Wha..??

Dumbledore died??

*sob*

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She’ll Be Coming ‘Round The Mountain…

There was nothing major that had to be done, no big epiphanies or anything. I just needed to step back, get some perspective and remember what I’m doing.

The actions haven’t really changed- just the spirit.

And, well, the nagging. That’s changed. :)

Yesterday’s message from the Universe was kind of funny. “Always be grateful for criticism, Tess”. Indeed. I was grateful – later. At the time I was a bit butt-hurt and sulky.

It’s difficult (for me) not to get defensive. I tend to want to justify and excuse rather than listen and take corrective steps. But I’m learning. A criticism from him is not a personal attack.

It just feels like one. :P

Anyway, the kids are keeping me plenty busy, as is Master. I’m sneaking in my Harry Potter obsession while in the bathroom, otherwise I don’t seem to have time to read. (Just finishing up book six right now.)

Am was chosen to go to a creative writing digital storytelling seminar thingie at the university. She had to take a piece that she’d written and choose corresponding pictures to show as she reads it. I was helping her last night with the photos and I was just struck again at how talented she is. Mark my words- someday, she’ll be published.

She’s driving now. Gah. They grow up so fast! She won’t get her license for awhile yet but she has her permit and drives anywhere she and I go. Master is a little leery about getting in the car when she’s at the wheel though. *cough*Chicken shit*cough*

She went to an 80′s themed party over the weekend and I had the best time giving her an 80′s look. I kinda went for the flashdance look- tight leggings, leg warmers, off the shoulder cut-up sweatshirt. But the hair and make-up was ‘teh bomb’. Side ponytail, aqua net bangs, big scrunchy, and the makeup was bright blue eyeshadow clear up to her eyebrows. She was so made of 80′s win.

B-man is going to start taking guitar lessons, which I think is way cool. He’s had a cheap electric guitar for awhile but it’s only been in the last year or so that he’s taken an interest in playing it – and then it broke. So when his birthday rolled around earlier this month and he said he wanted money to save up for a guitar, we started looking around. There’s a place not far from here where we knew there were some second-hand guitars so we mosied on over. Not only does the store owner fix guitars, he also gives lessons and is opening a place for jam sessions and stuff. We got B-man an acoustic guitar for his birthday present and the guy is going to fix B-man’s electric guitar and give him lessons. He’s pretty stoked about it. So am I. :)

Jes is.. well, Jes is Jes.

She’s a hypochondriac (just one among her various problems). Pregnancy has made it worse. Right now she thinks she has the swine flu. She has no symptoms! But that doesn’t matter. She’ll create them.

A couple of years ago she thought she had testicular cancer. So, you know, psychosomatically whipping up symptoms for swine flu will be a piece of cake for her. If you can imagine imaginary tumors in your imaginary testicals, you can imagine yourself a fever I’m sure.

I know it’s not really a joking matter, least of all to her, but if I can’t laugh about it, I’ll cry and I’m so tired of crying.

Every twinge she feels makes her panic. Every cramp, every time the baby isn’t moving enough or is moving too much. She worries about the food she’s eating- No. Lemme rephrase. She doesn’t *worry* about it, she obsesses over it. Is it too close to the expiration date? Is it too much? Is it good for the baby? Is it on her approved list of foods to eat? The doctor said to cut down on caffeine, she won’t touch a can of soda. The doctor said she was dehydrated, she’s practically drowning herself in water.

She is constantly calling the doctor to ask about this pain or that sensation. While down at grandma’s and while visiting the baby-daddy, she carted herself off to the E.R. three different times. THREE. Had she been here where I could monitor things with her and calm her down like I know how to do when she has these manic-panic death-is-looming episodes, she’d not have gone. Soooo.. since she’s getting too far along to be traveling anyway, and since she can’t mentally handle it, she just can’t go anymore.

Other than her mental state, she’s physically doing very well. She’s starting to get uncomfortable- back pain and swollen ankles, etc. She had an ultrasound on Monday and she’s either further along than they thought (by 2 or 3 weeks) or she’s having a big baby. But baby no longer looks like an alien peanut, she actually resembles a human now. She has fingers and toes and everything. I got to watch as she delivered several rather vicious kicks to Jes’s innards which made me giggle madly. I’m sure the tech thought I was the most evil-est grandmother-to-be but she’s never had to live with Jes. ;)

Anyway, that’s about all the excitement I have to share.

