Tomorrow is February 1st! Oh joy!
February, as you know, is the month of hearts and flowers and in our house, it's also a big chocolate month. It's a time when lovers can make a public display of affection and get away with it. Not that we ignore loving the other 11 months of the year, but in February, well... it's extra special.
A year or so after we were married, Cowboy came home from the other side of the world via a commercial flight. He had been gone for over a month and we were both anxious to reunite.
It was February.
So... I put on one of my more risqué sets of lingerie - red demi bra and panties - hip hose and knee-high black leather boots. I covered up with a flannel-lined black raincoat and drove out to the airport to meet him. We were in the DC area at the time and it was really chilly that time of year so no one would wonder why the raincoat was buttoned and belted even in the airport. He came down the jetway, I jumped into his arms, we hugged and kissed and neither of us could let go of the other. Finally, we came up for air and Cowboy said he couldn't wait to get home and say hello properly and in a more intimate way.
There's a small waiting area at Dulles airport that is off the beaten path and generally reserved for military. I pull Cowboy in that direction and tell him I have to kiss him some more before driving home. He is agreeable.
We get into the waiting room, I pull him into a corner away from the few people waiting there and push him back against the wall. Then I open my raincoat.
Tsk.
When the squid is startled, he often curses... in Italian.
I'm certain those words are unbecoming to an officer and a gentleman - no matter what language he uses.
"Do you like what you see?" I ask him, posing seductively and totally ignoring his naughty outburst.
"I could spank you right here! I *should* spank you right here!" he growls as he grabs either side of my raincoat to cover me up.
My back was to the room. Why does he automatically think I should be spanked? Not looking for answers here... Double tsk.
"You only spank for safety and health issues," I remind him. "And what I'm wearing is neither of those." I am indignant. I dressed to please him and he's threatening to burn my butt.
Truly, this man needs a refresher course in couth.
"My mental health!" he grumbles.
And then I notice that his pants seem very snug. I know he hasn't gained excess weight... do ya s'pose...? Hmm...
Okay, I feel better and because I'm such a loving spouse, I part my raincoat and lean into him... and rub against him... and whisper very naughty words about what I'm going to do to him when we get home.
He mumbles, moans, utters unintelligible noises as I rub against him but I clearly hear:
"I am gonna burn your butt!" And with that, he puts his arms around me under my raincoat and swats my rear end.
We hear the door close and suddenly, we're all alone.
Ut-oh!
"Time to go," I announce.
"Not quite yet," the giant squid retorts and there! In the waiting area! Of Dulles Airport! In front of ceiling-to-floor windows! I am upended under his arm! And spanked!
A commercial plane taxis by... Air Canada I think... *everyone* on that side of the plane can see my rear end being swatted! Thank God they couldn't see my face but I'll tell you right now. Haven't flown Air Canada since and I burned that bra and panty set.
This February... I have *other* ways to show my affection... in public.
Cowboy calls me his birbantella - naughty imp - for a reason.
~Sar~
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
'Fessing up:
I'm a BDSM virgin.
My public email addy is posted on my website and gracious readers occasionally drop me a note. Sometimes, they ask questions. One common question is whether or not Cowboy and I engage in BDSM activities.
Nope.
A lot of years ago I was in the Toronto area for a few weeks - a couple of friends were into the BDSM scene. I didn't know what that was at the time and the very thought really freaked me out. They convinced me to attend a "play party" where I could just sit on the sidelines, sip a cool lemonade (no alcohol allowed) and observe various scenes in action. Sure, that sounded great.
I step DOWN, literally, into a basement that has most of the center of the room dimly lit and there are "things" everywhere: St. Andrews Cross, hoists, spreader bars and whips, tails, paddles, floggers, spanking benches and other paraphernalia. (I learned all the words later.) The ONLY things missing are Vincent Price, Bela Lugosi and Edward G. Robinson.
I immediately went into "fight or flight" mode. Scared the beejeebees out of me. My friends were hysterical with laughter but what can I say? I wasn't very discriminating in those days. The various "acts" had my eyes as big as saucers and my heart in my mouth. You know the way kids peek at horror movies through their fingers? I slipped under the table and watched under cover of the tablecloth - I kid you not. Peeking was more than enough.
Years later, I exchanged chitchat with a gentleman from the Toronto area who participated in one of the Toronto area BDSM groups. He enjoyed my commentary and I listened wide-eyed to a lot of what he told me. Lost track of him - if he still reads at my website, hope all is okay.
I am amazed at the wide range of interest and various activities people enjoy and engage in. Each to his/her own. If the harsher and heavier forms of "this thing we do" is your cup of tea, bravo and brava! I don't care what consenting adults do. Life is short; enjoy every minute.
Will Cowboy and I ever move into that scene? Not in this lifetime. Sweet sensual erotic spanking suits me just fine. On the few occasions when he thinks a harder hand-to-tush discussion is necessary... welll, that's why revenge was invented... along with pink boxer shorts, food tasters, brownies with saltpeter additives, and islands to escape to while he tears his hair out worrying about me. I've said it before; I'll say it again. I am too good to that man.
~Sar~
My public email addy is posted on my website and gracious readers occasionally drop me a note. Sometimes, they ask questions. One common question is whether or not Cowboy and I engage in BDSM activities.
Nope.
A lot of years ago I was in the Toronto area for a few weeks - a couple of friends were into the BDSM scene. I didn't know what that was at the time and the very thought really freaked me out. They convinced me to attend a "play party" where I could just sit on the sidelines, sip a cool lemonade (no alcohol allowed) and observe various scenes in action. Sure, that sounded great.
I step DOWN, literally, into a basement that has most of the center of the room dimly lit and there are "things" everywhere: St. Andrews Cross, hoists, spreader bars and whips, tails, paddles, floggers, spanking benches and other paraphernalia. (I learned all the words later.) The ONLY things missing are Vincent Price, Bela Lugosi and Edward G. Robinson.
