I cannot wait for this week to be over

Can someone please explain to me why so many people have trouble following simple, goddamn written down directions?

I would really like to know. Because if I know why they can't handle it, maybe I have a shot at fixing it, and I won't have to repeat a week like this one, where if it can be fucked up at work, it has been fucked up, and 99% of the fuck-ups are because people cannot follow directions.

give me another round of...

You know, I like this "going to doctors and getting answers" thing. Not only did I find out what the hell was going on with my abdomen (and yes, it's possible that it was the main source of pain all along), but I also found out what's going on with my shoulder. That's only been screwed up for, oh, five months?

Leaving the question of why I wasn't booked with the clinic's shoulder specialist in the first place, I finally saw him yesterday. Diagnosis? Biceps tendinitis and a torn labrum. Which apparently was visible on the MRI, if you were looking for it. Glad I want to see him; I like knowing these sorts of things.

Basically, the torn labrum thing (well, and the tendinitis) is something that will just have to get better more or less on its own. However, we are going to try to speed up the process using physical therapy; I have my first evaluation appointment this coming Tuesday. While PT isn't my favorite thing in the world, I'll deal with it if it means less shoulder hurting.

I really, really like having explanations for things. It makes it a lot easier to deal with if I have a label for it.

Soporific

I had already taken off my clothes, and was sprawled across the bed in all my naked glory. Behind me, Jay was undressing.

It was a late night; we were both tired and had stayed up watching baseball. I hear the belt come out of the loops, and then nothing else. I turn, see him holding the belt with a considering look in his eye, and dive under the covers.

Meep.

I hear him set the belt down, and poke my head out to look at him, raising one of my eyebrows.

He looks back at me, and I remind him that there is a world of difference between "Oh the HELL you're doing that to me" and "oh my god please don't do that to me", and we were definitely in the territory of the latter.

Once having this properly explained to him, Jay proceeded to put me to sleep by applying his belt to my ass. And it was fantastic.

Talk about anti-climactic

Well, the good news is that I do not have a kidney infection, nor do I have any of the other potential things that quite honestly, were a bit scary. I did have an ovarian cyst that burst, apparently, which is kind of sucky, but in terms of things I would rather have it be, there's not really that many.

Better news, there weren't any more abnormal cysts on the CT scan, and now that I'm not completely losing my shit, I should really start feeling better. Which, I do. At the very least, I'm much more calm, and that really does help a lot. Things are not perfect, but at the very least I have a diagnosis, and I have a timeline besides "we don't know".

Work... kinda still sucks, but now that I have one less thing to worry about, it's a little easier to take.

Mostly what I've been up to, I guess you could call nesting. I cleaned the blankets for my bed, and I made a wreath for my front door, and I'm cooking and baking again. I'm also starting a container garden on my back porch, which so far includes garlic. Yup, pretty awesome. I'm going to put some tulips in later this week. One of my garlic cloves is already sprouting (which I am told they tend to do and is totally okay), so that is exciting, because my green thumb, not usually so green.

Other than that, I am waiting on ski season. Oh, and feeling obligated (by no one but myself) to spend Thanksgiving with Jay's family. This puts a slight kink in my plans to go skiing on Thanksgiving again. Skiing just might win out, familial relations be damned.

Brief update

Had my CT scan yesterday. Can I just share, why are there incompetent nurses out there? I had blood taken on Monday. When she jabbed the needle into my arm, I about jumped off the table it hurt so badly - and it's not like I haven't had blood taken about six ZILLION times before; I can usually tell them exactly which vein to use, and it doesn't normally hurt. This, this hurt.

Result: huge bruise on my right forearm.

Wednesday, for the CT scan, not only did I have to drink nearly a liter of barium contrast medium (which is awful, ps), and put up with the waiting room (which was awful, ps), I got to have an IV put in my left arm so that they could also inject me with iodine. I've had IVs dropped in my arms, too. She's all prepping for my right arm (guess she didn't see the GIGANTIC BRUISE), so I tell her to use the left, which I also know from experience functions marvelously for venipuncture. Again, so much pain, I about jump off the table. I do not know why this is so complicated, especially when it's your damn job.

Anyway, I have an appointment with my doctor next week to discuss the results. In the meantime, I feel like crap and haven't worked yesterday or today. I am really, really glad that my boss is 100% understanding and supportive.

Also, I napped on my couch again today, and left a truly magnificent drool spot on my pillow. I literally woke up in a puddle. It was pretty awesome.

What if I say I'm not like the others?

First, the doctor-bullshit update:

Shoulder MRI? Completely normal. So I say to the doctor, "So if it's normal, why does it hurt?" His answer? "I don't know. Do you want to do PT, or see the guy in the office who specializes in shoulders and is in fact giving a lecture on shoulders at a conference at this very minute?" I opted for the shoulder guy, and spared a minute to wonder why the receptionist didn't book me with him in the first place - considering I told her I needed to have my shoulder checked out!

Other stuff: I went to the new doctor, and holy god, my blood pressure and pulse were normal. That hasn't happened at the doctor's office for years. She sat, listened to everything, asked some questions my other doctor didn't bother to ask, poked and prodded, and is having me set up for a CT scan. She is much more willing to work with me to find an answer - but, was honest enough to tell me that nothing in medicine is 100%. I looked at her, and said "Yeah, but I'd settle for like, 75 or so", and she laughed and said "I'll bet we can at least do that."

So I feel better about that. Still hurt, still feel like crap, but, progress has been made.

This weekend, I'm going to a bachelorette party and the wedding - the party being the one I mentioned the scrapbook was requested. I still don't do overly emotional stuff, so I am opting to stop at the liquor store and bring my friend a very nice bottle of something alcoholic. I figure it's still in line with the bachelorette party theme, but does not make me want to vomit to think about it. And, I know it won't be unappreciated. I talked with Rabbit, who is one of the bridesmaids, and she agrees that a bottle of booze would not come amiss - being as how our mutual friend s well aware of how I view things like "scrapbooking" and "special memories" and "girly shit", and also happens to share my taste in beverages.

I don't like bachelorette parties anyway. Well, not ones with OMG PENIS PENIS PENIS LET'S DO RIDICULOUS THINGS IN PUBLIC PENIS PENIS PIE themes, anyway. Honestly, for mine, I am content to get together a bunch of my friends, of all genders, and go out to a bar and drink. That's it. Not a club, no games, nothing. Or maybe, go to a casino, drink, and gamble. That's it. Like, we don't need to giggle over the fact that I'm going to have sex; we're not sixteen and I've had it before. Nor do we really need to make fools of ourselves in public. It is really just unnecessary.

Also, why the hell is it that whenever I find a pair of jeans I adore, they promptly discontinue them? Like, my Gap boot-cut button-flys? Discontinued. My Venezia Supremes? Discontinued. Swear to god, they wait until I buy it, then stop it. Hate that.

Other than that, Jay's coming over tonight, which is nice, so he can keep me warm. I am enjoying the fact that the nights have been chilly again. Very much so.

Why I am angry

I'm less angry than I was last week, although still mightily pissy. My level of tolerance for bullshit is at near-record low levels, people.

As for why I am angry, a lot of it revolves around my health and my work (surprise!). The health issues are ongoing, which is why I am angry about them. Basically, I can handle being sick or unhealthy for about a week - maybe two if I'm so sick that I sleep twenty out of twenty-four hours. After a week, by god, I should be feeling better. So, since I've had a shoulder that's screwed up for three months, and random kidney-abdominal-what-the-fuck pain in my back and "suprapubic area" (no lie, that is what my doctor called it; I think it's great), I'd like to shoot something.

Also frustrating is the medical establishment. I had to harass the woman in the shoulder specialists' office for a month before my MRI was scheduled. For two weeks, she was talking to the insurance to get it covered, so okay. But the last two weeks? I know the insurance approved it, because they sent me a letter saying so. Right.

As for the kidneyesque shit, it hasn't gone away. It got slightly better two weeks ago, so I thought maybe I really was on the mend. That would be why I didn't call my doctor to schedule the CT scan on the 4th - 'cause I felt a bit better.

Last Thursday, I didn't go to work, I slept all day. Friday, I woke up in the worst pain in those areas I've had since I first got diagnosed with a freakin' UTI. So I promptly called my doctor's office, and, like she had asked me originally, left a message for her saying that we should go ahead and schedule the CT scan. Again, this was Friday. Morning.

It is now Tuesday, and I have not heard from her. So, I found myself a new PCP and have an appointment with her tomorrow. I am hoping that I will like her more than my last PCP.

I also called the shoulder specialists' office and made an appointment with that doctor to go over the MRI I finally had on Friday. I would like to share, that the tech said I did a very good job and held very still. What she doesn't realize is that this MRI, while it is true that I was in pain through it, was a hell of a lot less painful than the last one I had. That time it was for my back, and, at the time, I didn't know that I had two herniated discs. Right.

