WMS

WMS=Wild Monkey Sex.

I had some.

I suppose I should say WE had some. Having WMS by yourself is less fun.

I may have even hooted a time or two.

At first I was “having a moment”. Like.. sometimes my not-fair meter pings and I dig in my heels and demand fair treatment. You’d think I’d be SO over fair treatment but, honest to shit, this never goes away.

So, he’s coming at me naked and pointing in the right direction, and I’m hurrying to strip as fast as I can. I’m not naked before he gets to me because I’m not Superman and have never perfected the telephone booth spin-into-lingerie move.

He starts groping me and humping on my leg anyway while I’m tripping over my pants around my ankles and trying to yank my shirt over my head with his hands fisted over my tits. The leg humping keeps knocking me off balance and I’m starting to get irritated-like.

In my head I’m thinking, wtf-chuck. STOP IT and let me undress, ffs. I want to be sexy and instead it’s looking like a 3 Stooges skit up in here. Just.. back off a freakin’ minute!

But outside I’m simply smiling and cooing and trying to kick off my pants without also kicking him in the balls.

Major mood-killer that accidental ball-kicking is. Just sayin’.

I finally manage to get my clothes off, and he spins me around and tells me to suck his dick and get him “hard and wet”.

And that’s where my no-fairitis kicked in.

Because. Well.. because I was not wet. I was not anything. I was.. annoyed.. sort of. I mean, that seems to be his MO, like.. all the time. Me getting him ready and no one is getting ME ready.

As if I should just be SO excited to see his dick that I’m instantly wet and raring to go.

And.. I guess in the porn stories that works. At 40 years old (almost anyway), … not so much?

Maybe that even worked for me a few years ago. All I know is it’s not working so well anymore.

So… no matter that I was biting my tongue in half to keep my fucking mouth shut, I still HAD to say it. I just HAD to make my voice heard, had to voice it, had to petulantly pout on my way down to suck his dick, with a “who was going to make ME wet?” call-me-a-waahmbulance comment.

I swear I don’t always say these things with the intention of him hearing me.

I mean.. it’s not that I can’t discuss these things with him or whatever. He’s not closed to hearing that I may need something more than a cock in my mouth to become excited.

But the timing… I really suck at timing.

Anyway.

He heard me, he leaned over and swatted my ass, declared me wet and shoved his dick down my throat.

I was amused.

I really was. I’m totally not writing this in a whiney, he’s so selfish-waah! kind of way. He is selfish, and he should be selfish, and I LIKE that he’s selfish.

Of COURSE by the time he stopped fucking my face and flipped me over and proceeded with the WMS, I WAS wet and hot and so fucking ready that I practically spooged before he even started pumping.

I don’t even know what I’d do with foreplay.

I’d probably be bored, really. I’m so used to his version of foreplay being the process of slamming his dick into my dry cunt that if he got all touchy/feely/licking/whatever-foreplay-usually-is, I’d start snoring or something.

Anyway.

I swear I was going to come here and write this in my erotica-way. I had it all planned out and everything.

“And then he sat back on his knees, his cock buried to the hilt inside of me, his hands twisting at my breasts. “Come, you filthy fucking whore. Come around your Master’s cock. Show me what you got, cunt.” and I did. And it were beautiful.”

No? No.

I mean, yes! It was and I did. But nah. Can’t seem to channel that part of me today.

I do think sometimes he’s trying to rip my breasts away from my chest wall when he’s fucking me though. It’s a pretty strange thing. I mean, the pain is exquisite. It’s huge and consuming and I whimper and whine and grab his wrists and cry out.

And then he grinds his cock into my cunt and it feels so fucking good and I can’t concentrate on any one single sensation. I’m all “oh my god. Ouch. Fuck. Jesus, that’s good. Oh goddammit, that hurtshhhit! yes, right there, right th-Ow! Stop it!”

And then I come all over the bed. :-)

And then I whine cuz it hurt(s).