I immediately went into "fight or flight" mode. Scared the beejeebees out of me. My friends were hysterical with laughter but what can I say? I wasn't very discriminating in those days. The various "acts" had my eyes as big as saucers and my heart in my mouth. You know the way kids peek at horror movies through their fingers? I slipped under the table and watched under cover of the tablecloth - I kid you not. Peeking was more than enough.
Years later, I exchanged chitchat with a gentleman from the Toronto area who participated in one of the Toronto area BDSM groups. He enjoyed my commentary and I listened wide-eyed to a lot of what he told me. Lost track of him - if he still reads at my website, hope all is okay.
I am amazed at the wide range of interest and various activities people enjoy and engage in. Each to his/her own. If the harsher and heavier forms of "this thing we do" is your cup of tea, bravo and brava! I don't care what consenting adults do. Life is short; enjoy every minute.
Will Cowboy and I ever move into that scene? Not in this lifetime. Sweet sensual erotic spanking suits me just fine. On the few occasions when he thinks a harder hand-to-tush discussion is necessary... welll, that's why revenge was invented... along with pink boxer shorts, food tasters, brownies with saltpeter additives, and islands to escape to while he tears his hair out worrying about me. I've said it before; I'll say it again. I am too good to that man.
~Sar~
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Verklempt!
I was just composing a new blog entry when I heard a box of Twinkies calling my name. As some of you have surmised, I believe that doctors are evil creatures until they prove otherwise. Even though I am "well," I do have another medical appointment coming up soon. I'm going in to placate the medic who has delusions of omnipotence and between you and me, is probably also incontinent the moment he sees me in the waiting room. No matter how much I consume, my weight is always a little less than what they show on national insurance charts. (Now you know why Cowboy can upend me with one arm.) There is a reason for this - I have an extremely fast metabolic rate. I take meds for this. If the doc increases the dosage, I shall turn into a lethargic doofus. Soooo I'm trying to gain a little weight prior to the appointment so he-who-knows-what-is-good-for-me-and-will-die-a-painful-death if he increases my meds lives to worry the beejeebees out of his next patient.
His Holiness will be with me... tsk. So I won't argue if the Neanderthal prescribes more meds. I will, however, cut them in half, etc. Better to be a little on the slim side and get to eat EVERYTHING than to conform to... whatever.
Back to Twinkies: Of course I've had frozen Twinkies. They taste just like ice cream. Have you ever dipped the frozen ones into hot chocolate? swoon
Oh ye who are truly deprived! There are CHOCOLATE Twinkies and strawberry ones, too. Yes, I've fried them and poured chocolate glacé over them. Naturally, being a Twinkies veteran, I don't share those. And I'm certain the Twinkie Farmers of America are due to give me an award.
Alas! IF Twinkie looks like they are going the way of "boxed" Cracker Jack... I shall have to buy up the entire inventory west of the Mississippi. I can still get boxed Cracker Jack(s) by smuggling them in from Canada, although customs agents and the mounties are starting to get suspicious. Ya s'pose it's against the law to let the Cracker Jack prizes cross the border?
And... are you sitting? Someone asked me if I really let my pets eat Twinkies. I said yes, of course. Then the person who picked on my Twinkies by posting that Twinkie torture article went on to tell a horror story about pets eating people food. Tsk and double tsk! It will be a cold day at the equator before I share any Twinkies with her!
Oye! I was so distraught - the pups and the cats and I ate two whole boxes of Twinkies. I had mine with chicory coffee, the Rott had a glass of merlot, the cats drank "half and half" and the Bull Mastiff washed his down with beer but as you might guess, he takes after the squid who frequently is in need of a refresher course in couth.
~Sar~
His Holiness will be with me... tsk. So I won't argue if the Neanderthal prescribes more meds. I will, however, cut them in half, etc. Better to be a little on the slim side and get to eat EVERYTHING than to conform to... whatever.
Back to Twinkies: Of course I've had frozen Twinkies. They taste just like ice cream. Have you ever dipped the frozen ones into hot chocolate? swoon
Oh ye who are truly deprived! There are CHOCOLATE Twinkies and strawberry ones, too. Yes, I've fried them and poured chocolate glacé over them. Naturally, being a Twinkies veteran, I don't share those. And I'm certain the Twinkie Farmers of America are due to give me an award.
Alas! IF Twinkie looks like they are going the way of "boxed" Cracker Jack... I shall have to buy up the entire inventory west of the Mississippi. I can still get boxed Cracker Jack(s) by smuggling them in from Canada, although customs agents and the mounties are starting to get suspicious. Ya s'pose it's against the law to let the Cracker Jack prizes cross the border?
And... are you sitting? Someone asked me if I really let my pets eat Twinkies. I said yes, of course. Then the person who picked on my Twinkies by posting that Twinkie torture article went on to tell a horror story about pets eating people food. Tsk and double tsk! It will be a cold day at the equator before I share any Twinkies with her!
Oye! I was so distraught - the pups and the cats and I ate two whole boxes of Twinkies. I had mine with chicory coffee, the Rott had a glass of merlot, the cats drank "half and half" and the Bull Mastiff washed his down with beer but as you might guess, he takes after the squid who frequently is in need of a refresher course in couth.
~Sar~
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Twinkies!
On a site I frequent regularly - someone posted a gawd-awful alleged research report on Twinkies. I am certain none of the facts were true. The blasphemy included ugly things that happened or didn't happen when Twinkies were nuked, radiated, drowned, boiled and other couthless torture was heaped on that sweet confection. I was so distraught I had to grab a box of Twinkies and eat every single one.
The fact that Cowboy is making dinner this evening - ungodly and horrific green things - had little to do with my need to get stuffed on a sweet treat. In my response to the Twinkie torture article, I reminded the writer of the following:
Eat a Twinkie - feel good.
