roof. The police officer and a man walked me to the side of the road. "Stay here," the off-duty cop said. "Stay out of the road." I couldn't stop shaking. I tried to stay there, but didn't see where Paul was. I began to panic. Was he still in the car? Is he hurt? Is he alive? Then I remembered him telling me to get out, so I knew he must be alive. I yelled his name across the road, started to go back over. Someone stopped me, told me to try to breathe, to stay to the side of the road. Paul finally came over. He looked okay except for a small cut on his hand.

We were alive. We were walking around. WHY were we alive? Was there a reason for this? I shook and shook with fear, relief, shock. The shaking continued until the ambulance arrived. My neck and back hurt so they put a neck brace on me and strapped me onto a back board. Inside the ambulance the EMT started to take my blood pressure and saw how badly I was shaking. "Take some deep breaths," he said. "You'll screw up the reading. Just breathe. You are okay." As I'm pretty good at following directions, I obeyed. I focused on my breathing, and my shaking finally stopped. I was alive! And I think maybe God was telling me something.

The hospital was another ordeal. We were in emergency room for twelve hours. They admitted me finally, around 3 p.m. Sunday afternoon. They took X-rays, CT scans, blood and urine tests to rule out internal bleeding. Because they'd spotted something on one test, they wanted to monitor me overnight. They'd wanted to place a catheter to test for bleeding, and I nearly freaked out at that news. But I was lucky and didn't have to go through with it. Subsequent tests showed I was okay.

Paul was X-rayed and discharged way earlier, but he stayed with me the whole time until I was admitted. He was so tired and hungry, but wouldn't leave me. I love him so much. He is my strength, I think.

I was released around 11 a.m. Since then, I have been walking around on a fucking pink cloud, thinking life could not be better. I have never felt so good, so alive. I AM in some pain, yes, but it's so minor compared to what I expected.

Thanks to all who called, emailed, or messaged their support. You are the best! That's my story. And now I move on, and life goes on.

I'm back

I've decided to start up the blog here again, just to let more people who aren't on MySpace read it. I have not come up with any concrete plan yet on subject matter, so for the time being it's just going to be about spanking, work, commuting, mental health, marriage, friends -- in other words, anything.

Wanted to talk about spanking as a relief from everyday pressures. I got a nice quickie spanking from P. earlier tonight. I told him I'd forgotten to take my medicine in the morning. He doesn't really punish me, he just sort of grabs an opportunity as a reason to put me over his knee. If I hadn't "misbehaved" and he wanted to spank me, he would just spank me.

I like feeling like a little girl. I like being told to assume the position. I like when it starts to hurt, and when he pushes me back into position when I start to struggle. I guess I just like not being in control, not having to make any decisions. I like the pain, too; it turns me on. But I like the submitting part more, the idea that I'm giving someone else authority. And, I like the fear, and I like being pushed through my fear.

When someone is simply disturbing

(Cross-posted from MySpace -- http://www.myspace.com/davidiamametelle)

What do you do when you're at a small local party or gathering and there's that one person you'd simply not want to have to see or deal with? When the rest of the crowd seems to have no problem with him or her, but because of your own personal history with this person, you feel awkward around him in small gatherings?

I've not stayed away from parties, but I have avoided smaller social events where I'd be in close proximity to this man for long periods of time.

The host of one of the party groups I belong to questioned us about him because of rumors that she wanted more info on -- she'd heard that he'd been banned from another group, and wanted to know what my husband and I knew. We told her what we knew first hand, and what we'd heard second or third hand, and clarified the difference.

She feels he has done nothing to her or anyone she knows, and that enough of the stories were not based on eye-witness accounts, so she's chosen to give this man the benefit of the doubt and include him in her members-only parties. Of course, he's allowed to go to Paddles, which is not private. Therefore, he's been at just about all of the recent parties and OTK nights we've attended.

I HAVE to respect her decision. I would be a hypocrite if I didn't. With the gossip that sometimes flies around our small spanking community, you HAVE to form your own opinion on a person and go with what you see, go with your OWN feelings.