Then later, I examine myself for busted ribs and amputated tits.

I’ve never had either, btw. It just FEELS like there should be.

Well okay then. Master is home and has totally distracted me from this rather train-wreckish attempt at erotica.

Meh. Maybe I can talk him into a repeat WMS. :D

~cunt

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20 Questions- BDSM Style

I ganked this from subtle.

Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets and I’ll tell you mine…

1. Your role?

I’m the cunt. The role of cunt fluctuates according to Master’s whim. The only constant is that I am at the bottom of the totem pole.

2. Current relationship?

Married to my Owner.

3. Your favourite type of play?

Bondage sex. Lots of it.

4. Your most hated type of play?

Anything that does not involve bondage sex. Pain purely for the pain when there will be no bondage sex to follow? Sucks. Sex that does not include bondage? Sucks. (well maybe not sucks but not AS GOOD AS bondage sex)

5. The most annoying habit of your owner/slave/whatever you call your SO?

He talks too much. I don’t mean in general, but during play, he talks too much. I don’t like to talk when I’m all hurty. I want to burrow and hide. He doesn’t let me.

And, his insistence that I not be social hermit, or that I somehow make myself enjoy making a public spectacle of myself. Ain’t gonna happen. I’m perfectly content to sit on the sidelines. Stop trying to shove me into the spotlight, mmmkay?

6. Your deepest fear?

Being left. That I’ll somehow become unworthy of him.

7. Your most memorable public experience (or what you would like to do in public)?

Most memorable would have to be the pee-pool at Spankfest.

8. What gets you in the mood?

Bondage sex.

Notice a theme here??

9. Favourite method of masturbation?

A dark room, my pocket rocket, and my imagination.

10. Scariest thing you’ve seen or heard of in BDSM land?

The whole hook suspension thing. Yeah. I’m so not going there.

11. Number of hours you spend on iFet when you should be doing other things?

Not so much anymore. Fet, for the time being, seems to have lost its appeal.

12.Thing that was hotter in fantasy than it was in reality?

Enemas. Ass pillaging. Long-term caging/confinement (I got so. bloody. bored.)

13. Most longed-for experience?

Long-term caging/confinement. LOL. Just.. I can haz books, pleaz?

14. Ouchiest toy?

The Blue Stick still holds that title. But the misery stick is right up there too. And clover clamps. Actually, they can ALL be right up there or not there at all. It depends on how they’re wielded.

15.Book or movie that every newbie has to read/see?

Gah. I’ve never made it through a single bdsm how-to book. I’ve made it through a couple of fictional bdsm-y stories, but I’d never label them as a must-read.

The only bdsm movie I’ve seen is Secretary, which… meh… it wasn’t terrible but it had so many things wrong with it that I’d also not call it a must-see.

So.. I dunno. Master tends to recommend Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns to newbies who ask for book ideas but I’ve not read it so I have no idea what is even in it.

16. Thing you’d like to change about yourself?

My weight. My libido.

They’re probably connected anyway.

17.Thing you’re most proud of?

That I did it. The whole falling down the rabbit hole thing. It was scary and nerve-wracking and parts of me wanted to hang on to the edge, and retain control… and I didn’t. I let go.

And it’s been… amazing. It’s still amazing. Every day is amazing.

18.Funniest dom name you’ve ever heard?

I get amused by nicks that are movie characters. Or any reference to penis size.

19. Do your family and friends know?

My friends know because the only friends I have are lifestyle, except for one. And even she made a couple of tentative steps on this path with me.

I have no idea what my family thinks. I’m not around them, nor do I talk to them enough to open myself up to their opinion. Probably they know nothing because they also can’t observe how we interact.

If they knew, I’d expect they would not approve.

My kids, the two older girls anyway, have a fairly accurate idea of what we’re about and what we do. They’re about as squicked out about it as any teenager is when they imagine the intimate goings-on of their parents. Beyond that, they really just don’t care.