Eat a box of Twinkies - get HIGH!
I happen to know that a tall muscular marine from Arkansas eats Twinkies. And so does my neighbor, Ms.HairUpHerAss. See! Both ends of the human spectrum eat Twinkies: the good, the brave, the few as well as the nosy, the evil and the shameful. You can quote me.
Twinkies have so many attributes I don't think I have enough room on this blog to list all of them.
It is an indisputable fact that when you give a kid a box of Twinkies, he will be so busy stuffing himself and licking all the sticky gooey filling off his fingers that you'll have plenty of time to rob his piggy bank... or sneak a quick bourbon straight up.
Pour hot chocolate sauce over a Twinkie - serve with a glass of chilled wine - wait 5 minutes. THEN present His Holiness with the VISA bill. (The Twinkie is for me; the wine for him.)
You know that big busty blonde making goo-goo eyes at your husband at that Christmas party at the office? Hold a Twinkie over her head and she'll follow you anywhere. When you get her alone... stuff that Twinkie... somewhere nasty.
And the dentist who swore he wouldn't hurt you... and did... and you couldn't retaliate because His Holiness was in the room... seek out his children and force feed them Twinkies until giant cavities appear!
Don't mess with MY Twinkies!
~ sigh ~
I'm already making quilts for Katrina families and lobbying to save the whales. Now, it seems I have to start a campaign to support the Twinkie Farmers of America!
~ Sar ~
The fact that Cowboy is making dinner this evening - ungodly and horrific green things - had little to do with my need to get stuffed on a sweet treat. In my response to the Twinkie torture article, I reminded the writer of the following:
Eat a Twinkie - feel good.
Eat a box of Twinkies - get HIGH!
I happen to know that a tall muscular marine from Arkansas eats Twinkies. And so does my neighbor, Ms.HairUpHerAss. See! Both ends of the human spectrum eat Twinkies: the good, the brave, the few as well as the nosy, the evil and the shameful. You can quote me.
Twinkies have so many attributes I don't think I have enough room on this blog to list all of them.
It is an indisputable fact that when you give a kid a box of Twinkies, he will be so busy stuffing himself and licking all the sticky gooey filling off his fingers that you'll have plenty of time to rob his piggy bank... or sneak a quick bourbon straight up.
Pour hot chocolate sauce over a Twinkie - serve with a glass of chilled wine - wait 5 minutes. THEN present His Holiness with the VISA bill. (The Twinkie is for me; the wine for him.)
You know that big busty blonde making goo-goo eyes at your husband at that Christmas party at the office? Hold a Twinkie over her head and she'll follow you anywhere. When you get her alone... stuff that Twinkie... somewhere nasty.
And the dentist who swore he wouldn't hurt you... and did... and you couldn't retaliate because His Holiness was in the room... seek out his children and force feed them Twinkies until giant cavities appear!
Don't mess with MY Twinkies!
~ sigh ~
I'm already making quilts for Katrina families and lobbying to save the whales. Now, it seems I have to start a campaign to support the Twinkie Farmers of America!
~ Sar ~
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Shoot Me Now! Part 2 of 2
The doc comes toward me like I was happy to see him...
"I would like to take your blood pressure," he says and wraps this cuff thing around my arm while I narrow my eyes at him and growl. My normal blood pressure is in the low range and it comes out fine; the doc's blood pressure is obviously sky high by now and I decide not to kick him... yet.
"Where did you go to medical school," I ask.
"Back East," he mumbles.
"Did you go to a real medical school or did you earn your degree online? At Google?"
"I went to a real medical school and now, I need to listen to your heart," the fool says.
"I need to see your medical school transcripts before you touch me. Did you pass everything?"
"Yes!" he shouts.
Tsk. Obviously, he slept through the course on "bedside manners 101" and "patience with patients."
I'll hold the "heart end" part of the stethoscope and you can listen," I tell him.
"Can't do it that way," he says, digging the hole he's standing in deeper.
Cowboy says to let him listen to my heart.
Hmmm...
I let him listen... he's listening a long time... I pick up the stethoscope end that's touching me and I blow into it.
Doc jumps.
"Why did you do that?" he yells.
"Would you rather I kicked you?"
Cowboy whispers in my ear and what he's whispering is that when we're alone, he's gonna burn my butt.
Truly, the man says the sweetest things.
"You really need to change into a gown," the doc says.
"Why? What's the difference between a gown and the shirt I'm wearing?"
"I can't do a breast exam when you're wearing a shirt," the easily demented man explains.
"I don't need a breast exam, thank you very much. I have two of them and both are just fine. And I get a mammogram every year and the scans are good there, too."
"It's part of the exam," he says.
Oye, I bet he flosses after every meal, too.
"I'll skip the breast exam. What else do you have to do?"
"I have to look in your mouth."
"Better not," I advise.
"Why not?"
"Because if I breathe on you, you'll disintegrate. I took anti-demon pills before I got here." (I learned that by watching "Charmed" on TNT.)
"Sir..." the doc addresses His Holiness who is rolling his eyes.
"Sar," the eye-rolling giant squid says.
"Did you go to a reputable medical school?"
"Yes," he says.
Does the man actually think I'm gonna take his word for this?
"How many bones in the human body? What do you prescribe for an upper respiratory infection? What's the difference between eczema and psoriasis? Why is a canine heartbeat slower than ours and what's the TSH range for a normal person?"
"Sir..." the doc repeats his fervent plea to my husband who has just arched a brow in my direction. This means Cowboy's patience is at an end. I'm not sure if that's because he's thinking of having one of those hand-to-my-tush discussions or he's unhappy that the doc didn't answer any of my questions.
"Why don't you wait outside, dear?" I ask.
"NO!" the doc protests.
AHA! He's afraid of me.