My uncomfortability with this person is NOT based on rumors. He has bothered me, directly, in the past. He's acted like a stalker. Followed me around at Paddles and other parties, lurked on repeated occasions. This doesn't happen anymore (to ME) that I can tell, but it happened for a long enough period of time that I got really turned off to him. I have friends he's acted similarly toward. The alleged behavior that got him banned from the larger spanking group went beyond stalking, was more physical. I was not a witness, but I trust the people who told me about it.

Smaller social gatherings, including a possible bowling night, and a weekend "camping" trip at one of the group member's cabins, could be lots of fun. They would be great opportunities to get to know OTHER people better.

But right now, I don't think I can do it. So every time a group member proposes an activity, and he expresses an interest in attending, I cross it off my list of things I want to do. Should I be more forgiving? Am I biting off my nose to spite my face? Probably... but he creeps me out.

Asking for it

(Cross-posted from MySpace blog http://www.myspace.com/davidiamametelle)

The other morning I was dawdling, fooling around, and we left a few minutes late for work (we're supposed to be out the door by 7 a.m.). In the car, Paul told me, "You're getting a whipping tonight." I said, innocently, "Am I?" He said, "You'll see." All was sweetness and light, with a bit of banter -- nothing could actually happen to me right then.

That night I came home a bit late because I'd signed up to give blood after work. He said nothing about my threatened whipping, at least not right away. There was a Shadow Lane members' chat scheduled, so I turned on my computer and jumped in. Paul said he wasn't in the mood to chat right then, but periodically asked what the topic was.

At one point I told the chat room, "I'm supposed to be getting a whipping tonight but so far Paul hasn't said anything." One or two helpful "friends" offered to send Paul emails to remind him. I didn't know if I was in the mood either, and didn't really want to remind him.

We tend to use "whipping" in a vague way, as in, "You're getting your ass whupped." So it doesn't necessarily mean a whip will be used. It could be the liquid cane (extremely nasty), or a flogger, or the leather rat tail, or something else. That night, I was feeling "flogger, yes; liquid cane, no." But if Paul had said, "Okay, let's go into the bedroom so we can have our 'talk,'" I would have submitted and taken any implement he chose.

Almost right after I posted on the chat board about the pending whipping, Paul said, "So what are you guys talking about?" I got nervous and said, "Oh, nothing," in a voice indicating there was certainly "something" going on. I expected him to push me for an answer, which I would have given, but instead I think I hurt his feelings and left him thinking we were talking about him behind his back. Well, we WERE, but not in any bad way. I simply did not want to ASK him for my whipping, did not want to remind him of it.

The next morning, safely in the car on the way to work (hey, I'm not stupid) I came clean. But, he said, "I wasn't in the mood last night to punish you." "Oh," I said, somewhat relieved. We talked about it a little bit. For me, I'm often "not in the mood," but can get in the mood very quickly, especially when being MADE to accept it is a large part of what turns you on. And especially when a "real" punishment is what turns you on.

So the whipping is temporarily on hold, but still waiting for me, and could be carried out at any time. But I probably still won't ask for it. Until I start Jonesing for it. Which could happen. Who knows?

If anyone's still reading this

I've been having difficulty keeping up with writing here, so I've decided to go on a hiatus.

I'm planning to use my MySpace blog as my main blog for now. The link to the page is http://www.myspace.com/davidiamametelle
but that might be changing, too. I will post again here with a new link if/when that happens. If you don't have MySpace, I apologize, but I don't think many people are reading this blog, anyway...

Sandy

Lucky -- addendum to "a rough night"

I must have someone watching out for me. I forgot one important OTHER event that happened last night. I unknowingly dropped my wallet while getting out of a cab at 51st and Broadway. I was carrying that huge bag, and was digging through it on the trip downtown, trying to find my earrings and necklace. In the meantime I had the wallet out because i was taking out a twenty to pay the driver with. I must not have tucked the wallet back where it belonged, and then dropped it outside.