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Blurred Lines

It’s been a couple of blucky days.

The other day, Master told me I was getting a bit too critical toward him. I’m treating him like a husband, and expecting from him the behaviors and mannerisms of a husband.

Husband and wife is a title, a formality for practical purposes. It makes certain legal/financial matters easier.

But it makes other things harder.

I’ve let husband and wife and all it encompasses replace Master and slave.

I’ve got a lot to think about.

I might take a couple of days, if he grants me permission that is, and try and find my focus. Back off of things that are distracting me.

Y’all behave (better than I am anyway).

~cunt

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“The doors we open and close each day decide the lives we live.”

Master and I had a little spat the other day. It was nothing serious, I don’t even remember what it was about or who started it. One of us snapped at the other, the other snapped back and before the end of it, I was walking away with my little feelings all hurt.

I’ve come a long way in learning how to “fight”. We both have. It’s sad to say that neither of us had a clue how to do that effectively when we first met. But we’re better, the two of us. It’s no longer a character assassination, we aren’t out to wound each other or to “win”. And every spat does not signal the beginning of the end. In other words, there is no reason for me to stomp off and start throwing my clothes in a box simply because we don’t see eye to eye on every subject in the world.

Oh yes, we really were that bad.

Progressive as we have been, I’m still trying to learn an appropriate way to be angry. Slavery and submission complicates what is already a complicated thing, don’t you think?

There is one thing that I do pretty consistently when I’m angry that I really need to stop doing. It’s such a small thing, and probably sounds stupid-silly.

I’ll sneak off to the bathroom without asking. Dumb, right?

I know I’m going to get caught. I know it’s going to piss him off and I know he’ll punish me for it. I know it only makes a bad situation worse.

I know all of that. I do it anyway.

But I feel bad when I do it. I’m not trying to rub disobedience in his face, I don’t *want* to get caught. I don’t want him to catch me. You’ve never seen a faster peer than me in those seconds when I’m trying to get done before he wonders where I went. I don’t want to be punished and I hate hate hate that moment when I’m in there and I hear his footsteps approaching the door and then that quiet knock.

It’s really a god-awful, stomach-sinking feeling.

Then there is The Talk and The Look and The Consequence. It all just makes me want to drop through the floor and die.

Yet, the next time I’m angry or hurt, I’ll do it again.

So this time, after it happened and after I got caught, I took the time where I wasn’t allowed to do anything else (The Consequence) and really tried to examine why I do this, every single time. There had to be a connection, because it’s only that one thing, that one rule that I break.

If it were a matter of simple disobedience, then I’d run around willy-nilly breaking all the rules. But I don’t. No other, except that one.

I’m not deliberately trying to make him angry. There are far more effective ways to do that! And if it were that, I’d flaunt it. I’d strut right past him on my way to the bathroom and slam the door in his face. I don’t do that. I’m furtive and sneaky and wait until he’s in the other room and I have reason to think he’ll be in there long enough that I can get in and out before he notices.

It’s not a matter of trying to snatch back some control either. I could do that in any number of ways that it’d be way more blatant than going pee.

It’s always just that one single thing. I otherwise serve and perform and behave as if nothing had happened. Perhaps with a bit more… oomph? I might be a little more, um, enthusiastic about handing him his coffee cup. I might add some extra-special voice tone to “You’re coffee, Master.”

But other blatant or deliberate acting out just doesn’t happen.

Or so I thought.

I happened to think of another one while I was pondering.

I’ll often, but not always, try to get into bed without getting naked. I’m not always successful in that because if he’s already there and is watching me get into bed, I cannot be deliberately disobedient under his watchful eye. But if he’s not there yet and I’m getting into bed first, I keep as many clothes on as possible.

I’m not supposed to wear clothes to bed.

I remembered that and suddenly it was all clear to me. Because I know exactly why I try and keep my clothes on when I’m angry.

I hate sleeping with any clothes on. I didn’t need that to be a rule in the first place. Clothes make me feel tied up and strangled when I’m sleeping. I slept naked before I met him. I’ll sleep for shit if I have clothes on in bed.