I love fear in a doctor.
Cowboy stays in the room and the doc gets very brave and says he wants to run a series of tests.
"What kind of tests?"
"Abdominal scan, GI series, throat cultures, that kind of thing."
I get off the table and leave the room.
"I'll wait in the car," I tell the giant squid.
"Sarrrrr."
I hear the doc tell Cowboy he'll be happy to admit me overnight if that's what it will take to get the tests done.
I hear Cowboy's answer. "You want to be reassigned to Somalia?"
There is dead quiet in the car on the ride home but Cowboy holds my hand. Once we're home, he hugs me tight and tells me he's relieved I didn't hurt the doctor but he's gonna spank me for being uncooperative.
WHAT?
"I was in the room, baby. You could have been nicer to the doctor. He didn't exactly hurt you and he barely touched you. And I forgot to tell you," he says as he reaches into his jacket pocket. "He gave me these pills for you to take before your next appointment. As soon as your blood work comes back, we're going to see him again."
I look at the pills... happy pills. Hmmm....
So... if you happen to see a story on the 6 o'clock news about a doc that requested a transfer to Somalia... you'll know I had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Tsk. The man didn't even know the difference between eczema and psoriasis. Probably doesn't even know the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground. Probably doesn't even....
"Sarrrrr."
SWAT!
Tsk.
~Sar~
"I would like to take your blood pressure," he says and wraps this cuff thing around my arm while I narrow my eyes at him and growl. My normal blood pressure is in the low range and it comes out fine; the doc's blood pressure is obviously sky high by now and I decide not to kick him... yet.
"Where did you go to medical school," I ask.
"Back East," he mumbles.
"Did you go to a real medical school or did you earn your degree online? At Google?"
"I went to a real medical school and now, I need to listen to your heart," the fool says.
"I need to see your medical school transcripts before you touch me. Did you pass everything?"
"Yes!" he shouts.
Tsk. Obviously, he slept through the course on "bedside manners 101" and "patience with patients."
I'll hold the "heart end" part of the stethoscope and you can listen," I tell him.
"Can't do it that way," he says, digging the hole he's standing in deeper.
Cowboy says to let him listen to my heart.
Hmmm...
I let him listen... he's listening a long time... I pick up the stethoscope end that's touching me and I blow into it.
Doc jumps.
"Why did you do that?" he yells.
"Would you rather I kicked you?"
Cowboy whispers in my ear and what he's whispering is that when we're alone, he's gonna burn my butt.
Truly, the man says the sweetest things.
"You really need to change into a gown," the doc says.
"Why? What's the difference between a gown and the shirt I'm wearing?"
"I can't do a breast exam when you're wearing a shirt," the easily demented man explains.
"I don't need a breast exam, thank you very much. I have two of them and both are just fine. And I get a mammogram every year and the scans are good there, too."
"It's part of the exam," he says.
Oye, I bet he flosses after every meal, too.
"I'll skip the breast exam. What else do you have to do?"
"I have to look in your mouth."
"Better not," I advise.
"Why not?"
"Because if I breathe on you, you'll disintegrate. I took anti-demon pills before I got here." (I learned that by watching "Charmed" on TNT.)
"Sir..." the doc addresses His Holiness who is rolling his eyes.
"Sar," the eye-rolling giant squid says.
"Did you go to a reputable medical school?"
"Yes," he says.
Does the man actually think I'm gonna take his word for this?
"How many bones in the human body? What do you prescribe for an upper respiratory infection? What's the difference between eczema and psoriasis? Why is a canine heartbeat slower than ours and what's the TSH range for a normal person?"
"Sir..." the doc repeats his fervent plea to my husband who has just arched a brow in my direction. This means Cowboy's patience is at an end. I'm not sure if that's because he's thinking of having one of those hand-to-my-tush discussions or he's unhappy that the doc didn't answer any of my questions.
"Why don't you wait outside, dear?" I ask.
"NO!" the doc protests.
AHA! He's afraid of me.
I love fear in a doctor.
Cowboy stays in the room and the doc gets very brave and says he wants to run a series of tests.
"What kind of tests?"
"Abdominal scan, GI series, throat cultures, that kind of thing."
I get off the table and leave the room.
"I'll wait in the car," I tell the giant squid.
"Sarrrrr."
I hear the doc tell Cowboy he'll be happy to admit me overnight if that's what it will take to get the tests done.
I hear Cowboy's answer. "You want to be reassigned to Somalia?"
There is dead quiet in the car on the ride home but Cowboy holds my hand. Once we're home, he hugs me tight and tells me he's relieved I didn't hurt the doctor but he's gonna spank me for being uncooperative.
WHAT?
"I was in the room, baby. You could have been nicer to the doctor. He didn't exactly hurt you and he barely touched you. And I forgot to tell you," he says as he reaches into his jacket pocket. "He gave me these pills for you to take before your next appointment. As soon as your blood work comes back, we're going to see him again."
I look at the pills... happy pills. Hmmm....
So... if you happen to see a story on the 6 o'clock news about a doc that requested a transfer to Somalia... you'll know I had absolutely nothing to do with it.
Tsk. The man didn't even know the difference between eczema and psoriasis. Probably doesn't even know the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground. Probably doesn't even....
"Sarrrrr."
SWAT!
Tsk.
~Sar~
Shoot Me Now! Part 1 of 2
BANG!
I was thinking of writing a blow-by-blow account of my medical appointments but I'm not sure if there's a maximum word count law on each individual blog entry. So I'll try to give you the highlights.
1/ I'm fine.
2/ Score:
a/ Sar - 10
b/ Vampires - 1
c/ Docs - 2
d/ Giant Squid - IN THE STRATOSPHERE!