We got lucky. A guy found it, looked us up in the phone book and called my husband while I was still in the city. He left his number, but told P. on the phone he would mail the wallet back. I had no cash in it, but of course, all my cards would have had to be replaced. So I call him back this morning to thank him profusely. We agree to meet at a Starbucks on 51st and Broadway at 1 p.m. I am pretty busy at work but I rush down there (takes abotu 15, 20 minutes each way). He's a sweet young guy, probably mid-20s. We say hello, then I express some excuse about how distracted I was the night before, and that's why I dropped. Like dropping a wallet is such a "careless" thing to do, and it's "wrong" to be so careless in New York City.

But he's just being nice. I hand him an envelope with $20 in it, a note on the outside : "Have lunch on me. You're a lifesaver! Ok, maybe not quite a lifesaver, but you sure saved me a huge hassle." He made like he wasn't going to take the money, but I insisted.

Pretty cool, huh? How often does THAT happen? Needless to say I WILL be more careful here on in.

a rough night

Patience pays off this morning. A crowded R train platform, a crowded train pulls in and people squeeze on. It's 8:16, late but not too late. I plant my back against the station wall and wait. V train comes a few minutes later. COULD take the V, but transfer will take longer. It's sort of crowed, too. I let it pass, keep waiting for the next R. The platform is now blessedly uncongested.

The R pulls in. Glance at my watch. Only 8:20. Beautiful. And there's ROOM! I have to stand, but I have the coveted spot by the door, where I can lean (as opposed to gripping a pole), which means I can write.

For some reason, I'm more often inspired to write in a train full of people or in a noisy Starbucks than in front of my computer screen. I don't know where such inspiration comes from, if it's not coming from the collective consciousness of everyone around me. If it's ONLY coming from my own mind, I would find it easier to write in solitude -- but that's always hit and miss.

Anyway, I won't get into gory details of last night's commute home but suffice it to say that the MTA screwed me over. It took nearly two-and-a-half hours to get home, which included over an hour of standing out in the wind and cold. This was partially based on buses not being where they were supposed to be WHEN they were supposed to be, and bad decisions on my part for alternate transportation. I felt like a fool. P. says maybe I should have taken a cab home. Where we live, way out in Queens, it could cost up to $50. Knowing later what I eventually had to go through last night, a cab would have been worth it.

Work was tough. I was exhausted and not very productive after only getting around 5 hours sleep.

Addict!!

In Astoria, Queens, there's a place where they make the doughnuts for all the Dunkin' Donuts in the area. The aroma is in the air several times a week as we're walking the block and a half from our car to the Starbucks. I normally don't eat doughnuts -- it's probably been at least a year -- especially not now while I'm trying to lose weight. But the smell triggers ridiculous cravings. No matter that I've already had breakfast, I'm full, and I don't WANT a doughnut.

Last night it was brownies. Some evil person made homemade brownies and put them out for the taking at my FOB meeting. I could smell them when I went to get coffee. On the way back to my chair, I noticed a big chunk of brownie that someone had dropped on the floor. This triggered more desire for the brownies, oddly. (The idea that someone had wasted part of one made me want one more?) The night before, it was a cake at an anniversary meeting. There have been a LOT of anniversary meetings lately, which means a lot of cake to say no to.

The cravings continue, so it's a constant battle. When I allowed myself the chocolate on Valentine's Day, of course I wanted more. P. says I'm doing well; I'm resisting these cravings. But I'm thinking it's only a matter of time before I'm eating an entire pint of Chubby Hubby, or a bag of Pepperidge Farm macadamia nut white chocolate soft cookies, in one sitting. Yeah, I'm a fucking addict. I hate it!

Today, I run on the treadmill at lunchtime. That should get rid of some of these urges. Understanding my body, understanding that the cravings are a physical as well as a psychological phenomenon based on years of human evolution, does nothing. Eating well and allowing myself healthy snacks between meals does nothing. It always comes down to a white-knuckle, will-powered resolve, and THAT does not come naturally to me. "One hour at a time," as they say in the rooms.