Thankfully, my boss is awesome, so I've been keeping her updated with what's going on, and she's 100% okay with me not working tomorrow morning and instead going to both doctors. She is also convinced that I have a kidney stone, but we shall see.

As for the work reasons for angry, basically, I'm filling in for a job that's not mine, but it's in an area that we're short-staffed. It's a support position, and there's one other guy in there who is full-time. The problem is that full-time guy wants to take not a whole lot of responsibility for doing, y'know, his job, which drives me up the damn wall. Any time he can pass a support issue off to someone else, he does, which is so not what he's supposed to be doing. He just is not showing a lot of initiative in figuring out issues, learning stuff, etc., which is highly disappointing. He also seems to be assuming that I'm going to pick up as much as a full-time person, and I am so not, because I so do not have time, because I'm doing all of my regular full-time job - this is just icing on the cake and a favor to my boss (which yes, I know, I know).

I'm also frustrated with another group that's testing all of our applications for next year's planned major OS upgrade, since I have to tell them information six times. I finally got to the point with one of their questions that I simply replied "Please see the attached email of [date] for the answers to your question, which I have already provided to you", and attached the previous email I sent them. Two weeks later, I got the same exact question, from the same exact person.

But my company wants to outsource more IT support. Good plan, oh yeah, excellent idea, it's really worked well so far.

And finally, I'm upset because while I like my job, and I love the people I work with, it's so not what I want to be doing with my life right now. I don't hate it or anything, but I do get frustrated with people not taking responsibility, action, or, y'know, writing shit down, and I get frustrated because I have to work, but it's not what I want to be doing.

That's pretty much it. Just a lot of crap, and a lot of stress, and a lot of feeling blah, and it all really dumped on my head on Wednesday. It's a good thing Jay is so patient, because I highly doubt that I've been extremely pleasant to deal with over the past week.

fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, you're cool, fuck you

You ever have one of those days, where it sucks ass and you're ready to shoot something even before you get out of bed, and it just goes downhill from there?

Yeah.

I am going to bed now to avoid any further bullshit. I'm so angry I don't even want to talk about it right now.

fuck yeah

Ah god, I love football season.

I get reminded of things from books all the time

There's a certain statue at my alma mater that, local lore has it, will come to life and disappear if a virgin ever graduates.

I remember being told this as a fresh-faced 18-year-old, straight from the Midwest and convicted as all hell, and I determined that the statue would finally leave on my graduation day, if the stories were true.

It didn't, because neither did I.

seriously

Yo rice. You done been in the slow cooker with the chicken on high for three hours, with extra liquid in the sauce so that you could soak it the fuck up. Is there a reason you're not done besides "I hate you"?

Bitchin'

So, I might still have a kidney infection. I'm not sure. I finished week two of the seriously-not-fucking-around antibiotics last week, and... this week I still have to pee all the time, and my kidney-area is still hurting me, and I'm still uncomfortable as hell. SUPERAWESOME!!!1*&$^

I realize that, right, the smart idea would be to, I don't know, call my doctor, but I don't want to for a few reasons. First, I hate her. Secondly, I hate her. C, the ultrasound of my kidneys and bladder came back completely normal, so that makes me think that maybe I'm crazy and there's nothing wrong with me (except there is), and four, I hate going to a doctor and not being told what is wrong. It's like, if I'm going to actually go and physically see the doctor because something is wrong with me, I want an answer to what is wrong with me, and a solution that, y'know, works. Guesses, speculation, and "I don't know", I can do myself, and much more affordably (just wait until you see my rates! And you thought a $10 copay was cheap).

Unfortunately, of the times I have gone to a doctor in the past five years with a problem, only once have I gotten an actual answer and a treatment that worked. That was the time I was freaking hospitalized. Other than that? "Well... try this. It might be this. We don't know why you're having these symptoms because all of the tests come back normal."

I hate that shit, yo.

Fifth, I hate her, and while I don't want to work right now, working is a much more attractive option than going to see her.

Other things I need to do include getting the damn alarm taken off my car, go grocery shopping, figure out what the hell else I'm going to eat for lunch and dinner this week (I have to do this, otherwise I revert to eating cheese and junk food for all three meals), and do something with the half of my room that is currently an unorganized pit of despair.

Sounds like a good time to catch up on my blog reading, doesn't it?

Two cranky thoughts

Can I just share, and I know it's TMI, but having a kidney infection really is not helping my sex life in any way, shape, or form. I am not in to pain, especially not bad pain.

Also, on a similar whiny note, what the hell is it with asking people to bring a scrapbook page "with a special memory and 2-3 pictures" as a shower or bridal gift? Okay, 1, I don't take pictures, and, if I do, it's because I'm on vacation alone and I saw something awesome. I can count on one hand the number of pictures I have of my friends, and 2, I seriously do NOT scrapbook. Like, for reals. Knitting, embroidery and cross-stitch, sewing, baking, cooking, painting, oh hell yeah, but scrapbooking? Please god save me. And this is the third one this year.

fuck shit damn.

Oh, whoops, I have a blog!

You know, and it's not even that I've been so remarkably busy lately that I just have not had ten minutes to sit down and blog. It's just that, well, I haven't wanted to.

Then again, I haven't wanted to do much of anything lately, which is somewhat worrisome in and of itself.

Anyway, a few updates from the past month:

1. My sister-in-law, that is, the wife of my younger brother (see also: "That's because you can comprehend the ocean"), is pregnant. Approaching four months. The baby is due in February.
2. I am knitting a baby blanket for the baby.
3. My mom's 50th birthday was last week, and Jay and I flew out. It was awesome.
4. I think my sister-in-law doesn't like me. I think she's bat-shit loony, but not because she doesn't like me - because she's bat-shit loony.
5. Brother and wife did not fly out for my mom's birthday.
6. I went to the doctor on my mom's birthday. I had been feeling "off" for, oh, a week or so, but not enough to do anything about it. I'm sitting on the plane, and thinking to myself "oh my god, something is actually wrong with me, I have pain in my lower abdomen." This pain was complemented later that night by pain in my lower right back area. Diagnosis? A UTI that had spread to my kidneys.

Yes, I had one for at least a week before I realized. What? I've never had one before.

7. Have blamed Jay for the UTI.
8. Reminded Jay repeatedly that I am on serious antibiotics for the next week. Antibiotics.
9. Jay did not have sex with me on Sunday night, and I am sad. Well, not penis-in-vagina sex, anyway, which is really what I wanted. I gave him a handjob the next morning though, which was almost as good.
10. Still feel like crap and still have pain in the kidney area, albeit not as bad - but felt crappy and tired enough to not go in to work (which may also be related to the other general malaise I've been feeling lately). Nearly done with the antibiotics. Might call the doctor tomorrow, but I hate her, so maybe I'll see if there's someone else in the office I can see.

And that concludes the updates from the past month. Oh wait, I should also talk about the bachelorette party I went to. Oh god. What a fucking shitshow.

I have got to get out more

Jay decided on Sunday night that he was sick of not getting any and that whether I liked it or not, something kinky was going down. I let him, because I was kind of getting sick of not getting laid, either.

He puts one of the collars and the leather wrist cuffs on me, and then tells me to get down on all fours on the bed, right up against the footboard. He's got rope out, so I assume that I am to be attached to said footboard in some manner, and I am correct.

The man tied my boobs to the footboard.

This, naturally, broke my head. I mean, don't get me wrong, I bought this bed with the idea that we could tie each other to it - it's a heavy-ass steel or iron or something and there's lots of bars and cross-bars and swirly bits... well, you get the idea. I just didn't expect my boobs to come in to play here.

While my head was broken, Jay got out the crop and practiced his wrist movements for a while, which I did not feel because I was too busy going "so wait, each boob is tied individually to adjacent bars and I cannot move them or myself OH GOD THIS HURTS MY HEAD OH GOD STOP THINKING". Seriously, it was pretty awesome. I had a ridiculously stupid look on my face for at least twenty minutes.

Jay finally untied me (and un-broke my head) when I started shifting around too much it was getting to be an issue. Because my boobs were, you know, attached to the footboard, that meant that my hands were either on top of the board, or supporting weight right in front of me, and eventually my wrists and knees were telling me to fuck off, so I kept moving.

Once he untied me, he proceeded to hook my wrists to the headboard (see? attachment options) and make boob- and pussy-flowers. Unfortunately, the boob-flowers really hurt this time, making me an extremely sad panda. I, was about to cry, and I hate crying.

Meanwhile, Jay had gone to all this trouble, and after the near-crying incident, I was not okay with being awake anymore, and so he wound up coming on my face, which was fine by me because my eyes were closed and I think that if we'd had sex, I would definitely had freaked out, because holy god, pussy-flowers have the amazing side effect of making everything super-sensitive.

We then both got up very late the next morning and bitched all day about being stupid-tired. We are awesome.

"When it detects things, it goes 'ding'!"

I am not sure how I managed to get through the entirety of my geeky-ass life without seeing even a single minute of Doctor Who prior to June 30, but I somehow did.

