* This morning’s walk/run was grueling. I was so. bloody. tired. I hardly jogged any of it and it took me almost ten minutes longer than it should have. Bah.

* But I spent most of the entire walk thinking about the details of last night’s fucking. There was foreplay. FOREPLAY! It were delish.

* Those of you who have those turian style slave collars, what tips and hints would you have for measuring and comfort and all of that? Like, is it better for it to lay low and loose or what?

* If I ever get diagnosed with a terminal illness and I spend what time I have left hating on people and being a bitch, slap me upside the head, mmmk? Promise? Life is too fucking short for that shit.

* Remember that child vs. slave post I did a bit ago where I’d gotten pissy over bedtime? Well, it happened again, this morning actually, when he started telling me how and where to walk. I got all “I know how to walk, goddammit!” on him. (Even though I am “doing it wrong!” and walking with traffic, I have my reasons for it so lemme ‘lone about it already!)

So, subtle had made a post about this very thing and I’d suspected that she’d hit on why I get pissy when I first read it. Now? I’m sure of it. It is exactly that. I mean, I don’t agree with *everything* she said (for instance, being told what to do about my career- or lack thereof- doesn’t push the same button as it does for her), but the distinction she made between being told what to do and being treated as if I’m too stupid to know what to do, is pretty spot on.

Not that I think Master is in any way trying to treat me like I’m stupid. At all. And I know he doesn’t think I’m stupid. He’s just.. really really bossy. Mostly, I adore that. But, yanno, if he ever tells me to brush my teeth, I might bite him.

Just sayin’.

*Hitler jokes are funny. So are dead baby jokes, fat jokes, Polish jokes, Priest jokes, gay jokes, girl-bashing, blonde-bashing, etc. etc. etc. Yes, it’s tasteless and I’m a horrible person. I feel bad. Really.

Okay, not really. I’m sorry you left your sense of humor in your other pants, though.

* Last week, I went into the doctor’s exam room with Jes because she was too afraid to argue with him about something, and the nurse says to me “Are you her friend, sister, what?” Hee. I told her she was my new BFF.

* Some kitty love to share:

This is Cranky Cat. Being cranky. This is how she reacts when you touch her before she’s decided you are allowed to touch her.

And this is Dracula. I caught him in a moment when he was looking very, um, Un-Dracula-like. And very stoopid-like. Someone needs to make a gif icon out of this (cuz I don’t know how).

Happy Thursday!

~cunt

LAKE EFFECT SNOW SHOWERS WILL CONTINUE TO BE HEAVY AT TIMES INTO EARLY THIS AFTERNOON. A FREQUENT GUSTY NORTH WIND OF 30 TO 40 MPH NEAR THE LAKE SUPERIOR SHORE WILL CONTINUE THROUGH NOON.

So. Since I am not allowed to be bored – *beams*

Oh. And if you don’t like my sad, lame, stupid movie?

moar funny pictures

or

~~*~~

Master will be home tomorrow. Thank you Jesus. We will soon return to your regularly scheduled smut and vulgarity. Thank you for your patience during this time of sidetracked bullshit that Master will not like and will probably beat me for, for cluttering up His loverly deviant website with sweetness and light and snow and kittens.

At least one can hope He will.

~cunt

All behind the cut!

Kitty Sammich

Camoflage. I has it.

Suprize butt sniff

Twilight – Kitteh Version.

I has a bucket.

Is my bucket.

For those who come here for KITTY LOVE:

Am made a funny about our cats. She’s as much of an LOLCat lover as I am and she pointed out that we have Ceiling Cat and Basement Cat, which I knew. But did I also know we have Agnostic Cat? Yeah, she just can’t decide, she has a little of both in her. *snicker*

Now shoo. I’m about to get really boring.

There’s a couple of bloggers I read who do occasional posts titled Home Corners. I really like those posts because, while I certainly enjoy the smut and filth, I just like to see how people live. It adds a “realness” to them, I think. I see a pic of someone’s house and I feel closer to them than if I see a pic of their tits. Master said I can post “whatever I want” (/quote) so I am.

While I was putting clothes away this morning and tidying up the bedroom, I figured that was a good place to start. You’ve already seen the bed so why not the rest of the bedroom. If you’ve no interest in seeing boring pictures of my dressers, don’t go any further.

One of the (many many) sacrifices that came along with being His was my personal decorating style. I am your typical girly-girl. In my p.m. days (p.m. = pre-Master, tee hee) when decorating my own house, I leaned towards flowers and pink, lace doilies, frilly curtains, ruffles and swags and pastel colors. I hated earth tones. I hated brown especially. Black and deep reds were dreary, tans were boring, green was ‘pukey’. I liked violet, and periwinkle, fuschia. And flowers. Did I mention flowers? The bigger the better. I don’t think I had anything sitting anwhere that didn’t have a doily under it.

*sniffle* Come to think of it, I miss my doilies.

There were two styles of decor that made me shudder; Oriental and indian/animal. I had a baby blue country goose kitchen and a victorian/flower/lace bedroom and pink/lace/swag bathroom – my, it was purty.

Along with giving up access to other favorites, like music and tv, I had to give up my interior design tastes. Master forbids ‘girlification’. He likes manly-man shades and textures. He likes Oriental stuff. He likes wolves and eagles. He likes brown.

So while He’ll tell me that I have free reign to decorate and even hand me the credit card and tell me to go wild, I can only go wild within the parameters He’s laid down. The kitchen? Black and white with deep red accents. Living room? Oriental all the way. There’s even an oil painting of a geisha on the wall. Main bathroom? Hunter green and cream. Bedroom? Brown and wolves.