In which I write the required Valentine's Day blog

A friend on MySpace sent me this image, along with virtual flowers, as a Valentine's Greeting. I did a search using the product code and found it was a $99 handmade brush. Wow.

Well, my husband and I really aren't doing Valentine's Day. I had so much to think about this week time ran out on me for getting a card or gift. I see my therapist tonight, anyway, so we're not celebrating till tomorrow -- we're going to a show, and then we're going to play at one of the pro-houses where I play with my subbies. I booked a room for us. He's promised to spank me later, at the very least.

So, to those who celebrate or don't celebrate, have a great day.

Nasty!

Wednesday’s commute – nasty, slushy, drizzly. But at least not too cold, thank God. A little wetness has seeped into my so-called waterproof boots during my one-block walk to the bus stop. No one has shoveled this section of sidewalk, so we’re standing and waiting on a layer of icy snow that now beginning to melt. It’ll be gone by mid-morning for sure. There are six people at the bus stop already as I approach and step to the end of the line (express bus riders wait in polite lines). Two more people arrive after me. Must mean the bus is late, which means it’ll be crowded – naturally.

Yes – when it arrives finally there’s nearly a full house. Those with empty seats next to them have that “don’t pick me” attitude -- they're trying not to make eye contact. One lady has arrogantly sat on the aisle seat to avoid having a seatmate. I would pick her FIRST out of sheer spite, but I want someone thinner. I’d rather sit next to a woman, but one man looks skinny and I almost choose the seat next to him before spotting a fairly thin woman further back. I pick her. I stash my coat, hat, scarf, and umbrella on top in the luggage rack to further reduce crowding. God, I hate having to touch people if I can avoid it. It’s the big, comfortable bus today, though, so it won’t be a bad ride.

I have been reading a book called “My Private Life: Real Experiences of a Dominant Woman,” by Mistress Nan. It’s a very well-written book and it’s been giving me some inspiration for my own play. I had considered reading it on the bus. But my seatmate had been reading the Bible when I sat down, and now I feel funny about pulling out such a book. I’ll continue with the Anne McCaffrey I had also been reading. Or, I’ll go through some receipts I need to organize. Or put on my i-Pod and just shut my eyes.

It’s that time of the month. I’ve been irritated for two days. I’m going to be positive and happy today. Okay. We’ll see…

Not a real New Yorker yet...

I hate getting confused on the subway. After four-and-a-half years as a New Yorker, I should be used to it, but I tend to get myself into a pattern and everything outside that pattern becomes unfamiliar.

Last week I took the F Train to work. P. wasn't going to work that day. I normally either drive to Astoria with him or I take the QM1A. But I'd forgotten to put money on my Metro Card; I didn't have enough for the express bus so I asked P. to drive me to the closest subway, the F station on 179th.

I stopped at the machine to refill my card before I forget, then I got on the train. I hadn't taken the F in a long time and I was wracking my brain, thinking, Where's the transfer point? I had a decent seat for once, and I didn't feel like giving it up to go look at the map on the subway wall. Instead I tried to picture the grid in my head and I was thinking... Lexington? I can transfer at Lexington, right?

I got off at Lexington, surprised more commuters hadn't exited with me. Usually there's a lot more people at a transfer point. But I didn't see any signs for other trains. I thought I could get the N or R here.

There was a map on the station wall. Someone had peeled away a huge section of the map into the shape of what looked like a cock and balls, and they'd written "Fuck everybody" in the balls area. I thought of Holden Caulfield*, laugh to myself.

There's enough left of the map to figure things out. Here's where I screwed up: Lexington Avenue is a transfer to the 4, 5 or 6 -- which I used to take when I worked at Union Square. At least I'm not completely nuts. But that doesn't help now. I have to wait and get on the next F train. Sigh. Have to go to 34th, switch to the N, R, Q, or W north, transfer again at 42nd to the 1, 2, or 3.