I mean, not only do I happen to love a lot of other British TV (Avengers and Waiting for God, anyone?) but I used to watch PBS like it was my job.

Never seen it. Glad I have now. Been watching as many episodes as I can get my hot little hands on.

Also, would do David Tennant six ways from Sunday.

No, no it is not.

This journal isn't controversial enough, so I figured I could get this little confession out here:

I refuse to support breast cancer research.

Go ahead and read that again if you need to; it's okay. Because there's got to be someone out there thinking She's not really serious, is she? Oh, I assure you, I am.

I do not support breast cancer research.

Now, any other charity, pretty much, I could come out in every day life and be like, "Nah man, I don't donate to that", and it'd be relatively okay. But breast cancer is the biggest sacred cow I have seen lately. I have people in my office who literally say things like "It's ALLLLL about the pink!" in dead seriousness and me, I just can't connect with that. It's like if you're a woman, which means you may or may not have tits, you should be donating every single spare cent and minute to THE CAUSE. In some circles, some places, there is seriously that expectation.

It's not that I don't know the effects of breast cancer - my aunt had it. Cancer has happened in my family, up to and including breast cancer. Cancer sucks it. I would be down with finding a cure (or cures, as it might very well be) to cancer in its various forms.

But really, I, myself, am so, so sick of being bombarded with pink ribbons and pink t-shirts and pink walks and pink this and pink stamps (okay, they're not pink, but you know what I mean) and just PINK PINK PINK.

Okay, I don't even LIKE pink as a color on it's own, okay?

And the thing of it is, the thing of it is, there are so many other things that need supporting and researching. Like AIDS. Or kids, I like kids. I think literacy is a good cause, as are a number of environmental efforts.

And it's not like I'm against science, hello. Or even against research, or breast cancer research in specific. I just don't feel that my dollars need to go to it. There's a whole lot of money that already goes to it, money that I am not entirely sure is actually spent on cancer research, and I would rather support things like my alma mater and AIDS research and alternative power research and Planned Parenthood and buy Christmas gifts for kids in care and things like that.

Also, I don't care if your dollars or minutes or whatever go towards supporting breast cancer research. That's cool, yo, it's all yours to do with as you wish. Mine just won't be joining yours.

Ah, that feels much better. I still won't advertise the fact around the office, but it was nice to advertise it somewhere.

Now all I need is a clothesline

So when I posted those stupid things I said over the weekend, what two weekends ago?

Completely aside, I remember desperately wanting to get older when I was a kid, and being pissed that time moved too slowly, and now that I'm older, holy shit, time moves WAY too fucking fast, okay?

Anyway, so I said those two things as, clearly, Jay was in the middle of beating my ass, which is what I have tended to use to refer to any and all BDSM-type activities. In this case, he did in fact beat my ass, but, you know, saying that he should beat me does not necessarily mean that I think he should find the nearest implement and whale away at my ass.

In this particular instance, Jay did in fact beat my ass for a while, but there were restraints involved as well. Now, being as I was restrained, I couldn't do much about the fact that Jay is a sadist. I may have covered that a few times here before, but just so that we're all on the same page, Jay is a sadist and frequently likes to remind me that he likes causing me pain. On this occasion, Jay decided to bring out the clothespins and experiment on my boobs.

Now, while Jay is a sadist (did I mention that he's a sadist? good) I am only kind of a masochist. I don't like pain, so much as I like discrete amounts of certain kinds of pain. Clips and clamps on my nipples are usually right out, if I have anything to say about it.

Guess what Jay loves to do? Well, he proceeded to do that, but not content with only using two clothespins from the bag full of them, he decided to put four more, making little compasses out of my boobs.

At this point I am deep-breathing, and in between deep-breathing, staring at him balefully. But I have to admit, it wasn't as bad as I was expecting it to be, said expectations being born out of past experience. I don't know whether it was because I got a very good warm-up, some wonky hormone deal, what, but... my boobs didn't hurt bad. Oh, they hurt, but I was almost kind of enjoying the hurt.

If you've ever read kaya's blog, you've probably seen the pictures of the boob flowers (and if you don't read her blog, you should pop over there). Jay decided to make boob flowers. He put all of the clothespins in the bag on my boobs, continuing those four single clothespins into four rows of clothespins. But there were only about twenty clothespins in that bag, and there were spaces between the clothespins in the rows.

It was at this point that I piped up with my helpful remark about having bought more clothespins. To this day, I am not quite sure what was possessing me at the time. Clearly, my rational mind was not in control at that point. Jay's face naturally lights up and he goes to get the new clothespins, and proceeds to put them on, for a total of 26 pins on each boob.

And I am enjoying myself. For reals, I am laid back and enjoying myself, because this feels kind of good. I was blatantly ignoring that they would have to come off at some point, and instead basking in the warm glow that can only come from being in pain. He twitched them with his fingers, and jiggled my boobs around a bit, and there were a few sharp intakes of breath on my part, but it was not bad pain.

Jay's kind of an asshole though, and he took them off. That sucked. I spent the entire time with my face screwed up tight and trying not to breathe. But still, this wasn't as painful as other times I have had clips and/or clamps applied to my boobs. I wouldn't say that I enjoyed this, but it wasn't that bad. Okay, well, the nipples were that bad, and I almost cried. However, I did not cry, which earned me a "I'm very proud of you; you are a good girl", which, if I had been standing up, I would have blushed, ducked my head, and scuffed my shoe, most of which did not work as I was lying back on the bed.

I don't know that I would ever personally volunteer for that treatment again (then again, it's not about me volunteering, is it?), because this really was a one-in-a-million, I think. Whatever alignment of stars or hormones or whatever happened that day, while I wouldn't mind it happening again, I don't know that I'm going to go out and test for it, you know? But... dammit, I liked it. Oh god, I liked it. And I had a pair of lovely boob flowers to go to sleep with.

new favorite thing

I am just going to sit over here, and laugh, okay? Thanks. .

Where I have been the past week

Last Thursday, I flew home to go to my cousin's wedding. That was... interesting. Got home from that on Sunday.

Monday, went to work.

Tuesday, flew to the US headquarters for my company, for a meeting today. Just walked back in the door.

I have been home a grand total of about 48 hours in the past seven days. That is awesome.

Motherfuckshitting christ WHY is there a fucking SKUNK outside my WINDOW

gg french nm

Stupid shit I said this weekend:

1. "See? This is why you should beat me more often! Then I won't be as sensitive."
2. "You know, I bought more clothespins. They're over there on the top shelf."

fuck it, i'm listening to muse

Jay was on a business trip this week, and is supposed to get home tonight. I've missed him, a lot. He doesn't live with me, so he's normally not here during the week anyway, but there's something different about him being a few towns over and not here and being in an entirely different state and not being here. It feels different, and I've slept for shit all week.

He was supposed to get in at the airport around 8 tonight, and was then going to come over. I kind of feel bad for whining and sniveling badly enough that he was going to come over after a day in airports and on planes, but not badly enough to tell him to just stay home and go straight to sleep.

Clearly, he is not getting in at 8 - instead, it's going to be closer to 11:30 tonight, which means that he wouldn't get here until 1 at the earliest, which is too late for him. So no Jay tonight, and I am sad. Life's just a little bit better when he's nearby - although, truly, it will at least be nice to have him in the same state again.

It doesn't really help the fact, though, that I have been beyond unsettled the past, oh, week or so. I'm having the devil of a time figuring it out, too. I shouldn't be too surprised though; this happens once in a while anyway. There's no reason for me to be upset or sad or anything, and I just am. Work is good, the house is good, life is good, and it's like I'm uncomfortable with success or something because I want to crawl out of my own skin.

I just want... something else, I suppose. And really, that's a neat explanation for why I desperately wanted to call Joseph last night; he's most certainly something else. A bad idea, to be sure, but feeling like this makes me want to do something dramatic and monumental. It's just that when I shoot for those things, it usually winds up being monumentally horrible. And doing, oh, just about anything with Joseph with perfectly fit that bill.

Tempting enough that at 2 in the morning I was still awake and thinking about doing it, though, which, yeah, that was really unspeakably awesome, okay? It's not like I've slept well all week, and then to be up past 2 in the am with strained effort to keep my hands still and under my head... well, I can think of more fun things.

The best part? I thought I had totally shaken him off, for good, finally. Oh, but no no no. He's ba-ack. Bastard. Clearly the lesson I'm supposed to learn here isn't nearly learned enough.

fuck

I really, really want to call Joseph right now. I don't even have anything to say. But I want to call him. And it would be a bad, bad plan.

Tee-hee!

Maybe this just makes me a dork, but I am entirely too gigglingly pleased at the fact that I am taking a business trip in two weeks.

Now, when I travel on my own, I am definitely a shoestring type of person. I find the cheapest way to get there, I rent a bike or walk or take public transport to get around, I stay in hostels, I cook my own meals... like, we are trying to avoid spending money, so that we can stay longer, you know? I spent a week in Canada, going to two cities, and spent less than $500. US.