20. Is twenty questions too many?

Too many to talk about myself? Heck no! I could do 20 more! ;-)

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Foiled Again

Master and I had penciled in Wild Monkey Sex for last night (it really is getting that difficult to come together) (Get it? “Come” together? Ha!) and then I ended up having to watch Babygirl, and he got called into work.

So I totally shaved my legs for nothing. Suckage.

~~*~~

I’ve been waiting for Master to give me head pats and “poor widdle girl” stuff since the hair post (TWO WHOLE DAYS. I’ve been waiting for TWO days! *huff*) but they didn’t seem to be forthcoming. I don’t always know when/if he reads here so last night I did a little lower lip pooch and whined that he must not be reading me anymore.

Because surely if he WAS reading me, he’d have lavished me with… something.

He rolled his eyes, took a deep breath and rattled off the last 4 or 5 post titles and topics.

You know what that means? I’ve been dismissed. Me and my hair woes. That’s what that means.

Ye olde “If it isn’t a problem for Me, it isn’t a problem, cunt” at play here.

He’s such a fucker.

*beams*

~~*~~

I’m going cold turkey on the pain killers. All of you bearers of good news out there have convinced me that I should give this a shot first. 2 to 3 weeks with nothing? And then what? If I’m still getting headaches, can I blame my hair then and start taking some again?

Notice how I’m determined to blame the hair. I’m such a martyr.

~~*~~

So I (tried to) made bread last night. You’d think I had this down pat, given that I’ve been making bread forever.

And yet- no. I sure don’t. Last night’s two loaves went straight into the trash.

Troubleshooting time!

I made the dough in the breadmaker, and planned on baking them in the oven. I’ve never done this before- precisely because I don’t really know what the steps should be once you take the dough out of the machine and I KNEW I’d fuck it up.

And I did.

I’m a fucking prophet, I tell ya.

Here’s what I did. Tell me what I did wrong.

Bread maker finished dough cycle. I dumped it out on a floured surface. I could tell right away that it *looked* way, way, WAY too wet and sticky, but seeings as how I’ve never really worked with raw bread dough, I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to look like.

I tried to incorporate more flour into it, mostly because I couldn’t even work with it, and also because my MarthaStewart-senses were tingly. Too wet, too wet, too wet! I had no idea if I was supposed to knead the dough more after the machine had finished the dough cycle (and you know what? Trying to Google things like that only confuses me more. It’s information overload, and chock full of variables. I wasted more time trying to find an answer.)

Anyway, I added in some flour, kinda squished it in a bit, divided the dough ball into two pieces, rolled them up, plopped them in loaf pans, covered them with plastic wrap, put them in a nice warm spot, and waited.

And waited.

They kinda sorta made a feeble attempt at rising, and then I walked too hard past them and they deflated. Not to be too quick to scrap them, I baked them anyway.

That’s another thing. I didn’t know the temperature or time either. I tried to Google that and I got things like “bake at the time and temperature called for in your recipe”. Well, no fucking shit. If I HAD a recipe I’d probably not be Googling it. Or “find a recipe closest to your ingredients and follow the baking time on it”. I just wanted a time and temp. Fer real.

I tossed them in at about 400F and set the timer for 30 minutes. *shrug*

I don’t think they’d have come out right even if I did know the proper time and temp. But I thought maybe I could at least salvage them for garlic toast or something. Unfortunately, they were nasty little bricks that LOOKED golden brown and tasted like.. I dunno what. Spoiled yeast.

And for real, I think my yeast might be too old. I need to do that yeast test thing, but either way, I’m going to pick up a new jar of it. Other than the possibility of old yeast, what else could have been the culprit? And what IS the time and temp for a basic 1.5lb loaf of white bread? And should I have made it into two loaves or left it as one? And what are the steps after the machine?