But I’ll try and keep them on because being naked in front of him makes me feel vulnerable.

Anger is a protective emotion. When I feel hurt or afraid, rejected, invalidated (and any one of those can be the result of something that he and I disagree about. Especially considering that, very often, my opinion is dismissed due to being the slave and having to acquiesce to his wishes) anger forms a protective layer to keep from being further exploited or wounded.

I don’t want to let go of that protection. I need to hold on to it until I’ve come to terms with having been overruled, or invalidated. It’s not that I’m pouting or stewing, I’m dealing, but without allowing myself to be “harmed” any more.

Vulnerability, exposing myself (in body or emotions) in front of him, erases anger. I can’t maintain that protective exterior, the anger, when I’m vulnerable. The two emotions just don’t mesh and vulnerability wins out.

If I lose that protective shield before I’ve made my peace with being dismissed/overruled, well I don’t know what will happen. I might implode or something.

So I try and avoid situations with him that put me in a vulnerable position. Like being naked. And, most especially, asking to use the bathroom. I avoid them until I can do them- on my terms.

The reason why asking to use the bathrom makes me feel so vulnerable doesn’t matter, I don’t think. It just does. You’ve no idea how humiliating and degrading it is to have to do that when I’m NOT raw from whatever disagreement we may have had. I… bah… I can’t even explain it.

The goal, that I can see, isn’t in erasing the vulnerability that I feel. In fact, I dare say keeping that vulnerability is important.

The goal is, perhaps, not shutting him out of that. Not wrapping myself up in that protective blanket of anger and excluding him from the process.

Not being vulnerable on my terms- but on his.

I need to not believe that I’m losing something if I let go. That there is nothing to be gained in trying to hold so tight to that control. That I am, in fact, losing something every time I wrap myself up in that security blanket.

Preferably without imploding, though. I have enough to clean as it is.

~cunt

ps. Day 4 with no revenge extracted. I think the statute of limitations is up, don’t you? Too bad so sad!

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“May the dragon of life only roast your hot-dogs and never burn your buns!”

Have you ever had one of those impulsive moments where you do something rash to the sadist in your life, all in good fun mind, but hours later when you’ve taken the time to contemplate the various ways he can extract his revenge and there isn’t jack-shit-all you can do about it, you begin to feel the first nigglings of “what the fuck was I THINKING?”

You done that?

I done that.

Hee. While I giggled my ass off about it last night, today I’m looking for hiding places.

So here’s what happened. We’d just gotten into bed, right? Well, HE was in bed and I was still trying to herd the cats out of the bedroom. So before I get to the bed, he flops over onto my side, on his stomach and just lays there.

I did NOT stand there like a retarded deer caught in headlights (ha!) (Funny fetlife thread), though I probably otherwise would have because I like to play the word game sometimes, you know? I like to stand there when he’s clearly expecting something and go “What? What do you want? I can’t read your mind you know! Use your words, people!”- just cuz it frustrates him a little and I am a bitch like that.

However! I didn’t do that this time! Fetlife thread fresh in my mind and all, I thought about it, immediately rejected it, told myself “You aren’t stupid. You know what he wants, so STFU and do it!” and promptly hopped into action. I snatched up the special muscle rub lotion, squirted some on his bare back and he says “Uh. I only wanted you to do my feet, cunt.” and waved his big old clod-hopping feet in my face.

For real! What the fuck, Chuck.

Now you SEE why I do the word game?? I really CANNOT read his mind and when I try, I fail. Can’t win for losing, honest to God.

I scooped all the lotion off of his back and he shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, bitch. You screwed yourself now. I’ll take a back rub, too.”

“Oh yeah?” thought I. And before rational thought could intercede, I snatched up the waistband of his underoos and sticking my handful of lotion in there, I made a quick swipe inbetween his buttcheeks. “Who’s screwed now?” I quipped back at him.

There was nothing at first.

It’s rather slow-acting lotion.

I finished the back rub. I finished the foot rub.

There was time enough for me to think Whew! It didn’t work. Thank God. Wtf were you thinking anyway!

We laid down and picked up our books (we’d fucked earlier. And it were good).