Now, this work trip. I am flying to my company's headquarters the night before a meeting, going to a meeting all day, and flying back that night. I will be staying in an upscale hotel, I will have cars to pick me up from the airports and take me to the hotel and to my house and to the headquarters, my meals will be paid for, etc. I am a little shocked and awed at the amount of money that the company is spending to fly me there for a single day.

It's AWESOME.

(blah blah blah, corporate excesses, blah blah blah.)

Also, I hope that this kind of travel never becomes so routine and ordinary that I start thinking it's my due, or something. I like being entertained by the fact that I'm staying in a $200/night hotel room with a king-size bed, and that it's 100% okay with my company. It kind of makes me feel like a six-year-old trying on Mom's clothes. Look at me! I'm a grown-up! (No, no I am most definitely not).

On the nature of deals

I've been addicted to PostSecret for some time now; even bought a couple of the books. It's something between voyeurism and bonding with the rest of the human race.

There's a secret posted this week, and a reply - since they are only posted for one week, for posterity's sake, I'll record the text of both here, but if you see this before June 10th, I encourage you to head over to PostSecret and check them out:

Secret: I don't like BJ's. I hate how they assume all guys want one. Or even prefer them.

The text is pasted on an x-ray image of a girl with braces giving a guy a blowjob.

Email: Good to know, because I'm tired of giving them.

At first it was just the email that made me irritated and sad, and then once I sat and thought about it for a while, the postcard made me sad too.

The email got to me for a couple of reasons, mostly because the initial reading made the person come off as a selfish bint who was tired of doing something for someone else's pleasure. Yup, most guys I've met like blowjobs; Jay being one of them. But he likes them, and I KNOW that he likes them, so because of that, I like giving them to him (also, I would like giving them to him even if he didn't like them so much, because I <3 penis, but that's an entirely other story). Granted, I don't give him a blowjob every night or anything like that, but the Man's penis is in my mouth on a regular basis, okay? And there are times when I'm not particularly interested in giving a blowjob, but unless I have a serious objection, I will, for at least a little while, because I know it gives him a lot of pleasure. This was even before we decided that he got to be in charge. I just like doing nice things for people I happen to like, okay? It just really irritated me because there are people out there who are missing the entire point of sex. It becomes not about pleasures, but about duty. It becomes this negative thing to be avoided, and they are seriously missing out. Secondly, the email made me sad because I know there are guys out there who are just as selfish and demand blowjobs all the time. I am not talking about within a D/s context (and even then, I would say that demanding blowjobs all the time, while well within the rights of a Master, would be kind of assholish, but maybe that's just me), I am talking the guy who shoves a girl into his groin on every date, and doesn't do anything for her. Even for someone like me, who likes giving blowjobs, that would get real old, real quick. So I can understand being sick of giving blowjobs, and that is sad, that something sexual has become so not-pleasurable. The postcard makes me sad too because I think I would cry if I were with a partner who didn't take into account my preferences when it came to sex (okay, that's a lie; I'd dump they ass). And because there's a whole lot of young women out there who think that all guys want is blowjobs. And this person is either not communicating what they want, or when they do, their partner doesn't believe them because there have been a whole bunch of other guys who have persuaded her of the opposite (and she's not smart enough to realize that everyone is different and adjust for that). It's just... well, everyone is missing the point of the deal. You're both supposed to get pleasure. Not just one person. And it's supposed to be reciprocal and mutual. You should take into account what the other person likes, what you like, and compromise if necessary. And it's supposed to be enjoyable, goddammit, not some onerous chore that you have to get through so that you can get other benefits from the relationship.

Even BDSM. Nobody does that because they don't like it, I think. And there are certainly things that aren't fun, per se, and perhaps even a bit of a chore. But, it's negotiated, and I'd argue that everyone involved gets pleasure out of it.

People are just really fucked up when it comes to sex sometimes (and hey, even I have some of my own hang-ups), and it really gets to me.

What the hell?

That's funny - I don't remember locking this blog down...

*sigh*

There are few things in life more perfect than a piping hot panini, fresh off the press, containing ripe plum tomatoes, fresh basil off my windowsill, and fresh mozzarella.

sad day

We have not eaten anything in common, but both Rabbit and I have had stomachaches all day. I also had the bonus of cramps so bad that I actually got out of bed early. Why I have cramps the week after my period is anyone's guess.

Also, the drain in my shower is backed up with disgustingness (seriously, there is what looks like honest-to-god dirt in there), which is not my fault, since we didn't clog the plumbing in the first place, and my landlord has not fixed it yet. This means I did not get a shower this morning.

/whining

How's YOUR Monday?

Made of these

Okay so the entire point of my posting was not to talk about food, but instead to talk about the fact that somehow this weekend Jay finally Figured It Out.

It gets capitals because it's important.

From Thursday evening til today, he managed to strike the perfect balance between Dom and NotDom. See, I don't like it to be Dom all the time. I, I, cannot handle a 24/7 relationship, because I either start laughing because I lose what for me is a required suspension of disbelief, or I get really uppity and bitchy that I have no control. I'm just a wee bit of a control freak about some times. Just a little. It's really only mild OCD.

But... I like a healthy dose of being NOT in charge on a regular basis. I am such a picky, high-maintenance bitch sometimes. Over this weekend, I got the requisite healthy dose, but not an overwhelming or smothering one. He wasn't Dom-y all the time, but he was enough of the time that I was kept on my toes and always reminded that, oh, right, I am not always in charge. Oh, right, and I kind of like that.

Some of it was subtle, like not letting me get away with being a smart-ass nearly as much as usual at dinner on Friday night - giving me That Look, you know. Some of it was much more overt, like deciding on Thursday that he was going to throw me on the bed and have His way with me about ten seconds after he walked in the door. Some of it was downright blatant, like how he woke me up on Sunday night since He had decided He was going to cause Pain in His Tits, and that I was going to take it, and I was not going to get sex out of the deal. And it was all really, ridiculously hot, and I spent a good portion of today unspeakably distracted.

It's still early, but since the hotness involved me not getting much sleep last night, I think I'm going to water my plants, clean up the remnants of my dinner, and curl up in bed and dream sweet, torturous dreams. Mother of god, I am one grateful slut right now.

Nosh

It was Jay's birthday this weekend, and he'd decided that he just wanted to have some friends over to my place and relax there. His birthday falls on Cinco de Mayo, so we usually drink Coronas.

Not to be outdone this year, I decided to make homemade salsa, because I like to show off and I thought it would be appropriately themed. It doesn't hurt that salsa is one of the few things that Jay will eat on the spicy side, and I like encouraging spice. Mmm, spicy food.

Seriously, if I'd known that salsa was as stupid easy to make as it is, I would have made salsa a long damn time ago. I think it took me all of ten minutes to make the fucking salsa. Oh, no, I lied, it took at least fifteen, since that's how long the jalapenos were roasting.

Also made were a delicious fruit salsa with homemade cinnamon-sugar tortilla chips. That was for me. Because I like fruit. And salsa.

As we were grocery shopping on Friday, I was in the world's pissiest mood, since I hadn't eaten all day. But, in the middle of the grocery store, I realized that perhaps a cake would be in order, so I asked Jay if he wanted one.

"I don't know..."

"I will make or buy whatever you want."

"It should involve chocolate."

I figured that I had to have a chocolate cake recipe at home, so away we went. Except that in all of my damn recipes, I do not have a basic chocolate cake recipe. Not one. Three versions of Black Forest cake, though.

The day was not lost, however, as I had a recipe for chocolate peanut butter cake, which neatly combined two of Jay's favorite things and thankfully turned out delicious and only used ingredients I already had in my house. So I baked a cake. And I am sitting here licking the frosting off of the sides of the pan, because holy crap is it good.

I did not mean for this post to become entirely about food, so I will end with saying that a good time was had by all, and that we ate a lot of salsa.

wedding idiocy; move on

So in the next year and a half, Jay and I will be going to at least three weddings. The first is my cousin, coming up in June; next is friends of ours in September, and finally, we have my best friend Elizabeth, getting married probably in September of '08, which is possibly the most exciting because I get to be the maid of honor.

I am totally girling out here. Elizabeth came over for dinner on Saturday night, and said that she wasn't sure if it was okay to bring bridal magazines, and I was all like "Dude and WHY WOULDN'T IT BE because we could spend about SIX HOURS going through them and it would be FUN."

It also means politicking time. Jay does not understand why I need a dress for my cousin's wedding ("You have skirts, right?"), why we need to buy them a gift that's between $50 and $100, and why it was important for my name to be on the shower gift my mom bought. I also know that by saying these things, I will get people reading this who think I am nuts to think that these things matter, but oh, they do. You see, I will get married some day, and I want these people to think "Oh, she bought us something nice, we should get her something nice." Sure, they're family or close friends, but for most of them, that thought is there, even if not consciously. Maybe that makes me - or my family, whatever - bad people. Maybe it just makes us realistic. The trick is not to buy something so ostentatious that they feel bad or like you're flaunting your money, but to buy something where they go "Oh that's so nice!"