I really don’t like how it bakes in the machine but if you had any idea how much it pains me to waste dough ingredients like that, you’d know why I tend to stick with what I know works, even if it isn’t perfect. Our grocery bill can be god-awful and Master…. ugh… let’s just say that having to do the whole receipt explanation thing after grocery shopping gives me ulcers.

~~*~~

I think I’m going to do a “year in review” post. I’ve seen that as a common theme on some of the blogs I lurk around. It looks fun and introspective and y’all know how much I LOVE to navel gaze!

Maybe I’ll do it while Am’s having her party tomorrow night.

What party, you ask? (Okay you didn’t ask but pretend you did.)

Here’s how it went.

Am has a friend, a girl, who lives alone with her mother in this weensy little apartment here in town. This girl’s birthday falls somewhere around New Years Eve. So last year, Am asked if she could host this girl’s birthday slumber party at our house and have a combination B-day/NYE party because we have more room and this girl has never been able to have a big slumber party due to lack of space. Since we were still new in town and I figured Am was working to make friends, Master okay’ed it.

Which.. kudos to him, really. Because having a houseful of squealing teenage girls is NOT his idea of entertainment.

It’s not mine either, btw. Really. Teenagers get on my fucking nerves.

But… there is no limit to the things parents will endure to put a smile on their kid’s face, right? (Well okay. There IS a limit. Lots of them.) But this.. it’s mostly harmless; simply irritating.

Anyway… party tomorrow night. I don’t even know how many screaming girls this time. And a couple of boys, to boot. But they aren’t spending the night. I’m not running a fucking brothel here.

Actually one of the boys IS staying- but he’s gay. And the rest of them that are staying are girls. So, I dunno. That seems safe and his mother is fine with it.

Speaking of gay! Listen to this brilliant bit of maneuvering that my daughter did about the GSA.

I thought she’d given up on it when she couldn’t get a teacher to host, right? I mean, she’d been blocked right out of the gate.

I underestimated her.

She started a page on the internet. A GSA page, for the kids in her high school, and waited.

In the last approximately two months, almost a quarter of her high school’s students have signed up (friended? joined? whatever) her GSA page.

So she took that “evidence” to another teacher and re-pitched her GSA speech.

And she’s got a host.

Next? She, the teacher, and her evidence approach the school admins. If they deny it, and they might, we go to the school board.

Is she made of awesome sauce or what?

~~*~~

Next up- a meme! Yay!

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Silence is golden. Duct tape is silver.

Now see, if the one on the top would have read the one on the bottom first, she wouldn’t have needed to be bitch slapped.

Me? I read them.

And now, so have you.

This concludes today’s public service announcement.

Thank you.

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Not another post about hair!

Oh but it is. It is another post about hair.

I just replied to a post on Fet and went off on a whiny tangent about hair, which will likely get me booted from the Slave of the Year Club, and I figured I’d bring it here instead.

Y’all are (usually) nicer than the people on Fet. You give good head pats and “there, there, honey” and “he’s a mean old man!” stuff. And the occasional “suck it up, buttercup”, which means more coming from you guys.

The topic over there was changing your appearance at his direction. From clothing to weight to… hair.

Here’s where I got all “woe is me” on them:

I’m currently struggling with the hair requirements though. He wants long hair so long hair is what I have. It’s not butt-length or anything, my hair seems to stall at lower back length. But my hair is thick and heavy and I’ve always been tender-headed (which is why I always wore it short, pre-Master) so these days I have constant headaches.

I’m usually on board with the whole idea of having to endure unpleasant things for the amusement/benefit/whim of The Boss. In fact, I tend to find those things to be pretty fucking cool. I don’t know though. At this point I think having to shave my head to “show my devotion” would be pretty fucking cool.

So yeah.

I think he probably is getting close to hauling me down to the salon and having them cut it.

And if he does, I’ll sit in the chair and bawl. I know I will. I’m practically bawling over the thought of it. It’s one thing to *think* I’m a weak, whiny failure- and quite another to KNOW I am.