It got quiet.

Then-

He gave a little squirm.

I held my breath.

Scrunching his butt into the mattress, he looked at me, all confused like and says, “Damn. My ass is burning.”

I cracked. the. fuck. UP.

Seriously. I lost it. I pointed. I laughed. I hooted. I hollered “I got you!”

He’s like “What the-? What in the-? Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. You fucking cunt! You wiped that lotion in my ASS??”

That menthol-wintergreen muscle relief burning massage lotion.

*snicker*

I couldn’t even talk. I had tears rolling down my face. I had a serious case of the giggles watching him scrunch his ass around on the bed. But, oh my GOD, the expression on his face.

Fucking priceless, man. I think he wanted to be pissed but he was too damn impressed to get there.

But okay. So finally, I settle down. He keeps throwing me looks that I’m doing my damndest to pretend I can’t see, but I’m calm. He’s calm. We pick up our books.

He’s still scrunching. I’m still having giggle leftovers. Then all of a sudden he whips the blankets off, jumps out of bed and hightails it for the bathroom with his ass all tucked in, mumbling “I gotta wash this shit off, fucking shit burns. My ASS is on FIRE.”

And I lose it all over again. I laughed so hard I started snorting. THAT’S when he got all “Oh you’ll pay. You laugh now, but you’ll pay, cunt.”

He was still laughing, standing there naked with a cold washrag stuffed in his butt crack – which was just fucking hilarious- so how could I take that seriously!?

A naked mad with a washcloth in his ass trying to threaten me?

Bwahahahahaha! *snort* Bwahahahaha!

He gets into bed and he’s all mumbling about “Icy hot” and “clothespins” and “smartass fucking cunt” and looking at me going “har-de-har-har!” all sarcastic-like while I’m wiping the tears that are still streaming down my face.

And all I can do is shake my head and giggle out “So worth it. Totally fucking worth it.” while I try and breathe.

So. Yeah.

That was last night. Last night it was worth it.

Today? I’m not so sure. Today, I’m a little nervous.

Still giggling! Just… nervous giggles.

Paybacks are a bitch. He really likes that phrase.

I am so screwed.

*snicker*

Still fucking funny though.

~cunt

PS. The kids are having a snow day today. It was 70F last Friday, and yesterday morning it was snowing.

*thumbs my nose at mother nature* Fucking whore.

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These Feet Were Made For….. thumping??

Lately, Master’s taken a liking to whacking my feet.

A couple of weeks ago, we were sitting on the couch watching a movie, about as vanilla a moment as you can get, and I’d tucked my feet up into his lap (cuz he’s warm, see, and my feet are not), when all of a sudden he snatches up a foot and started flicking it.

Master is no ordinary flicker. He’s a Super Flicker. He has strong hands and strong fingers and he flicks like a.. a.. well I don’t know what flicks really really hard- besides him.

I mean, a hummingbird is an awesome flicker, but they don’t really conjure up an image of brutality, yanno?

Anyway. Let’s just picture Master naked except for red tights, with a big cape and a mask. Super FlickerMan.

Ever since then, he’s been oddly obsessed with whacking the bottoms of my feet. (though now I’m going to pull up the mental image of Super FlickerMan and giggle my ass off. Surely THAT won’t help.)

I have really sensitive feet. I hardly ever walk around inside bare foot, and I *never* go outside bare foot, ever ever ever. The grass, it hurts.

My feet are delicate. Dainty. Fragile even!

Like me. *beams*

I spend a lot of time like this now, feet together. Trying to find some way to cover/hide/protect my tender tootsies. Especially when he has thwacking objects in his hands.

Else he snatches one up and starts whacking on it!

And then.. THEN.. he has the nerve to say “Hold your foot still so I can beat it or it’s just gonna get worse.”

Srsly.

In what world does that even make sense!?

If I could be still I’d already be still. How in God’s name does he expect I’ll be still under threat of it getting any worse??

Honestly. He flunked Kaya Logical at Dom U.

Big fat red F.

For FAIL.

It works, but that’s not the point. As a logical conclusion to come to, he fails. It only works because I’m just THAT obedient. *cough*

Notice the heart shaped crop he’s thwacking me with. He says, mid-foot beating, all sweet and tender-like, “It’s heart shaped because I love you, honey.”

o.O

Oh rly?