As for the dress thing, it's just one of those unspoken rules. Sure, I'm a first cousin, so that means I don't have to wear a gown, but I do have to wear a nice dress, probably cocktail length. A skirt and blouse just aren't going to cut it. Thinking back on it, I probably should have worn a dress when we went to Jay's cousin's wedding last September (what the fuck is with the September weddings, people), but since I wasn't related, I could get away with a skirt and blouse. I felt under-dressed though, but that could just be because everyone else did a variation on black, it felt like, and I was in a very nice brown ensemble.

And shoes! I get to buy shoes!

Jay is not going to be happy when I make him buy a suit.

And finally, one other note. You know you're an adult when you're looking through the JCPenney sale catalog that came in the mail, see something, say "Oh, I like that", and mean "That would be really good to wear to work. Oh and look, it's not that expensive either".

Being an adult kind of sucks.

I said no, no, no

It all started when Jay decided that he was interested in breaking out the Houdini. The plan was that he would wear it starting Wednesday morning, when he left my place, and it would stay on until Thursday night, when he got back.

During the day Thursday, I naturally made mention that perhaps it wouldn't be coming off Thursday, and instead would stay off the entire weekend. He wasn't sure what to make of that - it was one of those "I would hate and love that at the same time" things.

Me being me, it came off Thursday night, but that didn't mean that he was allowed to touch the penis, oh no. There was no penis touching allowed. At first he was grateful to just not be wearing the Houdini anymore, but I don't know that "grateful" really accurately sums up the rest of the night.

One of the side benefits of my working in an office now is that my nails have a chance to get really, really long, and I put them to very good use. It started with using two of my nails to pinch his nipples, but I decided they would work just as well, oh, everywhere else on his body. There was considerable squirming of the "I hate you don't stop" type.

I also broke out the crop and beat his ass for a while. That is intensely satisfying, since he can not only take a lot of pain, but his ass really does turn a nice rosy color really quickly.

And through it all, through it all, there was no touching of the penis. It eventually got to the point where he was informing me "Oh, so that's what blue balls feel like", which naturally, just added to my glee. I'm sure it wasn't so much fun for him, but I was certainly enjoying myself.

That's the thing. When I'm in charge, I am gleeful. He enjoys pain, and I enjoy inflicting it upon him, grinning like a deranged pixy the entire time. I took some time and came up with new ways to inflict pain, and it was great! Fingernails are truly, truly awesome - a stance which I previously have not held.

The only problem with any sort of denial play is that I don't usually last too long - neither of us does, really. Eventually we give in and fuck each other stupid, which we proceeded to do in this case. It wasn't for at least an hour and a half after we'd started though, so I was proud of myself for holding out that long.

And we were very, very stupid afterwards. Which makes it all the nicer to (eventually; it usually takes me a while to move) snuggle up together and fall asleep in each other's arms.

No, I've never done it before.

Dude! Giving guys blue balls is awesome.

never be the same again

SO. Presentation is done. All that's left is to write up a self-evaluation, which will take me about ten minutes to do when I do it, because it's 2 pages or less of complete and utter bullshit.

So, I'm relaxing with a glass of wine and some Sevendust on iTunes, and wicked pleased with myself because the presentation was A-mazing.

I am in fact sitting down!

We got the crop on a Thursday, ever-so-conveniently. Must love the Stockroom. Jay came over that evening, as he usually does, and I surprised him with a long, skinny box on the bed. He knew I'd ordered it - he helped pick it out - but I hadn't told him it was there.

He was, at least, generous enough to let me have dinner.

The week before, I had completely lost it when he had my wrists tied, and I was laying on my back, and he took the flogger to my, of course, bound breasts. I am talking lost, my shit. Rope floggers, right, not exactly the most precise of instruments, and while it doesn't hurt, per se, it was entirely too close to my face to avoid panic. We are talking like, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling back in my head (which you couldn't see because they were screwed shut, but you know) panic. That stopped things right quick, and nothing else really happened.

Jay, though, was disappointed. Apparently he likes beating me or something? I don't know. Anyway, I am pleased to report that the crop is much, much more precise. Exceedingly precise, if you must know. For people like me ("not the face! not the face!") this is an important detail.

Also, I love it, from both ends (which I will get to). It is long and skinny and black and it smells good and it is not nearly as stingy as I was fearing. It's definitely more stingy than, say, a flogger. And I don't really like stingy (canes make me a sad panda). But it's not entirely stingy - it's a good balance of sting and thud, which makes it entirely enjoyable. He decided that beating my His tits was the way to start the night, and I blissed the hell out. It felt gooooooooooood. And since it's much easier to control, I could close my eyes and be assured that the face would not in fact be involved.

Not content with the tits, Jay flipped me over and went for the ass. Oh my god, I was so relaxed and out of it that I drooled on the pillow and could not differentiate one hit from another. I slightly noticed when he used his wrist to thwack me quickly with it - crops are bouncy! - and could tell that was different from when he used more of his arm to really smack me - crops also don't require much effort to get much smack behind them - but it was all fucking fantastic. It's usually pretty difficult for me to get in that kind of blissed space, even in bondage, because my brain just likes thinking waaay too much, but wow was I far into it at that point. Jay likes to say that I get fucked stupid - which I do; sex makes me a flipping idiot - but I was long dumb before things got there.

As for the other end, I got to try it out on Jay the very next night, and holy butt is it FUN. You can grip it really tightly and make your arm shake from the strain and the business end just gleefully bounces up and down on your chosen surface, and you can whale away, and you can lightly tap, and you can caress - say, gently rub it over someone's balls? - and it goes exactly where you want it. I kind of want to walk around my house and hit things with it, just for the satisfaction of having something do exactly what I want, but I don't think it'd go over well with the roommates.

Unfortunately, after that weekend, the project really started eating up my time, so we have not used it since then - sad day, right? But now that it's done, and I suddenly have a lot more free time, I fully intend to do what I can to make sure it's used this weekend. Jay is back on the Dom kick again - if the way I was woken up Sunday night is any indication - so I don't think it'll be too hard.

wrung me out

I swear to god, I have not died, not forgotten, about this, etc. and so on. I've been tied up with a major project for grad school - on the order of, "it's your entire grade for the semester", so it's a wee bit time-consuming.

BUT. I am done with it after Wednesday. Which means I am going to let myself sit down and tell y'all all about the crop that I bought (because clearly we tried it out just about the exact minute it showed up on my doorstep).

Now to go finish polishing up my presentation for tomorrow and get some damned sleep.

oh shi-

Oh, my god, I bought a crop.

god don't make the laws

I told Jay my little bit of glee that it was not the blowjob that made my throat sore. It was intended as a good-natured bit of humor about cock size, because really, I'm about 10 and things like that still entertain me.

His response? A look.

The look in question is the one that says "Bitch, you're crazy, and I'm not going to respond to the crazy currently coming out of your mouth, in the hopes that it will stop." That look.

I hate him.

One thing for the plus column though - you ever do something, and then you go, damn, that was so hot, and I have no idea why?

Yeah, well, we had one of those moments a while later. He's still in that Dom-my mood, so he was messing around with me, and he ends up putting his fingers in my mouth, and I start sucking them, because really, what the hell else was I supposed to do? And it was HOT and AMAZING and sweet jesus did it get better from there. *fans self* It was the kind of orgasm where your body and mind disconnect and you feel like you're floating about two feet up. That kind.

Damn but I could really get to love this Dom streak.

I am also considering getting myself naked and waiting for him in bed. Because it's snowing outside and I'm home from work early, and I think I've convinced him to leave early, and what better way to spend an early evening than in bed?

Bitchin'

I am SO stoked that my sore throat is NOT from the deep-throating on Sunday.

Of course, this means it's because I'm sick, and that sucks.

But NOT from the deep-throating. That's awesome.

Not least because it'll be a small deflation of the Man's ego :)

Who says you can't go home?

In other news, I am an uncultured git, as I have never been to the opera.

But I feel awesome because my sister went, said she saw something in German, and I guessed Die Fledermaus and I was right.

So I was reading over on kaya's blog about TPE relationships and what does and does not constitute one and meltdowns, etc. and so on. (PS, I feel like I'm joining a club. "Hey look! I'm blogging about kaya's blog!" That club.) Someone anonymously (don't they always?) made a comment that said, more or less, that, well, you can always just pick up and walk out, so clearly, your relationship is a sham and there is no such thing as TPE.

I might be exaggerating the sham part, but the packing up and leaving part was in there. For about three seconds I sat there and looked at it, bugged, until I figured out that, well, no wonder it bugs me, 'cause it ain't true.

Now, bear in mind, I'm talking about consensual relationships, okay? No one is being abused or otherwise mistreated. And the other caveat I have is that I am not just talking about physically leaving. That's easy to do.