And yet… I also am selfish enough to know that I’d love, love, love having shorter hair.

Couldn’t I just put a wig on when he’s in the mood for long hair? Ugh.

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“And thank you for a house full of people I love. Amen.”

Christmas day was amazing. Damn near perfect.

It was snowing. Big, fat, slowly drifting flakes. The house was warm and smelled like cinnamon rolls and coffee. The tree was glowing, the kids were laughing, Babygirl was squealing.

There was one poignant moment where Am and B-man were sitting on the couch digging through their stockings, with Jes sitting next to them, watching and having to wait because she was feeding Babygirl. She was feeling it, that rift between childhood and adulthood. She watched her brother and sister, a little wistful, a little envious… but then she’d look down at the baby on her lap, the baby who stared around her bottle, studying mommy’s face, with such tender love.

I think she was a little sad this Christmas. It’s hard to say goodbye to that childish Christmas magic. Tomorrow, she starts working- her first day on the job. Her first paycheck? She buys her own diapers.

It should break my heart to have to watch her take the fast track to growing up. I guess it does, a little. But she is so in love with that baby, and is proving herself to be a good mom. What it does is make me proud.

We got her a flute for Christmas. Kind of her last non-practical, just-for-her present I supposed. Otherwise, she got work clothes, baby stuff, practical items. She didn’t expect the flute at all; hadn’t asked for it. I wanted her to have it.

We had dinner, just us. I made a ham with all the trimmings. I didn’t even miss the crowded and chaotic hubbub of the big family dinner. I really enjoyed the more intimate atmosphere of the 5 of us. Besides, we create enough chaos by ourselves.

As for those Christmas surprises that Master spoiled us with…. well, I’m typing this sitting on the couch. On my new laptop. *beams* And the kids have a shiny new computer- that WORKS!!- downstairs.

He’s too good to us.

Oh. B-man’s guitar?

Epic Fail.

lol.

He doesn’t like it. He didn’t want to tell us, afraid he’d hurt our feelings or something. It’s not the kind he wanted, doesn’t play the way he likes to play (something about distortion and,,,,erm,,,the bridge?) I’ve no idea how stuck we are with the purchase, but we’ll try and return/exchange it.

You know what would be a complete Christmas success? Not having to return anything. That would be awesome. *nods*

Anyway. I’m still basking in family love so I’m off of here and back to them for awhile yet. Here’s to hoping your magic continues. :-)

(Someday soon this will return to a kink blog. I swear it!)

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“Friends are like bras: close to your heart and there for support.”

I got an early Christmas present in the mail yesterday. It was from Danae.

I sat in my room, poking through the box she sent, and seriously got all misty eyed.

It wasn’t just what she sent me that set off my sap-o-meter… though what she sent was awesome. Candies and a menu pad that is rocking my socks, and a Naughty- But Oh So Nice memo pad (that will come in handy when leaving little notes for Master), and even a little ouchie toy for my Master from her Master- among other things in the box.

It was that she sent anything at ALL.

The generosity and thoughtfulness of the people I’ve “met” since I started blogging has just been amazing. It’s friendship, with no expectations, no strings, no demands. It’s acceptance and affection.

I got a little misty eyed because I’m blessed to know Danae- and all of you. Thank you so much, Michael and Danae. I hope your holidays are as wonderful as you’ve just made mine.

I may even thank Kitten if/when she sends me that snowflake spatula.

But probably NOT… lol.

Master has yet to believe me when I tell him spatulas belong in the freaking KITCHEN! :P

Continuing on the subject of good friends, Master and I spent almost the entire day yesterday out shopping. And we enjoyed every single second of it.

I just love, love, love his company. He’s funny and smart and loving and indulgent and romantic and generous and — well, this list is endless.