Normally, when I have a doctor's appointment, I try hard to disappear for a few days. The pups and I take the ferry out to the out islands and count orcas, run on the beach, eat mac and cheese and drink milkshakes and I nibble on chocolate while they consume my Twinkies and Cracker Jacks. By the time His Holiness catches up with me, he's already made formal apologies for my failure to show up at the appointment I didn't want in the first place, and made a new appointment. He's also vowed to get to the "bottom" of this "conduct unbecoming" the spouse of an officer, and in general, has uttered threatening noises into his cell phone. I don't why he does this. It's not as if I had been listening. Orca whales and chocolate bars are far more interesting than his threats of retribution, yada yada yada.
However... this time I didn't get to sneak away. He kept his evil eye on me for days... and instead of telling me to get dressed so we could go to the base - I was in a sweater and jeans - he just tossed me over his shoulder! Caveman style! And in an instant we were in the back of a Navy car and he was holding me so I wouldn't fly out the door while the car was in motion and his driver - who I will personally maim - snickered the whole time we were on the road.
I have several rules about the military. Sailors should not laugh when they are spanking their wives. Sailors should not snicker when they are driving. And of course, marines should never chortle... or call me SweetCheeks.
So we get to the base and the first stop we make is in front of the entrance to Vampires R Us! The lab tech comes out to greet us and I swear on all that's holy, the wretch was a dead ringer for Bela Lagosi! I immediately pull a huge silver cross out of my shirt and wave it in front of him. Surprisingly... he steps back. AHA!
Cowboy snorts... "You're not Catholic, Sar."
"It only works for Catholics?" Who knew?
To make a long and unpleasant story shorter, Cowboy sits in the chair meant for me, pulls me down to sit on his lap, wraps his legs around mine so I can't kick, his arms are holding my down and I yell.
"Fire!"
"Pervert!"
"Blood sucker!"
"Does your mother know what you do for a living?"
Whatever it takes...
None of us are surprised that my blood is brownish-red. Cowboy says it's all those tootsie rolls I eat.
When the ordeal is over, I smile sweetly and kick the heathen vampire in the shin. I would have kicked harder and higher but the Navy doesn't pay for "sex reassignment" operations.
Next is the doc. It's a "she" and she's about 5 feet tall and 8 feet wide. "You're in the Navy?" I am incredulous.
"Sure am, sweetie."
Sweetie? Ut-oh.
"The Navy thinks you're fit for combat?"
Well... that was a silly question. She sits on the enemy - they're dead. Of course, she's also a rather large target...
"I'm ready for you," she smiles.
"Great! You get to examine the Admiral first. If he survives, I'll let you examine me."
Cowboy objects. LOL!
The doc from the Planet Sappho smiles and says to jump up on the table, sweet thing, and we'll get this over with.
"Touch me and die!"
She's says she's highly insulted and leaves to get another doctor. Pardon me while I yawn.
Here comes Doc # 2.
"Ha ha," he laughs. "That was a civilian contract worker. We dressed her up just to scare you."
"Really? Gosh... I hope *you* don't scare easily."
"Sarrrr!"
Tsk.
Okay, this is the end of part 1. Will post the rest shortly.
I was thinking of writing a blow-by-blow account of my medical appointments but I'm not sure if there's a maximum word count law on each individual blog entry. So I'll try to give you the highlights.
1/ I'm fine.
2/ Score:
a/ Sar - 10
b/ Vampires - 1
c/ Docs - 2
d/ Giant Squid - IN THE STRATOSPHERE!
Normally, when I have a doctor's appointment, I try hard to disappear for a few days. The pups and I take the ferry out to the out islands and count orcas, run on the beach, eat mac and cheese and drink milkshakes and I nibble on chocolate while they consume my Twinkies and Cracker Jacks. By the time His Holiness catches up with me, he's already made formal apologies for my failure to show up at the appointment I didn't want in the first place, and made a new appointment. He's also vowed to get to the "bottom" of this "conduct unbecoming" the spouse of an officer, and in general, has uttered threatening noises into his cell phone. I don't why he does this. It's not as if I had been listening. Orca whales and chocolate bars are far more interesting than his threats of retribution, yada yada yada.
However... this time I didn't get to sneak away. He kept his evil eye on me for days... and instead of telling me to get dressed so we could go to the base - I was in a sweater and jeans - he just tossed me over his shoulder! Caveman style! And in an instant we were in the back of a Navy car and he was holding me so I wouldn't fly out the door while the car was in motion and his driver - who I will personally maim - snickered the whole time we were on the road.
I have several rules about the military. Sailors should not laugh when they are spanking their wives. Sailors should not snicker when they are driving. And of course, marines should never chortle... or call me SweetCheeks.
So we get to the base and the first stop we make is in front of the entrance to Vampires R Us! The lab tech comes out to greet us and I swear on all that's holy, the wretch was a dead ringer for Bela Lagosi! I immediately pull a huge silver cross out of my shirt and wave it in front of him. Surprisingly... he steps back. AHA!
Cowboy snorts... "You're not Catholic, Sar."
"It only works for Catholics?" Who knew?
To make a long and unpleasant story shorter, Cowboy sits in the chair meant for me, pulls me down to sit on his lap, wraps his legs around mine so I can't kick, his arms are holding my down and I yell.
"Fire!"
"Pervert!"
"Blood sucker!"
"Does your mother know what you do for a living?"
Whatever it takes...
None of us are surprised that my blood is brownish-red. Cowboy says it's all those tootsie rolls I eat.
When the ordeal is over, I smile sweetly and kick the heathen vampire in the shin. I would have kicked harder and higher but the Navy doesn't pay for "sex reassignment" operations.
Next is the doc. It's a "she" and she's about 5 feet tall and 8 feet wide. "You're in the Navy?" I am incredulous.
"Sure am, sweetie."
Sweetie? Ut-oh.
"The Navy thinks you're fit for combat?"
Well... that was a silly question. She sits on the enemy - they're dead. Of course, she's also a rather large target...