But it is not always an option to leave a relationship, and I know this, because I damn well tried. Twice (I'm stubborn). I lived without him, I did other things, I saw other people, and told myself over and over that I wasn't going back and it sucked. ass. The goal was definitely for it to be more like sucking balls, and I miserably failed.

So this time around, walking out and leaving the relationship is not an option. And rather than feeling trapped or caged in, I feel... well, confident. I have decreed that this relationship is going to work, therefore, it will, whether it likes it or not. For those of you who have not yet run across my will in cases like this, well... you know, I can't even come up with a good metaphor, so you are stuck just taking me at face value. Leaving isn't an option, so the only one left is making it work.

Clearly, that depends on the people in the relationship. If it weren't Jay, hell, I might very well be able to leave. In fact, I've done THAT before, too. It also rests on the assumption that neither He nor I will magically overnight radically change our personalities. But even if he suddenly went off the deep end (because clearly, it could never happen to me, as the less sane one in the relationship), I still couldn't leave. Just wouldn't work. Leaving would only make the situation worse - for the both of us.

So yup, you can always physically walk out. That doesn't make it leaving, because it's a lot more than your body involved in the leaving.

I don't remember signing up for this

If you'd asked me, even recently, as to how I would describe myself, you'd probably be able to work the term "thrill-seeker" out of me. I would then follow it with a lot of qualifications, but it's there.

I loves me a good roller-coaster ride. I like to drive fast, feel the wind in my hair. A part of me wants to try sky-diving and bungee-jumping. I like to climb trees and go exploring, see what's out there. I like to ski fast (but not in trees, oh god, not in the trees). I would totally do most of the physical stunts on Fear Factor, like walking between two speeding semis and crashing cars and stuff.

But there's a limit to my thrills. I have to be assured of a reasonable amount of safety, whether guaranteed by myself or others. Roller-coasters, are safe. Trees and rocks and hiking and crap, are safe. Skiing, is safe. Stuff on Fear Factor, is safe. In all cases, either I am in control - and have enough faith in my abilities for that control to mean something - or there are considerable regulations and safety precautions and professionals around that even though I myself can't guarantee safety, they can come pretty darned close to it.

What I would not say, is that I like fear. I don't even particularly like horror movies - partly because half of them don't scare me, and partly because half of them do. Actually, I don't like movies much at all. Either I get too emotionally involved and completely overwrought, or I couldn't give two shits about what's going on and thus the experience isn't enjoyable, either. I hate being spooked by people. I hate driving sometimes, because for some reason my car is invisible to other people and there are days when I really don't understand how I didn't get t-boned or something on my way home. Fire and I are not friends, regardless of whether it's contained or not. If there were ever someone in my house that didn't belong, I like to think I'd be one tough bitch, but I'd probably lose my shit in one fear-stained instant. Oh, and the gross Fear Factor stuff, or anything that involves me being buried in slime or bugs or snakes or eating disgusting things? Thumbs way, way down.

But by the same token, I don't necessarily feel fear where other people do. I don't get scared walking alone at night. I didn't get scared waiting for buses after dark in the less-than-savory neighborhood I used to have to go through to get to and from work. I don't freak out when there's odd noises in my house (it's old, I have landlords upstairs, and I'm half-convinced there's a resident ghost, as well). Storms excite me (except for tornados, fuck that). The oceans (and other large bodies of water) are fucking awesome. Being lost is just an excuse to wander around until you find something. And I have been, I have been, to Cabrini Green (and a bunch of other unsavory big-city neighborhoods - my father has singular views on important places to take the kids; a story for another time). And I love the scarier parts of "ropes courses" - I will go all the way up on the highest slingshot you can find, oh yes I will, and I will hang upside down while riding it.

So I wouldn't say that I'm a fan of fear. But apparently, I've signed up for regular, sometimes extremely healthy doses of it. Jay really, really likes finding all of those places in me where I try to warn people off, and am somewhat irrational. Hands on my neck. Things on my face. Getting anywhere near doing anything to my ass other than smacking it. Various implements of torture. Informing me that yes, I have to be the one to throw another log on the fire. Taking all control away from me. Shit like that. I'm not living my life in fear, I'm not being abused, blah blah blah all that reassuring crap. Because it's all true. But he really, really likes pushing the limits.

And it's not quite the same as either a thrill or a fear. It's a kind of fucked-up chimera of the two. I'm feeling fear, but not "I am going to DIE, fuck me" fear. Not the kind of fear that comes from a truly scary situation. But it's not a thrill either, because I'm generally not willingly experiencing it, and I certainly don't have a huge grin on my face.

But it is exciting - I can't deny that, even if I try - if only because my pussy - oh, I'm sorry, HIS pussy (we're apparently on a Dom-ly kick) - gives me away. And I think the reason that it is exciting is that there's that level of trust underneath that, even though I know he's trying to provoke fear, he's not really going to go too far, so I can be assured that needles and flaming things will not actually be touching me at any point. I really can't see myself signing up for that, and he knows that if he tries, the fact that he is in charge is completely irrelevant because I will kill him - or at the very least, maim. Severely. I can't really be responsible for when my limits are completely broken, now can I?

But like I said, I don't remember signing up for this either. "But french!" you say. "You're not in a TPE! You're a strong, independent woman! You can tell him to stop!"

Well sure, I CAN, but two things: 1, he'd probably ignore me, overall, and B, it kind of defeats the purpose of any sort of power exchanges if I get to make all the rules. Me making the rules is reserved for when we are not in the bedroom, and for on those occasions that we switch. And even the first, it's not 100% - like I said, we're apparently on a Dom-ly kick. This is not the boy I met nearly 8 years ago, who would do whatever people I told him to. He has far too many definite opinions and stubborn streaks (he's been hanging around me too long :D). So while he might stop in the moment if I made clear to him that he went too far in pushing a limit, that's still a might - he reserves some judgment on when he's done - and he wouldn't stop pushing limits, he'd just find a different one for a while.

And the whole point of it is, I don't want to make all the rules. I want him to make some, goddammit. So apparently, I kind of did sign myself up for this. But I didn't sign up for gleefully liking it, ha ha.

Now why is that a bit of a hollow laugh? Oh right, because at the end of the day, if I really didn't like what was going on, it would end. Right.

Man, I hate me sometimes.

Adult life sucks it

It's kind of hard to do anything fun when your night goes like this:

I cut out of work at 3:45, 'cause hell, it was a Friday and I'd put in plenty of extra hours over the past two weeks. It wasn't like anything further was going to get done.

I stopped at the grocery store for garlic bread and some other supplies, so I could make tortellini for dinner. I miss making dinner every night. I haven't done that since Vinnie lived with me, and I feel compelled to get back into the habit. I picked up various and sundry other things, then had an awesome experience trying to convince the cashier and bagger that, yes, I really did want only paper bags.

Clearly, that's not a normal request around these parts anymore. I guess that's what I get for not going to the nutty-crunchy grocery store(s).

I re-bagged everything as I put it into my trunk. Funnily enough, paper bags don't handle it well when you randomly throw shit into them.

I sang random snippets of opera as I cooked dinner and told "stupid work" stories to Jay, and we gobbled up tortellini like kids eating Halloween candy before they get home and Mom puts it away. After, we did some of the dishes all together-like, and decided to make our second attempt in a row to retreat into my room with my laptop to look up ways that we could creatively use the 1x4s I had from my old bed.

9:30 at night, we have both laptops on the bed with us, and I shut the lid of mine, say "it goes away now" and promptly curl up and fall asleep. With my contacts still in, with my clothes on, without having looked at anything besides my email and some other random non-kinky stuff.

8:00 this morning, I am wide awake. I take my contacts out, I eat some yogurt for breakfast, I put on pj's, and crawl into bed to read until Jay wakes up at 11. Jay says that he tried to wake me up a few times, if only to take out my contacts. Clearly, I wasn't having it.

I am so, so glad this "going in at 7 and working until 5" shit is done. Maybe now I will be able to stay up later than 10-year-olds.

Okay one last thing

God bless it, I still haven't gotten my birthday spanking!

Yarn

It's my 150th post, and I've decided that I'm boring. I've been doing entirely too much whining on here lately, and really, I don't have that much to whine about. I just like whining.

I also happen to love the 100% superfine alpaca yarn that I bought to make myself a gorgeous berry red sweater. It is so soft that I almost want to curl up and sleep in it. It also has some lovely natural slubs in it, so it's extremely interesting.

Unlike me, who is extremely tired. To bed it is!

Ugh.

So my anxiety has been through the roof lately, and I don't know why. It's so bad that I woke myself up - woke myself up - in the middle of the night by dreaming about an inconsequential thing from work, that for some reason I was losing my shit about.

Not okay with that.

It didn't help that on Sunday, my car didn't start. Now, I'd used the car on Sunday morning, to haul my ass and the asses of four other people, Jay included, around. Sunday night, I get nothing from the car. I turn the key, and I get a hum - I don't even get a click from the starter. We hurried over to Jay's car and used that to ferry ourselves around, but when I got back on Sunday night, I tried to get my car to work and I couldn't, and, well, that was apparently it. And after I'd fixed something else that was wrong on it! I had fixed the issue with my wipers myself, and then two days later it decides it's being bitchy again.