At 42nd the 3 comes first, the express, and I don't feel like standing around so I hop on. This means yet another transfer; I switch at 72nd to the 1 local. This will take me to 116th and Broadway, my final destination.

The train is really crowded. I'm jammed next to a girl with a huge Barack Obama 2008 button, and a guy, standing over me, inches away, reading Obama's "Dreams of My Father." They don't appear to know each other.

At least I have a seat and can write. Thank God for something.

*************************


*That's the whole trouble. You can't ever find a place that's nice and peaceful, because there isn't any. You may think there is, but once you get there, when you're not looking, somebody'll sneak up and write "Fuck you." right under your nose. Try it sometime." -- Catcher in the Rye.

Monday commute

Standing in a corner is NOT the way I'd chosen to start off my week. Especially when said corner is on the subway and I'm being crushed by the stinking hoards of New York . . . like a . . . sardine. Something's gong wrong with the trains today. At Steinway (in Astoria, Queens), a V comes into station first – and does not stop. The crowd seems thicker than usual and as we wait it gets thicker. A G train enters the station. Not a normal train for this station. Why's that coming through here? Am I supposed to take it instead of the R? Will they give us instructions? Will the instructions be audible?

Does not matter. The G zips by without stopping. Commuters turn heads, as they did with the V, to watch it go. No one comments. There's nothing to say.

It's almost 8:15. We wait. A light in the tunnel, then an R appears, at last. My train, thank God. I need to get away from the girl standing too close to me and coughing at the back of my head. I hope she has covered her mouth. We press forward. The car is packed. A few people get on. I'm not going to make it. Shit. I give up, move back, wait against the wall for the next one. If the V has room I'll take it, even though I have to go to 34th to transfer. Waiting. Finally it comes. Shit, it's crowded, too. A few people get on. Station is still crowded. I stay against the wall.

At 8:23 (I've been here nearly 20 minutes now), a second R pulls in. It looks crowded, but not as crowded as the first one. I'll make it. I push forward with the crowd. It's tighter than I thought; too tight. I WON'T make it! I hear the conductor yell, "Stand clear of the closing doors!" Take a quick glance to my right. The next door looks like there's a tiny bit of room to squeeze in. I take it, make myself fit. Sorry. Pardon me. Thanks. Too much humanity. A girl's ratty short ponytail is sticking out, right in my face. I turn my body as much as I can, but I'm still in danger of getting a mouthful of hair.

In the left corner, two female voices are suddenly raised. Someone has violated someone's space or sense of propriety, apparently. Can't see what has happened from where I am standing. Let's just assume someone overreacted. I hear, "Fucking bitch!" mumble, mumble, mumble, then "Yeah, keep looking!" Commuters smile to themselves at the ridiculousness, but, probably like me, they are glad they are not closer and even more glad they are not involved.

It's so hard not to judge. We are all in this together, but . . . why aren't they moving toward the center? – there's obviously room there. Why is that girl wrapping her arm around the pole when that's preventing someone from holding on? Etc., etc. At Lexington, three stops later, I am STILL crushed against the door and still no one has moved toward the center. While the train is stopped in the station, I push through people to claim my own spot in the center, along with some breathing room. No hope of getting a seat, however.

What is there to do? Grin and bear it till 42nd, where there's a huge exodus. This is Times Square, a huge transfer point. Up the stairs, push through people, try not to get annoyed by those walking on the "wrong" side of the stairs.

Up on the concourse, I slow down briefly to listen to a young musician I haven't seen here before, singing and playing original songs on his acoustic electric. He's not bad, but I am late – no time even to read his name. Down the stairs. Station is crowded. The 1 train pulls in, and is PACKED. We push in. Squished like sardines again. The train pulls out, heads north.

Welcome to Monday morning.

The center of things

He says he needs to be the center of the universe. He is the center of HIS universe; do I have to make him the center of mine? Do I have to work extra hard at making him feel special?