Soooo… going by HIS kind of logical equations…..

I love him, too. Bunches and bunches.

:D

Dare me? Double-dawg dare me?

~cunt

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Play It Again, Sam

Master’s planned another dinner party for tonight (chicken tetrazinni.) (What? We own stock in Tyson!) so between the cleaning, shopping and cooking, there shall be no blogging.

Srsly, by the time I can sit down and write about last week, it’ll have faded into a hazy memory and all I’ll be able to say is “We had fun!” – which I’ve already said anyway.

Anywho, since I cannot bring you anything new and since I rushed through yesterday’s plea for your support for the eating disorder bill, I’m going to repeat, and re-plea, with a little more vigor.

Someone near and dear to me needs this bill to be passed. Though you may not know her, or know of her suffering, it’s not such a far stretch to imagine it being your son or your daughter, and to understand the extreme LACK of resources and funding available for eating disorder sufferers.

Did you know that Eating Disorders have the highest mortality rate of all psychiatric disorders? Imagine facing that, and not having the finances to back up the treatment your child needs. Imagine your insurance company, whose gleefully taken your money for years, denying your child’s future.

Your letter CAN make a difference. And I’ve simplified it for you, because even I was a little intimidated about writing my representative and I would hate for that to be the reason someone doesn’t write.

It’s very simple and takes just a few minutes.

Go here and enter your zip code in the upper left side. That will take you to a page with a link (hopefully) to your representative’s webpage. Click through to his/her page and there should be a very clear place where it says “Email [Your Representative]” and that link should take you to an easily filled out form page.

Here’s a sample letter that I came across in the lj community for ED Recovery when researching a little about this bill. (It’s called The F.R.E.E.D. Act, btw.) Just cut and paste and rework the sample letter a bit to make it your own and send it to your Representative. Add a sentence or two about your own personal experience with an eating disorder if you have one. This makes the communication much more personal and real for them.

THE SAMPLE LETTER

Your Name
Street Address
City

April 16, 2009

The Honorable First Name Last Name
United States House of Representatives
Washington, DC 20515

Dear Congressman(woman) XX,

I am writing you today to ask your support for the Federal Response to Eliminate Eating Disorders Act (H.R. 1193). This is the first comprehensive eating disorders bill in the history of Congress. By focusing on research, education, prevention and treatment this bill is a beacon of hope for the millions of people currently suffering from an eating disorder.

It is estimated that 9 million Americans suffer from anorexia, bulimia, binge eating and other eating disorders. Eating disorders are associated with a host of medical complications including cardiac arrhythmia, cognitive impairment, osteoporosis, infertility, heart failure and most seriously death. In fact, anorexia nervosa has the highest death rate of all mental disorders, upwards of 20%.

Research shows that eating disorders can be successfully overcome with early detection and adequate and appropriate treatment. Unfortunately eating disorders are often undiagnosed by health professionals and/or access to treatment is limited. Less than half of all people with eating disorders receive the treatment needed.

The Federal Response to Eliminate Eating Disorders (the FREED Act) can change these state of affairs. H.R. 1193 will save lives by providing more funds for research so that we can better understand, prevent and treat eating disorders, grant programs that provide training for health professionals, and steps toward better access to treatment coverage.

We urge you to sign on as a cosponsor of the FREED Act. I look forward to
hearing from you. Thank you again for your consideration.

Warm regards,

First and Last Name

~~*~~

If you’ve already done this, thank you. If you haven’t, please do.

:-)

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Let’s Get The Word Out

Please contact your congressman (you can find out who by putting in your zip code at www.house.gov) and ask him/her to support this act. It would grant money for research and treatments of eating disorders, grant money to schools for programs to support eating disorder sufferers, and most importantly it would require insurance companies to cover eating disorder medical treatment like other mental illnesses — RIGHT NOW THEY DON’T!

http://tinyurl.com/dzxuv5

Please?

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Domestic Goddess

Awhile ago, Danae asked me if I would co-blog with her and a few others on her Domestic Servitude blog.

Can you imagine? Me, blogging about domestic service? You do realize that less than 6 years ago, I couldn’t boil water.