Owning a car fucking sucks, yo.

Jay and I had been trying to have sex all weekend, although looking back on it, I think most of my desire for sex was that I felt obligated to. We hadn't for a while, you know? So I felt like we needed to. But it wasn't working - he'd move too fast, or I'd get distracted, or I'd tell him to back off and he would completely stop and we'd go to sleep. So we tried again Sunday night, and me being me, my brain was waaaaay too busy flipping out about my car and about my phone and about work and about a million and one other things, and I couldn't concentrate enough to shut it up. I couldn't even muster up the concentration to do some of the muscle relaxation exercises I sometimes do. Not even some of the visualizations I learned as a therapizing person were helping me out.

I was anxious and moody and about ready to goddamn cry, so I tell Jay that I can't concentrate or pay attention - because through all this, the man is trying to seduce me for the purpose of having sex. Clearly, it was not working. He says to me "Do you need some help with remembering what you need to pay attention to right now?" and I fucking wail "I don't KNOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!" and burst into tears, as he looks confused and puts the collar back in the drawer.

That is correct, I burst. Into tears. There was a small part of me, buried deep inside, that was saying "Yo, what the fuck bitch. What the fuck is wrong with you. Stop this shit right now," but that didn't actually solve the issue, which was that I was watering Jay's chest quite prolifically.

So I cried on his chest for a while and went to sleep.

Monday, he picks me up from work, since Monday morning I have to get my car goddamn towed out of my driveway because it won't start and I have exhausted my bag of tricks for getting it to do so. I, am the goddamn weepiest bitch EVER while I'm sitting on the couch with him once we got back to my place. Like what the fuck, okay? I don't cry. I'm not even sure why I'm crying at this point, because it's not like I have anything to really cry about, but I, oh yes, am crying. For whatever reason, everything is just wrong, and I am not feeling like I can fix it.

He tells me that no, I'm not allowed to have french fries again, as I've been eating them way too much lately. He also says that yes, I do have to come with him to the gas station so he can buy milk. I, in an attempt to be funny, remark that clearly he doesn't trust me alone in the house, to which he replies, "You know, that's probably not a bad idea, 'cause you are NUTS, bitch," which makes me laugh in shock and disbelief, and hit him for being impudent, hurting my flipping thumb on his watch in the process (that oughta learn me).

I am, however, allowed ice cream after dinner, while we watch reruns of CSI, so he feeds me some ice cream and we cuddle and he goes home. And I am sad, and tired, and looking entirely too woebegone for someone of my stature, so I crawl myself into bed and try to get some sleep.

I am still a sad, tired panda today - but at least I'm not fucking crying. I hate that shit.

The day that she left me

I haven't had much sex lately, much less anything kinky, so it's not really all that surprising to me that I wake up dreaming about canes and such. I don't even like canes, I just really want a good beating.

For the most part, Jay and I have been out of town on the weekends, with other people around, so it's not like we can just get kinky. Or do anything, really. I tend to be on my very best, non-kinky behavior around other people, so it really limits the possibilities.

The other night, though I went to bed with a scarf tied around my head, to keep my hair back, as it was bugging me. The scarf fell off, as it usually does, which interested Jay, god alone knows why. He started playing with it, and eventually laid it over my eyes.

My first, immediate, gut reaction was to freak. the fuck. out. I absolutely abhor things on my face or head. I am that person you see outside with nothing more than ear muffs on my head when the wind chill is 20 below. There are two things I can deal with: earmuffs or ear bands, and ski goggles, and the latter only when it is bitterly cold and it's the only way to keep my face warm.

I took a deep breath and didn't freak out, and he eventually took it off, only to put it back on again. I could feel a rising sense of panic, but I thought that I was in control of it, that I would be okay. And for a while, I almost was. I really wasn't though. When he tried to fuck me, it hurt - a bad hurt. My body was clearly saying "Nope, not okay", even as my mind desperately tried to assert the opposite.

Cannot stand things on my face. Pissed off because I have not been put in my place at all recently, and it's way too easy to sit down. Naturally, my mini-meltdown put a halt to any and all activities, so I got to wake up this morning to absolutely brutally brilliant images of being cuffed, gagged, and caned *fans self*.

I am hoping for birthday spankings. Having a social life sucks.

It's why I bought my bed

For my birthday, Jay and I are spending a weekend in a B&B and skiing. This feels like an impossibly adult thing for me to be doing at this point in my life, but I'm doing it anyway, because it's my birthday and I want to.

We were trying to figure out which place to book last night, and wound up booking the one with the in-room jacuzzi. Afterwards, we were discussing, and I said "Is it wrong that one of my, admittedly minor, criteria for judging was the style of the bed and/or headboard?" to which he vehemently replied in the negative.

We are crazy, but we are at least a matched set.

Hang me up to dry

Oh my god, I wanted to be in bed like an hour ago, but now I'm awake and I was doing things and AAAAAGGGGG.

This weekend sucked. I was sick with a disgusting stomach bug on Saturday, so there went the plans of spending the day in bed together. Instead I kicked Jay out at like, 10 with demands for ginger ale, to hydrate my nauseous ass. It's a good thing the man loves me, 'cause he went and got some, and it was good.

Sunday we chilled out, I still kind of felt meh, and then we watched the Super Bowl, and the Bears, for whom I was rooting, started off flipping awesome and then apparently went home, 'cause Indy kind of kicked their asses. I gave up and did laundry in the fourth quarter, and truly feel like I didn't miss much, including the commercials, which sucked.

Yesterday I did household crap, today I had a lecture to go to and stopped and bought ski stuff (including goggles, which almost makes me want to cry, because I hate having things on my face) and now it's almost eleven and I should sleep because my allergies or sinuses or SOMETHING is fucked up because I had the headache from hell, am sneezing, and am all kinds of sniffly.

This sucks.

Nervous to say so

I have been beyond ridiculously busy this week. This is the only night that I don't have something penciled in, and even then I need to finish up some laundry, and I did some grocery shopping. And I have to pay the rent. And this weekend I'm doing taxes. And...

Augh, christ jesus, make it stop.

I don't mind being busy at work, and I am. Now that I'm really settling in to the position, more and more tasks and meetings and what-not come up. But it's good, and people are talking about me (and not just at my site, at our headquarters, which are out-of-state, as well) in a very good way, so it's great.

But then to come from work busyness to home busyness is just too much. I just want to sit and do nothing, but I'm freaking out about everything I have to do.

Fuck it. Going to write my rent check, then buy some yarn. And hope Jay gets here soon so I can go to bed early.

No.

It is 9:00 pm. This is the earliest I have gotten home all week.

*shoots self*

I also won't be around this weekend. Jay and I are leaving tomorrow after work for a quickie weekend skiing trip. It'll be awesome, and I totally want to go, but I also totally want to not have anything on my schedule for a good long time.

Dual purpose

You ever have something where you like it, but you don't know if you like that you like it?

I got a smallpox vaccine last week, so I have to keep it bandaged up, and was highly recommended that I keep that arm covered up with clothes, to protect the people around me. It's not like they'll die - or that I will - it's just that the vaccine is really contagious and the virus used causes ridiculously itchy pustules, so if I managed to rub the pus or touch it and touch something else, it can be spread really easily. I told Jay all this, so he allowed as how maybe my wearing a nightshirt to bed was a good idea, rather than sleeping naked and on top of him like I usually do.

So I got ready for bed last night and took off my clothes and put on my nightshirt, and left my underwear on, 'cause that's what I've been doing all week. It's been damn cold, and I need the extra layer! Jay naturally starts fooling around - and maybe it had to do with the fact that I encouraged him to come over a day early with promises of sex - and gets to the fact that I, am wearing underwear.

"What is this?" he asks.

"My underwear!" I promptly reply. Since about three milliseconds after that, I realized that may not have been the best reply possible, I follow up with one of my cutest smiles in the world, hoping that will solve any issue.

It didn't of course, but he didn't do anything at first, just informed me that clearly, they needed to not be on, and that fact should be remedied. I figured I was more or less off the hook.

In a way I was - I wasn't punished or anything. But I was definitely reminded, very clearly, of the rules. Namely, we were in bed, that means He is in charge.

He loves to pinch and twist my nipples, and there was some of that. He loves to spank me, and there was some of that. But what really did it for me, was he put his hand on my neck.

He doesn't even have to put pressure, as I believe I have mentioned before. All he has to do is just put His hand around my neck. And I am a fucking goner. I am internally freaking my shit out, hating every minute, in that "oh my god this is amazing I am clearly going to cum here" way.

I did, by the way, but god, I hate that shit.

Or maybe I just hate that I love it.

Reminder

french, you are paying a ridiculous sum of money to get a Master's degree. You are not allowed to drop out, no matter how idiotic, irritating and ineffective the administration of your school is.