Round about midway through, we took a break in a little coffee shop in the mall and just enjoyed each other’s company. Watched the other shoppers, enjoying the rich smell of the shop. He always teases and jokes with the waitstaff whenever we’re out somewhere, makes them laugh, puts a smile on their face.

I think that says a lot about a man, don’t you? How he treats a waitress or a clerk?

I love him.

Later in the afternoon, after we’d finished our secret shopping, we had the kids come meet us in town so they could finish up their own shopping. Even that was fun. Other than B-man, who hates shopping in any capacity.

By the end of the shopping Master had a rather pained expression on his face. He said his wallet was squealing.

Then we stopped and had dinner at Applebees. Jack and Jill came down and joined us for dinner, and we’re going over to their place for a bit this afternoon and having dinner with them.

I’m feeling full to the brim with friends and good people.

Christmas spirit. I haz it.

(have to sneak in some lolspeak!)

I suppose when we leave their house, we’ll come home and play board games with the kids, or watch movies or something. And tomorrow morning, we’ll do the usual.

We’re going to have a nice Christmas. Master really spoiled me and the kids with something super-cool. I’ll post about it after Christmas. ;-)

As for my dilemma over amount of presents vs. amount of money: I went ahead and picked up some smaller, cheaper items to wrap up for B-man. As most of you said, he’s plenty old enough to understand the money, and he’d be perfectly happy with just the guitar, nor would he ever be so inconsiderate as to mention the number of presents. He’s just not that way.

The person it would bother is ME. So I bought more to make myself feel better..lol

It’s just little stuff. A guitar strap and straplocks. A chord book. Some small bottles of cologne.

And it’s still not exactly even in number, for any of them I don’t think. It’s just not so incredibly lopsided that it niggles at me like it was.

I’d really hoped to avoid having to go anywhere near a store today, but no such luck. Since I happen to be an expert and successful procrastinator, I have to go get groceries or we will not be eating Christmas dinner (or breakfast or lunch or any other eats). I am seriously not looking forward to it.

Though I will do it with a grin because morningstar sent me a “neener neener, I don’t have to shop today” message.

You see what I mean about friendship? It doesn’t have to be complicated. It just has to be… enjoyable. I enjoy you guys.

That’s the best gift there is.

Thank you.

I hope you all have terrific holidays. :-)

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He’s making a list…

My ex-husband was arrested earlier this month. I guess he got in a bar fight and someone called the police. Since there’s been a warrant out for him over non-payment of child support, they hauled him in. I don’t really expect much to come of it, this isn’t the first time he’s been arrested for child support. BUT – each time he gets picked up and has to post bail, they send that bail money to me.

*dances*

Except, I haven’t gotten this one. Yet. I don’t know if I should give up hoping for it or if the system is really slow. Maybe the court system decided to keep this one to offset some of their own costs. Fuckers. I was going to use that to get the new crib.

Keep your fingers crossed for me, eh?

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Tips From the Kaya Files

~~*~~

Tip #759

Bonking Master on top of the head with the empty wrapping paper tube is not “cute”.

He bonks back a lot harder. With a plastic coat hanger.

Hurrumph.

~~*~~

Tip #760

When sitting in a chair in front of Masterly horndog-types, do not indulge yourself in a mouth-stretching yawn.

He’ll just mount your face.

~~*~~

Thank you for reading the Kaya Files.

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Holi-stress

Christmas is stressing me out.

I’m sure it’s more pms than JUST Christmas, but either way I’m sinking fast.

Yesterday was a terrifically awful day.

B-man had a doctor appt. in the morning (and prior to heading to that, I’d spent about two HOURS typing up recipes for my mom because she’s putting together some sort of cookbook (which is great. I love me some family recipe cookbooks, srsly). But two hours of typing recipes sucks ass.)

Anyway.

So, I had nothing done when I had to go to doc. No chores done, no dishes done, no bed made, no nuttin. I was dressed. The End.