I work at my own self-improvement. Some days I do better than others. I don't often lash out in rage. But that's never been my style. I spent years pushing it down inside myself, and that's still an occasional habit. I'm not a self-mutilator, anorexic/bulemic, or drug addict, but I could easily be. I've toyed with all of these over the years. I did my time with abusing alcohol and sexual acting out, to bury my feelings, especially the feelings of self-hatred.

I can't drink anymore, and I don't sleep around anymore, but the pressure is still there sometimes to do things to please others -- so they won't leave, so they won't get mad at me, so they won't hate me. I felt hated in school. Not only shunned, but sought out and abused by some. Followed home and taunted on a daily basis. I was the fat, ugly, introverted kid. My home life wasn't much more pleasant. Lots of chaos there, physical and verbal abuse...

That is my past. It helped make me who I am today, good and bad. The bad part is I still people-please too much. The good part is I can be empathetic. I sometimes am TOO empathetic when I need to be tough, and occasionally I go too far the other way -- "Get over it, already!" -- and that's not quite right, either.

All I know is that it is not my NATURAL state of affairs to be considered sexy, to be looked at as desirable. I love it, oh, God, I love it, but I can't get used to it. It will end, it is a costume, and I have to take that costume off at the end of the day when I'm left with myself.

I mourn my innocence sometimes, when I was younger and more nervous and scared and a little guilty about asking someone to dominate me, spank me, punish me. Now I am jaded. I still feel afraid sometimes before a scene begins, but it's usually a fear like riding a roller coaster for kicks. I will get what I need. I know I need it, so I will go through the fear and pain.

I don't think my husband has discovered yet how to seek out what he needs and go for it. I look at him as being very desirable to the general public, a very good top who's got the sternness and the toughness all worked out. He IS very dominant, in the way that a certain subset of our crowd love. But he doesn't seem to recognize this. He thinks if you are a desirable player, than people should approach you and ask you to play. A lot of women do ask him to play, but many don't want to ask. It's best, in this game, if the man asks. Byond that, if he has a number of people that he doesn't want to play with, and that's noticeable, others that he wants to play with might not approach him.

I don't want to compete with my husband in my own desire to play and be noticed. Yes, I love being noticed just as much as he does, as anyone does. But it's not a popularity contest. As much as we're doing our own thing at a party, we're still a team.

Just say "no"

I'm beginning to figure out why these parties are exhausting me and leaving me drained. It's not the physical part so much, although that's part of it, of course. I can only spank so many bad boys before my shoulders and arms start to ache.

It's the emotional drain of people always coming up to me and asking me to play. Most of them bottoms; on occasion, the timid top.

Even worse, now it's SOMEONE ELSE coming up to me and playing matchmaker, because the guy who wants to play can't get out of his wallflower mode enough to ask me himself. It's pathetic. This happened to me a few times at the SCONY party on Saturday. My husband and I paid the full, regular couples price to get in. I'm not getting paid or even getting a free pass; ie, I'm not WORKING. Yes, I'm trying to get to know people and promote my "corporal consulting" business, so SOMETIMES it pays off, but I also want to have fun. And I don't have that much fun when I'm playing with people who I wouldn't have picked to play with myself.

My goal for the next few parties, the next few visits to Paddles, is to just say "no." I'll hand out my cards and they can decide what they want to do. It's flattering, but too much already. I'm only going to play with guys I want to play with. And that usually means, at the very least, men who have enough social skills to approach a woman without using a liaison. Come on, already!

P.S. I really need to get spanked soon!!! Even better, caned.

Easy, relaxing Sunday

Up early, had a cup of tea, read a little of my book, fed cats, and then out to Barnes and Noble just before 9 a.m. -- our usual ritual.

Yesterday I did a ton of chores. Two loads laundry, shopping, changed cat's litter boxes, cleaned bathroom, swept kitchen floor. I wanted to make turkey soup from the remaining turkey in the fridge, so I chopped all the veggies I bought yesterday. Carrots, onions, celery, and escarole. I also had a dentist's appointment yesterday -- had to get a filling (ugh). And later, in the evening, we went to Manhattan for Ms. Margaret's SCONY party. I was called upon to play quite a bit, and since I'm trying to make as many connections as possible, I tried not to say no. The boys wore me out!