I am my own sugar daddy

Everyone has their issue that tweaks them out. For some people it's food or weight, others it's emotional stuff. For me it's money.

I freak my shit out if I am not working. I also freak it out if I don't have enough money in savings. I am one of those people that is scared to look at my bank statements even when I know there should be money in there. I haven't balanced my checkbook since sometime near when I first got a checking account, and quite frankly, have no interest to. Hate money, hate dealing with it.

Somehow, all the bills for the house are in my name. What the hell, people.

I also go through phases with how I spend money. For the past, oh, four months or so, I have been in a "I HAVE NO MONEY I WILL NOT SPEND IT" phase. No buying drinks, no extra things, just paying the bills, buying gas, the usual. This is good, because it means that I have money. This is bad, because it means that I don't like to buy groceries and things of that nature.

This week has been a "holy crap, I have lots of money, I can buy some of this stuff!" phase. See, I keep a list of things I need/want to get. Things like new tires for my car, a headboard, new bras, pieces of furniture, new shoes. You know. Stuff. And I bought some stuff this week.

I bought a pair of nice, work-appropriate black heels, and a very nice pair of work-mildly-appropriate-good-thing-I'm-young-for-the-office high-heeled, knee-tall boots - with lace-up backs. Also am buying a baker's rack for my kitchen (that I've wanted for about three years), and a new bedframe/headboard for my bed (again, wanted it about three years).

You know, if I ever got a Master that rationed me on purchases, I would so not have an issue, 'cause I do it to myself. Christ.

Clearly, I need to find some balance here. Feast or famine is not the way to go. On the plus side, I have a retirement account, I have two savings accounts, and my health insurance is about to get cheaper. But still, need to fix this.

In the meantime, I am going to go see how my new boots look with that black leather skirt I bought last year, that has been waiting for the perfect pair of shoes.

Things I learned this weekend

1. Jay likes gagging me. Like, really, really likes gagging me.
2. I don't mind being gagged. The gagging itself is good for me. The copious drooling? Not so much.

I am too young for this shit

Signs I am losing my mind:

1. I write down everyone's birthdays in my planner, along with the age they are turning during the year. I just copied everything over in to the new one. All of my ages last year were wrong - by varying amounts of time. Even for people like my mom, and I have had her birth date memorized for a long, long time.

2. I have two cell phones - one that is mine, one that is work's. I bring both of them to work. The other day, I was wearing nice pants, so my phone went in my bag, since it couldn't go in my pocket. I needed something off it, so I set it on my desk. I then proceeded to go to a meeting. After the meeting, I didn't see it on my desk, so I spent a good five minutes digging through my bag and going through my desk drawers and filing cabinets looking for it. I never put my phone in the pocket of nice pants. It was in my pocket.

3. I have been wearing a watch every day since I was like, twelve. I managed to leave the house without my watch today.

An organized mind

It's interesting to me, how people evaluate relationships.

Jay and I were sitting on my couch, messing with my wireless card (for which he found a workaround today). During the course of the conversation, it comes up that he considers me the most important person in his life.

I couldn't decide whether I felt warm-and-fuzzy or wicked confused and uneasy. The former, because who doesn't want to hear things like that? The latter because, well, I wasn't sure if I could say the same.

I've been turning it over in my head for the past day, and I still haven't come to a conclusion. I just don't rank people in terms of "importance". If you asked me who the most important people in my life were, I'd naturally list Jay, but I'd list my mom and dad, my little sister, my grandma, Elizabeth, a few others. But there is no one person on that list that I would say is "most important". They are all important for me, for very different and unique reasons.

That seems to be the problem: I don't have a single standard that I measure people by in my life. Everyone has their own niche. Sure, I have wide groups of people - family, close family, close friends, acquaintances, co-workers, whatever - but I don't have a list, from one to whatever, of people ranked by how well they do x or personify y.

Jay is amazingly important to me, and I would do things for him that I would do for no one else. But that doesn't make him more (or less) important than my grandma, who had a very strong hand in raising me, or Elizabeth, who is the sister I didn't have growing up, or anyone else in my life.

Being the most important person in his life is a lovely sentiment, and I'm honored (and a little frightened) to be there. But I just can't say the same. It doesn't make sense with the way I organize my world.

Correction: Fuck Windows

I poked around with my wireless some more tonight, being as how I've mellowed out some. Card was using the most recent drivers and utilities. Network was working fine. Hmm.

*poke poke poke*

Well what have we here? Windows managed to turn on its firewall! Oh goody! Why on earth do I need a software firewall when I have a perfectly good hardware firewall sitting over there on my desk?

I turn off the firewall. Magically, my wireless connects.

Fuck you, Windows.

Just to be clear, I'm an idiot.

Can you tell I was angry this weekend?

I'm not entirely sure where all of my anger - my anger that was completely out of proportion to anything that was going on this weekend - came from. Part of it, I think, is just good old hormones. I'm due to start my period on Tuesday, and while I love this pill, apparently my body still likes PMS once in a while, the bitch. The other, I'm pretty sure I haven't been eating enough lately.

Hannah just posted about how being hungry makes her angry. And now that I think about it, I think I have in the past - or at least I wrote a draft; who knows if I posted it. But really? Low blood sugar makes me a raving lunatic bitch. Jay has started asking me when the last time I ate was lately, because I am one of those idiotic people that sometimes forgets to eat, subject to rants in comedy routines and hatred from everyone.

Well, maybe it's not so much forget, as realize I should eat, and then get distracted and not get around to it. This is for many reasons - sometimes I am wrapped up in something I can't tear myself away from. Sometimes I can't figure out what to eat, so I don't. Sometimes I have an idea of what I want to eat, but it would require lots of effort to make and I probably don't have the ingredients, so I'd rather not, thanks, 'cause I'm lazy. But yeah. Forget to eat.

I clearly need someone in my life who is in charge of making food appear for me at the proper time. Any volunteers?

Fuck wireless, and fuck you too.

For Christmas, Jay bought me a wireless router and a matching wireless card for my laptop. I'm sure there are people out there that are thinking "he gave her what", but I assure you, this was an entirely appropriate and appreciated gift. We're both dorks, after all, and it saved me from having to buy it.

Now, he gave it to me right before I was leaving for my parents' house, so I wasn't going to set it up. He was not allowed to set it up for me either - last time he set up some computer-type thing for me when I hadn't wanted it set up, it resulted in the thing being broken shortly thereafter. So he's not allowed to set things up for me anymore.

I finally set the damn thing up the other day. Now, I have to mention here, I've been working in IT off and on for almost a decade.

Holy crap, almost a decade. I need a minute here.



So it's not like I don't know anything about networking or computers or crap, right? The router comes with an "Easy set-up cd!" that I use because I'm lazy. Being that I'm not an idiot, I choose to have a secured wireless network and set up a key for it and everything.

I then tell Rabbit, my roommate, to try connecting to it, since she's got a Powerbook with internal wireless. She can't - oh, because the key that I assigned to the network? Not actually what was put into the router settings by the set-up cd. In fact, none of the security settings I specified were actually applied. Awesome. Fucking shitheel. No wonder everyone else in the neighborhood has an unsecured network.

So I change that, and she's connected. Awesome, I have wireless router. Time to put in my wireless card and get that set up.

The wireless card also has a set-up cd, which I promptly use. I go through set-up, restart, and referee the fight between Windows and the card's software as to who will be in charge. I declare the card software the winner, and it opens up.

And promptly hangs my computer.

I'm sorry, but you really have to try to make that happen. But fine, I'll do a damn hard reset, and you'd better work next time.

It does it again.

I tell it to fuck off and use Windows, except that Windows can't actually find the network that it should damn well be able to find seeing as how the AP is sitting less than ten feet away.

Fine. Fuck you both.

I got back to the proprietary software and wrangle with it for nearly an hour in an attempt to actually get it to save the settings I want and then connect. Finally, finally, it works. I am connected in a wireless fashion, I no longer have cat5 snaking across my bedroom floor, life is pretty good.

Now, I'm also on a green kick, seeing as how it being sixty in January really isn't good for my health in a lot of ways. So, my computer currently goes on standby after twenty minutes of idleness, and hibernates when I shut the lid. In both cases, once I wake it up, it should go back to where it was.

For a while, this was happening. Then, then, we have yesterday. I wake the thing up, and the wireless card won't connect. It saved the settings, the router was up and working, my roommate was having no trouble, but my wireless card would not connect, no matter what I did.

Once it was finally set up, it was definitely under the category of "I push the button and it works". Since it was not cooperating, I pulled the fucking piece of shit card out, threw it onto my couch... somewhere... and proceeded to plug in my damn cat5 again.

This is why we cannot have nice things people, because the nice things are non-functioning pieces of shit.

Jay is all sad that I am not using the wireless card. I told him to go fuck himself. I'm a bit hormonal, so I'm extra angry. As far as I'm concerned, everyone and everything can go fuck themselves/itself. If you want me to use the gift, give me something that actually fucking works.