"I'm ready for you," she smiles.
"Great! You get to examine the Admiral first. If he survives, I'll let you examine me."
Cowboy objects. LOL!
The doc from the Planet Sappho smiles and says to jump up on the table, sweet thing, and we'll get this over with.
"Touch me and die!"
She's says she's highly insulted and leaves to get another doctor. Pardon me while I yawn.
Here comes Doc # 2.
"Ha ha," he laughs. "That was a civilian contract worker. We dressed her up just to scare you."
"Really? Gosh... I hope *you* don't scare easily."
"Sarrrr!"
Tsk.
Okay, this is the end of part 1. Will post the rest shortly.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Pray For Me!
It's that time of year when I'm due for a medical checkup. This does not make me happy. Doctors and I do not get along very well. They like to touch me. I don't want them touching me.
I think they should stand on the other side of the room and wave a body x-ray thingy in my general direction and get the same results.
Ya see... it's like this: First, they want me to change into a flimsy paper gown. Forget it! They're not getting free nudie entertainment from me. I'm keeping my clothes on.
A few years ago, a doc cupped my *naked* breast while listening to my heart! What's a gal supposed to do when that happens? Naturally, I decked him, stepped over his unconscious body and got out of there. I was so distraught I bought a chocolate cheesecake and ate the whole thing on the drive home.
Cowboy was worried we'd be sued but I assured him I hadn't broken any bones. The next doc wasn't so lucky when he tried to put a stethoscope under my breast... I bent his thumb back but it wasn't like he was performing surgery the next day. He yelled just like a girl, too. Tsk.
Then there are the vampires that draw blood. I had no idea they could work while the sun was out. I'm taking a vial of holy water and a wooden stake and a silver cross with me when I go to the lab.
Cowboy thinks my concerns are blown out of proportion. Oh sure, he's an admiral and when he needs to get a physical, hoards of female navy docs rush to be the one that gets to examine him. I grabbed his yummy stick and other goodies one night after he had an exam and asked, "Did she say cough?"
Tsk! The man actually blushed and gave me a swat!
Of course he thinks I can't be trusted to go to a doctor's appointment on my own. Of course I can! Last time I went, I took the rottweiler with me... the doc really kept his distance and you know what? He said I was in very good health! So there. I was almost moved to give him a chocolate bar but then sanity reared its head and I ate it, instead.
His Holiness says he's taking me to the appointment. I have the distinct feeling he's going just to protect the doc... My appointment is on the navy base at the clinic. The blood drinkers drew straws to see who gets to try to get blood out of my veins. I like to shout uncouth phrases at them while they're trying to stick that humonguous needle in my arm. You can't tell me they're not drinking it; they take enough blood to get a football player through open heart surgery. Cowboy says I have to behave or else. Folks... if they're still alive and all in one piece with only minimal bruising to show that I was there... I *am* behaving.
And for the record... it is pure rumor that two docs requested an overseas transfer prior to my appointment. Such exaggeration! It was only one doc and his excuse was that he had a family... tsk. They don't make sailors the way they used to.
I'll post a damage report if I can sit comfortably when I get home.
~Sar~
I think they should stand on the other side of the room and wave a body x-ray thingy in my general direction and get the same results.
Ya see... it's like this: First, they want me to change into a flimsy paper gown. Forget it! They're not getting free nudie entertainment from me. I'm keeping my clothes on.
A few years ago, a doc cupped my *naked* breast while listening to my heart! What's a gal supposed to do when that happens? Naturally, I decked him, stepped over his unconscious body and got out of there. I was so distraught I bought a chocolate cheesecake and ate the whole thing on the drive home.
Cowboy was worried we'd be sued but I assured him I hadn't broken any bones. The next doc wasn't so lucky when he tried to put a stethoscope under my breast... I bent his thumb back but it wasn't like he was performing surgery the next day. He yelled just like a girl, too. Tsk.
Then there are the vampires that draw blood. I had no idea they could work while the sun was out. I'm taking a vial of holy water and a wooden stake and a silver cross with me when I go to the lab.
Cowboy thinks my concerns are blown out of proportion. Oh sure, he's an admiral and when he needs to get a physical, hoards of female navy docs rush to be the one that gets to examine him. I grabbed his yummy stick and other goodies one night after he had an exam and asked, "Did she say cough?"
Tsk! The man actually blushed and gave me a swat!
Of course he thinks I can't be trusted to go to a doctor's appointment on my own. Of course I can! Last time I went, I took the rottweiler with me... the doc really kept his distance and you know what? He said I was in very good health! So there. I was almost moved to give him a chocolate bar but then sanity reared its head and I ate it, instead.
His Holiness says he's taking me to the appointment. I have the distinct feeling he's going just to protect the doc... My appointment is on the navy base at the clinic. The blood drinkers drew straws to see who gets to try to get blood out of my veins. I like to shout uncouth phrases at them while they're trying to stick that humonguous needle in my arm. You can't tell me they're not drinking it; they take enough blood to get a football player through open heart surgery. Cowboy says I have to behave or else. Folks... if they're still alive and all in one piece with only minimal bruising to show that I was there... I *am* behaving.
And for the record... it is pure rumor that two docs requested an overseas transfer prior to my appointment. Such exaggeration! It was only one doc and his excuse was that he had a family... tsk. They don't make sailors the way they used to.
I'll post a damage report if I can sit comfortably when I get home.
~Sar~
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Shiitake Mushrooms!
As a rule, I don't curse. It's true that quite a few characters in my stories have cursed a blue streak, using foul language the same way they suck in oxygen - constantly. But that's fiction. In real life, I don't curse. Okay... once in a great while "damn" or "hell" creeps into my speech but only when I'm really irritated. I don't care if other people curse; I'd rather they didn't do it around me but if they do, it's easily ignored unless... it's directed at me.