Today, after we got back from Barnes and Noble, I started the turkey simmering and then took a bath. The hardest part of making the soup was picking the meat off the bones. Veggies got tossed in, turkey meat got tossed back in, it simmered for another half hour or so.

P bought a hearty multi-grain bread from the supermarket bakery, which we buttered and toasted in the oven to have with the soup. Perfect meal, if I may be allowed to say. I don't cook from scratch THAT often, but it's so gratifying when the results are good.

Nesting -- is that what it's called?

Don't want to go anywhere. We are cooking a turkey for dinner, one that's been frozen since Thanksgiving -- P got it free from work but the family already had one so we just put it away till later. I had some stale bread and I tossed together a basic homemade stuffing (luckily we had some onions, and poultry seasoning in the cabinet. No celery, though. Oh well). So, that's been in there for about an hour and a half, stinking up the joint in a good way, and P's out shopping.

I've got my big warm bear slippers on and I'm going to zone out on the couch, hopefully with two kitties snuggling with me, and either read or watch junk TV.

No one can MAKE me do anything else. Tomorrow it's back to the real world, back to my exercise plan (I let myself miss a couple days while I was recovering from surgery). But today, I'm allowed to do nothing.

sick cartoons!

For no good reason except they made me laugh!
This is the work of Hugleikur Dagsson. I especially liked the one about the therapist, since my therapist was driving me so crazy. That IS probably what he was thinking!

Enjoy!

How do I feel?

Sometimes I don't know what to feel when I'm topping. When I've got a guy over my knee, and I'm scolding him, and spanking him, and he's reacting, it's just incredible. Especially when you're talking one minute to a funny, attractive, confident man and suddenly you see this shift taking place to a contrite, somewhat submissive man who's put his trust in my hands. Is it contrived? Is it ME, or the fantasy in his head being facilitated by me? Probably a little of both.

The one guy I was playing with asked for a warmup over his jeans first. I agreed, although I said he wouldn't be getting that for very long, since he needed discipline. I could see him reacting to the pain of the smacks even through the jeans. That was nice. I tugged up at the waistband to make the demin tighter over his bottom; I know that a spanking hurts a little more when you do that.

It was noisy at Paddles; the music is always thumping in the background. So I had to lean over in order to hear him. I kept up a dialogue as best I could, "reminding him" (we had just met) that he had earned this punishment. He admitted to looking between women's legs, while riding the subway, trying to catch a glimpse of panty. You know -- when you sit on the sideways seats and you're wearing a skirt, you gotta be careful to avoid the peep show. I told him I didn't appreciate his objectification of women, and spanked him some more.

When I finally stood him up, unbuttoned his jeans, and pulled them down, he murmered that it was embarrassing. I looked at him and said sternly, "You SHOULD be embarrassed!" Then I yanked him back down across my knee and started spanking him harder. I pushed the embarrassment idea a little further, saying, "You know, EVERYONE can see you. Everyone knows how disgusting your behavior was, and now they're watching you get spanked." There WERE a few people watching. I liked that...

I pulled up his briefs into a wedgie and exposed his cheeks (they were very nice cheeks, by the way!). "Now everyone sees your bare bottom. See what happens when you are a bad boy?" (I'm rephrasing as best I can, I'm sure I said something like that).

It was just so nice, especially when I finally took the hairbrush to his bottom and got him really squirming. But yet, I don't know WHY I liked it, exactly. Am I living vicariously through my victims? Is it my need for exhibitionism? Or is it really a toppiness slowly being untapped inside me that is starting to get really turned on by this play?

I like spanking someone really hard and then being a little nurturing. I had him sit on my lap afterward, and that felt good. Yes, it helps that he was a young, confident, and intelligent. And he had a nice butt... did I say that already? Sorry.