Hee. I feel so grown up now!

Anway, I just made my first post over there, all about laundry soap which is my shining glory of domestic goddess-ness. You should go check it out (cuz I’m all sorts of nervous about blogging about domestic stuffs!)

In fact, if you have any interest in domestic services, check out the entire blog. Danae does wicked wonderful things in the kitchen, and elsewhere. You won’t regret it, I promise!

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Midol Cures Subdrop! News story at 11!

‘Tis true. *nods*

Or, at least Midol cures those I’m-going-to-start-bleeding-any-second-now blahs that highly mimic subdrop.

I knew I didn’t usually drop THAT hard. Apparently, the combination of mild subdrop and pms equals some fantastically wicked blues. Way cool, yeah?

Of course, had I any inkling of impending period-ness, I’d have waited to wash those fucking sheets, if you know what I mean. Oy. Story of my life, I tell ya.

Anyway, a couple of recipes that I need to share before I forget (again). We had a dinner/play party over the weekend and one couple brought a jello salad that was uber nom, plus, my buns got good reviews and I’ve been instructed to post it so they can have it. :-)

My bread buns, not my ass buns. Pervs.

Mandarin Orange Jello Salad (People love this—good for a potluck!)

Ingredients
1 small box orange jello
1 small box lemon jello
2 cups hot water
1 can lemon pie filling
1 cup juice from mandarin oranges
2 cups drained mandarin oranges

Directions
Pour boiling water into a bowl. Add both jellos and stir until dissolved. Stir in pie filling (using a wire whisk to blend and smooth). Add juice and drained oranges. Let set in refrigerator.

Bread Machine Dinner Rolls
1 cup very warm water
3 heaping Tbsp sugare
3 Tbsp oil
1 1/2 tsp. salt
3 cups bread flour (tap cup to settle flour while measuring and then level off)
2 1/4 tsp. yeast (or 1 packet)

Directions
Add ingredients to bread machine and set on dough cycle. When finished, remove dough from pan to a lightly floured surface. Do not knead. Gently shape into a rectangle and use a knife to cut into 12 semi-equal pieces.

I grab each piece and pinch it in my fist, just to get it into a ball shape with a relatively smooth top. Place in a greased 9×13 pan, cover with a towel, place in a warm spot to rise for 45-50 minutes. (I make a warm spot in the oven by setting the oven to 200 for just 2 minutes, turning it off and placing the pan inside.)

Take the pan out, pre-heat oven to 425F. Gently brush top of rolls with some melted butter. Bake for 12 minutes or until rolls are a light golden brown. Brush with melted butter again after baking, if desired.

I make these to use for buns for deli sandwiches. But they’re great with just some butter for plain old dinner rolls, too, and go really well with soups and stews. I’m not sure how they’d fair for use as hamburger buns as they might be too sweet, but I’ll probably try it and find out. They’re pretty darn yummy anyway, I must say.

Lots of chores and errands to make up today considering that I spent the last two days mourning the end of our kink-fest. *sniffle*

We didn’t take just a whole lot of pictures this time. Too busy doing it to worry about the camera (though I do have some clips I need to put up, mainly that face fucking clip that those other pictures came from. Srsly, that was the best face fucking session we’ve had yet, imo. It was teh awesome and the movie is great.), although Master is adding pictures to his Fetlife profile that I would happily remove. Bastard.

But I’ll share this real quick:

On Saturday night, Master got some instructions on rope work from Alderon, a dude from our local munch. It was the first time we’d really spend any time with him and his girl (and for real, does it ever get easier to go from “Hello, nice to meet you.” to “Strip, cunt”? I mean, honestly!) and I just have to say, again, that the kink group up here is phenomenal.

Anywho, he tied me up. And it was good.

Hopefully, this will inspire Master to do more bondage. I heart bondage. Master’s use for bondage seems to begin and end at “functional”. A quick wrap here and there to keep me accessible, loop it around a bedpost or a hook and off he goes.

Though, really, I guess that’s the point.

It was pretty though. And I got goosebumps cuz rope is yummy. (Plus I was naked and cold, but it was from the rope!)

So, that’s all I got today. :-)

~cunt

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