Back in our "early" days, I had a habit of saying "FARK!" when I was startled or irritated or exasperated or fuming. His Holiness said he didn't want to hear me say that so I started saying it softly so he couldn't hear it. When that didn't work, I started whispering it when he acted like a baboon butthead. A few firm swats later, he said he didn't want me to say it in front of him. So I only said it when he left the room. Unfortunately, that's not what he meant.
Then... I heard the word "fun-gooch!" Ohhhhh it is very satisfying to say fun-gooch. We were at a dinner party with a bunch of sailors and marines and their spouses and I got really excited when I saw we were having chocolate cheesecake for dessert and in my excitement, I said "FUN-GOOCH!"
One of the marines, recently returned from overseas, almost choked on his wine. You'd think he never saw a chocolate cheesecake before. Tsk.
Cowboy almost choked, too. Between you and me, I don't think they make sailors and marines the way they used to. I mean... it was just a chocolate cheesecake - not a loaded grenade.
Later, someone mentioned that fun-gooch was a slang expression in Portuguese and it was a very rude expression. Wellll, how was I supposed to know that? Much later, Cowboy said it was a rude expression in *any* language. Sheesh. Another perfectly good word down the toilet.
Fortunately, it didn't ruin my appetite for chocolate cheesecake. I ate my piece and while Cowboy was apologizing to our hostess, I ate his.
Then there's the "F" word. So impolite to use that word. I was under the impression that it was an acronym. "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge." Ya know... sometimes, when you've been antsy all day (=horny) and you can't wait one minute more for your beloved to get home... and he/she finally sails through the doorway... Well, what happens after you tear each other's clothes off isn't always a sweet and mellow sexual union. Sometimes, it's just plain ol hot and heavy "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge-ing." Okay, we're married so it's not unlawful. But the way it happens... raw and wild and naked and on top of the clothes dryer or in the foyer or halfway up the staircase... with the dogs watching... and the cats so startled, they've stopped washing themselves... and they stare... married or not, that's "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge-ing."
Ever been to a Vietnamese restaurant? A great place for the "F" word. So many things on that menu have "pho" or "phuk" in it. The first time I saw "phuk" on the menu, I thought it was a typo. Cowboy laughed at me when I pointed it out to him. But when I realized I had the pronunciation right... well, that word just has so much "oomph" in it. I love ordering dinner in those places. ~ sigh ~ I notice he doesn't take me there very often.
As some of you know, I love to cook and bake. His Holiness is Italian on his mother's side and English (Cornwall) on his father's side. I learned to cook Italian from my mother-in-law and we enjoy those dishes several times a month. A common ingredient in a lot of Italian dishes is mushrooms. There are many varieties of mushrooms, of course. I favor Criminis and Portabellos but my favorite is the Shiitake mushroom. A cooking demonstration I attended years ago had a guest chef from Spain. He was all in favor of using "sheet-tahkey" mushrooms in his cuisine.
So now... when I'm incensed beyond reason and desperate to scream FARK! Or Fun-gooch! I now yell SHIITAKE Mushrooms!
Would you believe His Holiness is not amused?
Tsk.
~Sar~
Back in our "early" days, I had a habit of saying "FARK!" when I was startled or irritated or exasperated or fuming. His Holiness said he didn't want to hear me say that so I started saying it softly so he couldn't hear it. When that didn't work, I started whispering it when he acted like a baboon butthead. A few firm swats later, he said he didn't want me to say it in front of him. So I only said it when he left the room. Unfortunately, that's not what he meant.
Then... I heard the word "fun-gooch!" Ohhhhh it is very satisfying to say fun-gooch. We were at a dinner party with a bunch of sailors and marines and their spouses and I got really excited when I saw we were having chocolate cheesecake for dessert and in my excitement, I said "FUN-GOOCH!"
One of the marines, recently returned from overseas, almost choked on his wine. You'd think he never saw a chocolate cheesecake before. Tsk.
Cowboy almost choked, too. Between you and me, I don't think they make sailors and marines the way they used to. I mean... it was just a chocolate cheesecake - not a loaded grenade.
Later, someone mentioned that fun-gooch was a slang expression in Portuguese and it was a very rude expression. Wellll, how was I supposed to know that? Much later, Cowboy said it was a rude expression in *any* language. Sheesh. Another perfectly good word down the toilet.
Fortunately, it didn't ruin my appetite for chocolate cheesecake. I ate my piece and while Cowboy was apologizing to our hostess, I ate his.
Then there's the "F" word. So impolite to use that word. I was under the impression that it was an acronym. "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge." Ya know... sometimes, when you've been antsy all day (=horny) and you can't wait one minute more for your beloved to get home... and he/she finally sails through the doorway... Well, what happens after you tear each other's clothes off isn't always a sweet and mellow sexual union. Sometimes, it's just plain ol hot and heavy "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge-ing." Okay, we're married so it's not unlawful. But the way it happens... raw and wild and naked and on top of the clothes dryer or in the foyer or halfway up the staircase... with the dogs watching... and the cats so startled, they've stopped washing themselves... and they stare... married or not, that's "For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge-ing."
Ever been to a Vietnamese restaurant? A great place for the "F" word. So many things on that menu have "pho" or "phuk" in it. The first time I saw "phuk" on the menu, I thought it was a typo. Cowboy laughed at me when I pointed it out to him. But when I realized I had the pronunciation right... well, that word just has so much "oomph" in it. I love ordering dinner in those places. ~ sigh ~ I notice he doesn't take me there very often.
As some of you know, I love to cook and bake. His Holiness is Italian on his mother's side and English (Cornwall) on his father's side. I learned to cook Italian from my mother-in-law and we enjoy those dishes several times a month. A common ingredient in a lot of Italian dishes is mushrooms. There are many varieties of mushrooms, of course. I favor Criminis and Portabellos but my favorite is the Shiitake mushroom. A cooking demonstration I attended years ago had a guest chef from Spain. He was all in favor of using "sheet-tahkey" mushrooms in his cuisine.