I don't care so much about being a phony anymore. I think I've moved beyond posturing and more into real play these days. I still worry about disappointing someone, though. It hasn't happened, I don't think, except for a few who said they needed more and some whose role plays weren't working. That can be worked on.

foot fetish

This drives my husband crazy, but my black cat loves feet. Especially P's feet. Maybe they just feel really warm and remind him of his mom ... or something... but most of the time when P is sitting at his computer working or playing, BF is at his feet, nuzzling up against them or using them as a pillow.

I think it's adorable.

Naturally there's no reason for this post. I wanted an excuse to feature my cat again. I'm a crazy cat lady. Someone should be spanked for this. Okay, there was no reason for that, either, except to throw the word "spanked" into the mix. Someone needs the belt... OK, I'm stopping now.

New Year, inspiration

Last night I picked up my guitar for the first time in several months. It had been cased and pushed under the bed about a month ago as part of my ongoing efforts to reduce clutter. But I was inspired by a) it being the first of the year and b) the musicians, writers, and artists all around us earlier yesterday evening.

We were invited to a New Year's Day open house in Manhattan, hosted by my husband's aunt and uncle. This is an artistic family. The aunt writes fiction, the two female daughters, P.'s cousins, are singers, and successful ones. One sings opera and the other is more pop-focused. She's even had a song played on a popular TV show. P's uncle is a mathematician, but is writing a novel.

Beyond the relatives, the party was full of other artistic people. I barely know P's family, so I was feeling rather awkward for the first half hour we were there. After some initial introductions, I thought P and I would be spending the party talking to ourselves.

I noticed his cousins, however, introducing themselves to everyone new that arrived. They obviously did not know everyone their mother had invited, but were helping her out in welcoming people. So next time I got up to check out the food table, I took their lead and introduced myself to the person standing there. I asked how he knew the hosts, what he did for a living, etc. He was in the middle of writing a novel and had already written several plays, of which some had been performed. So we had an interesting conversation about writing.

I continued in this vein throughout the party, striking up conversations with whomever was nearby. P began to do the same and we ended up meeting some very cool people and having nice chats about art, music, and politics. Most of the crowd was liberal, so that certainly helped.

I mentioned to one man that I played guitar but hadn't played in a while. I didn't mention my ongoing feeling that I'm a fake, that I'm not a "real" musician — even though I've performed, sung and played in front of audiences a number of times. But I feel this way about my writing and art, too, so what can I say?

I said to him, "Maybe I'll take out my guitar when I get home tonight." I think once such statements leave your mouth you should follow through on them. So I did. I tuned it and then picked for about fifteen minutes before bedtime. I hadn't forgotten everything. It's a start, and feel ready to learn a new song now. I'll report on that later...

One party to go!

Happy New Year to all! I made it through New Year's Eve without overeindulging, and I managed to get a bit of exercise dealing with some of the bad boys and girls. This morning I've already done my pushups and crunches and I'll take a walk later if it's not raining. It looks bleary and gray out, but I don't think it's raining.

Today we are going to my husband's aunt's Manhattan apartment for a family New Year's Day open house. The last (I hope) occasion where I'll have to be on guard, in self-denial mode. We have this German chocolate cake in the fridge that we are bringing to the party and it's one of my favorite cakes... but we'll see.

I talked briefly about resolutions earlier, about how making them and starting right on New Year's Day seems destined for defeat. If I want to change something BIG, I try to start before New Year's Day. Maybe it's cheating -- maybe this means I'll only commit to it in the New Year IF I've already established a pattern. But probably not. In the case of dieting, it prevents you from doing one "last" big binge, and waking up disgusted the next morning, unable to eat the healthy breakfast you should be eating.

But my body is just my body. I have more important things I need to work on, such as doing what's good for me (emotionally), saying no when I should, being more positive, being more balanced, being more accepting of other people -- good AND bad. (I hereby resolve not to get pissed off at loud cell phone talkers on the bus... ha! is that going to be the first resolution out the window?). Maybe a better resolution would be -- I hereby resolve to NOT do something that would make me angry if someone else did it. Golden rule, perhaps?

Have a great 2008.