We go to the doc. I’m a good 30 miles from town so I try and combine errands to cut down on gas use. B-man hates shopping with a passion that only an emo 14 year old boy can muster. As soon as I tell him I’m running errands after his appt., he becomes his usual sullen and joyfully-bitching self.

Sets my teeth on edge, it does. I told him that everyday is not B-man Day. He told me, with perfect Eeyore imitation, that no day is ever his day.

*eyeroll*

But I ignore him. Tell him he can stay in the car and sulk if he wants to, I don’t care.

I head for the store. Jes calls me. She wants to meet me in town. It’s her birthday and she wanted to shop for her present.

(She’s 18, btw. And she’s still alive. Parenting WIN!! Yay!)

So B-man’s bitching steps up a notch. “Why do we have to wait, why can’t you take me home first, why does SHE have to come, why why why, waah waah waah”.

I offered him a Midol.

He told me I wasn’t funny.

Then he elected to sit in the car. In the winter.

*shrug*

Whatevs dude.

Jes, myself and Babygirl go in the store.

It’s fucking PACKED. Of course.

Trying to get through the crowds and down the aisles with Babygirl’s stroller was a pain in the ASS. Plus she’s hot and hungry and uncomfortable. In other words, she cranked the whole time.

Jes couldn’t find anything she wanted at the first store, though we must have looked at every single item in the store. Then B-man starts sending texts. “Hurry up, I’m cold, I’m hungry, wtf are you guys doing, I’m freezing”.

Waah. Shoulda not stayed in the car then.

Anyway. Two stores and a mall later, Jes still can’t find what she’s looking for, Babygirl has given up and fallen into a shopping-overloaded sleeping stupor, which, yay for no crying but jesus does she weigh a ton. B-man finally got cold enough to come inside and his constant heavy sighs of disgust only add to the pleasantness of too many people, too much noise and the clock ticking away to how many hours late I am getting home to get chores done and I have to pick Am up from school…

Argh!

Holi-stress. I had some.

We finally go home. I rushed through some basic chores (good thing Master was doing something after work and not coming straight home!), made supper- and then the kids got into a huge stupid argument and I decided to leave and go shopping.

By myself.

Where it would be quiet and peaceful. No 30lb car seat to lug around, no crabby baby, no crabby teenagers, no cart to try and maneuver down crowded aisles. No nothing.

Just me. And silence. And 500 other late shoppers, but still.

I go to the mall. I go in a store. I gather several items and stand in the hour-long check out line. Cashier rings me up.

I have no wallet in my purse.

*headdesk*

I remember Jes asking me for stamps and me telling her they were in my wallet. I remember her handing me my wallet and me putting it on the kitchen table.

So I went out to my car and sniffled like a baby. Then I called mah Man and whined. Then he came and rescued me and wiped the tears off my face and took me shopping and offered ME a Midol and told me he loved me.

Then we came home and I gave him a backrub. I would have given him a blowjob but he was falling asleep.

Then I started my period.

I can feel my mood lightening with each bloody drip.

Hee. I live just to squick y’all out. :D

In summary, I have lots to do and it seems like the days are shorter. I dunno how that happens, but it does. Karma’s a fucking comedian. So, entries may be sparse. Not even Fetlife is getting my attention these days. (Yet it still continues on in my absence. The nerve! Doesn’t everyone know that I am the center of the UNIVERSE!!!??)

*ahem*

I’ll be back. After the Midol.

~cunt

ps. I’m gonna open up a flickr, but pure vanilla and completely locked. You ain’t getting in unless I know you. If you want to see copious amounts of “LOOK AT MY BEAUTIFUL BABYGIRL!!” pictures, send me an email.

***EDIT*** By “know you” I mostly mean through here. Not necessarily only people I know in person. If you’ve commented here or we’ve emailed, yanno? I’m just not going to leave it open to public. There’s no ‘How well do you know kaya’ quiz to take or anything! ;-)

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