You might think that I walk through the house gagging or that I despise every single room. But that’s not how it ended up at all. When I walk into the bedroom and I’m assaulted with every shade of brown imaginable, with wolf pictures and plates, even one painted on a huge velvet dream catcher-indian-type-feathered wall hanging, and all I can smell is the lingering scents of His cologne, I’m not thinking “God I HATE this room!”. I’m thinking this is HIS room. This color, this smell, that picture, that bed. It’s His. It does not have my stamp on it, it’s not *me*, it’s not mine. It becomes kind of a daily reminder of not being an equal, not having say in things, and I like it. I like that I don’t like it, if that makes sense. I like that He doesn’t care. And so I take even better care of it than I think I would if it were pink frills and all mine.

I’m not sure I’m explaining this well or doing justice to what it is I feel. Maybe it’s not something that can be expressed (by me anyway).

Anyway, behind the cut is my first “home corners” post. Bedroom and drawers.

Clicky-click for a larger view if’n you wanna.

The dresser. That jewelry box is the only girly thing in the room. That, and a hope chest, are the only two items that Master’s allowed me to keep from my p.m. days.

Top of the other dresser. Notice the wolves.

Master’s night stand.

My night stand. We read a lot in bed.

The master bathroom. There’s a shower behind the door but I didn’t think you’d care to see the shower. I have some wallpaper border to put up in there. It’s green.

Master is very particular about His clothes and how they are put away. When I do laundry, there is a distinct difference in how I fold and put away mine and the kids’ clothes, compared to how I do His. Every time I fold His underwear I think to myself how I only fold His underwear and nobody elses. Weird, I know.

This belt? Not one He wears. Guess what it’s for.

His work/everyday socks. Seperated by length and color.

Dress socks. Organized by color/pattern.

Undershirts. Seperated by color of course.

Master’s side of the closet. It’s hard to tell but the clothes are lined up starting with His suit (that’s behind the wall), neckties, dress slacks, button down solid color shirts, button down patterned shirts, long-sleeve business casual, short-sleeve polo/business casual, and t-shirts. And of course His shoes (He has more shoes than I do. One cannot wear the same pair of brown or black dress shoes every day. One needs several styles in each color. La-di-da. )

Okay I be done.

~cunt

He’s been outside before, but not in this semi-wilderness. I might mention that bear hunting season started recently. Oh you read that right; I said bear. As in wild BEARS.

As an aside; I grew up in the country but the biggest pest problems we had to worry about were the raccoons in the garbage and the skunks in the chicken house. We didn’t have bears. I’ve never seen a bear. I’ve never wanted to live in a place where bear hunting was a season.

(As another aside, outdoor bondage was kinda sorta scary-fun before, but now what with BEARS, it’s taken on a whole new meaning of scary and not-so-much of the fun.)

Anyway. Dusty hasn’t been seen. I think the worst part of losing a pet is not knowing what happened. Is he stuck somewhere, cold and hungry and suffering? Is he just lost? Dead? Eaten? I can’t think about it too much or I’ll cry.

We’ve done the standard lost pet routine, but I think it’s pretty unlikely that he’ll turn up now.

But now for the happy. Master let me go to the humane society. They were having a “2 fur 1″ special on cats and kittens. I got to adopt two kittens, about 4 months old, brothers, and just as sweet and lovable as all get out.

One is a ginger, like Master (tee hee) and darn near as demanding, too. When he wants to be petted, which is often, he doesn’t so much ask for it as he climbs up your body, drapes himself around your neck and bites your ears until he’s had enough. If you try to put him down, he twists around and hangs on with all claws until you submit. He’s quite the dom in orange fur.

Jes named him Tipsey, probably because he’s the clutsiest, most uncoordinated kitten I’ve ever seen. And he purrs so loud you can hear him in the next room. I am so in love with him.

The other one, Am named Sweeney Todd (because she’s all obsessed with Johnny Depp), but it fits him because he’s pure black (basement cat! ahh!) and rather aloof and dark. He can be just as affectionate as his ginger brother, but only if he wants to.

Annie, the stray we took in last year, is not so full of the happy at this invasion into “her” home. She’s not made friends with them yet. See?

Click for more pictures of cuteness!

Guarding the gate to Hell?

I’ll try to get a better picture of him sometime, his face is very lion-shaped but it doesn’t show well in this pic.

He got pretty close before I got the lid shut!

The fish tank has provided them with hours of glass-scratching enternainment. For me, too!

I put some bird feeders up along the deck. There are SO many birds out here. So far I only recognize the blue jays and the hummingbirds. I think the others are finches and wrens, chickadees maybe. I need a bird watching book!

This morning I caught this little cutie raiding the bird feeder. You should have seen the cats camped out in front of the sliding glass doors watching him make his way across the deck. They were practically drooling.

And in even more happy-exciting news, you know that post I made about the child support? I did send a milder version of it to the Gov’na’s place and guess who called me this morning?? By golly, they don’t seem to like the idea of bad press. They’re going to get on my case immediately! It’s hard to hope though, truly, but it was nice to know someone actually read it anyway.

~cunt

When I sat down on the pot, Dusty reached down and touched my head and when I jumped up with a shriek, I grabbed the sink and was promptly bitten by the one curled up in there.

I peed down my leg and on the floor…lol

I’ll ask one more time… does anyone want a cat? I will pay for shipping!