So now... when I'm incensed beyond reason and desperate to scream FARK! Or Fun-gooch! I now yell SHIITAKE Mushrooms!
Would you believe His Holiness is not amused?
Tsk.
~Sar~
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Happy Pepperoni!
It's only January 4th and I'm already exhausted from being so good. Cowboy says I have another 360+ days to behave. I had no idea they taught squids to count. I always thought "3" was as high as he could go and get the numbers in the right order. When His Holiness and I were first married, he'd count to 3 when he thought I was doing something I shouldn't be doing. The premise is the parent/child thing. Today's kids know when mommy or daddy gets to 3, their world is going to come to an end... ergo, a spanking ensues. The first time he did that, I had no idea why he was counting. Nobody ever did that when I was growing up and if they had, we would have laughed. Where I lived, you hit me and I retaliated ten-fold no matter how much bigger you were. Not too many people hit me twice. So... the squid counts to 3 and I hint that 4 is next.
"Then 5, then 6. I think that's as high as you should go till you practice a little," I told him.
SWAT!
Truly, the man is sensitive about his counting skills.
Now, on the rare occasion he forgets that counting is something I ignore, and yells "ONE!" I roll my eyes and try not to mutter "Outstanding! Do I have a bid for two? This is a gem, folks. How about the gentleman in the back - did you want to bid again, sir?" Inevitably, I finish my little speech from the "over his shoulder" position and if I'm really feeling like a warrior princess, I still mutter when he upends me.
Run Amok Week was a huge success if I do say so myself. I won't incriminate myself by spilling details but suffice to say, MsHairUpHerAss, my nosy neighbor, has enough cat litter to "toilet" a dozen cats for a year. Now... to get her a dozen cats...
I heard David, a senior ranked officer in the US Marine Corps, is checking out the benefits of enlisting in the Air Force. FOFL! VISA charge, $100 for the gay men's chorus singing telegram; a photo of his startled homophobic face when they "touched" him while singing - PRICELESS! This is all hearsay, of course - 5th amendment and all that. Is this country great or what? I didn't want him to feel badly when I learned all these details so when he came over to spend a night with us - he lives on one of the islands in the San Juans - I made his favorite chicken and dumplings dinner with Boston Creme pie for dessert. Of course, I also short-sheeted the bed.
I discovered that one of the Christmas gifts the wretch gave to Cowboy was a long-handled wooden bathbrush. Egads! I immediately turned that into firewood. David casually mentioned that cheese boards and large wooden trivets make interesting "implements." Interesting? More firewood and now I will cut the cheese on a fiberglass tray and purchase very small trivets... iron. I think we won't need to buy an extra cord of wood this winter. I am such a thrifty housewife.
Ohhhh, did I mention Santa was very good to me this year? He was and I thanked him in ways he really liked. I plan to get my first 2006 letter composed to him shortly. I like to update him quarterly; it's just so efficient to keep him in the loop.
So, last night... we ordered pizza for dinner. I've been cooking and baking for eons and needed a break. We got 1 extra large mushroom and pepperoni pizza for me and the squid, 2 extra large pizzas for the 4 pups. (The outside pups aren't going to let us get away with eating pizza and not get some.) All of us want extra cheese and when the pies were delivered, I faithfully cut 2 of them in half, gave half to each pup and saved a small wedge for each cat.
Then Cowboy gets a phone call he says he has to take.
I'm starving.
The phone call goes on for a few minutes.
I'm getting hungrier by the second.
The pups have finished their pizza and are eyeing the pizza on the counter.
Cowboy is still on the phone in another room.
I'm salivating along with the pups.
I sneak a piece of pepperoni off the pizza, give one to each of the 2 indoor pups (outside pups back in the yard) and quickly close the pizza box.
Cowboy is still on the phone.
That one piece of pepperoni has my stomach growling.
Ergo: The pups and I eat ALL the pepperoni off the pizza.
I disappear upstairs to brush my teeth, dragging the dogs with me and spray their mouths with Binaca to hide the evidence.
Cowboy finally finishes his phone call and... did you happen to hear a sound that was similar to a jet hitting Mach 2 last night? That was Cowboy when he discovered the pizza only had mushrooms... Oops.
He calls the pizza place, makes loud noises into the phone, mumbles, and about 30 minutes later, voila! Another pizza is delivered - free of charge - and it has LOTS of extra pepperoni.
He tips the driver.
I, of course, have suddenly become mute and am an innocent bystander. Folks, please remember that the first rule of survival is "never admit guilt" - not even to your lawyer. The second rule is "Deny! Deny! Deny!" If all else fails, act indignant and then, sniff audibly and shed a tear or two. This doesn't always work, but it's always worth a try.
"Sarrrrrrrrrrrrr." Cowboy growls after we eat.
"What?"
"I'm gonna count to 3."
"Is that as high as a squid can count?"
Have I mentioned that the wretch can laugh and spank at the same time? I have no earthly idea why the man automatically assumes I was the guilty party. It's enough to make me think I should run amok 52 weeks a year.
Oh wait. I think I already do that.
~Sar~
"Then 5, then 6. I think that's as high as you should go till you practice a little," I told him.
SWAT!
Truly, the man is sensitive about his counting skills.
Now, on the rare occasion he forgets that counting is something I ignore, and yells "ONE!" I roll my eyes and try not to mutter "Outstanding! Do I have a bid for two? This is a gem, folks. How about the gentleman in the back - did you want to bid again, sir?" Inevitably, I finish my little speech from the "over his shoulder" position and if I'm really feeling like a warrior princess, I still mutter when he upends me.
Run Amok Week was a huge success if I do say so myself. I won't incriminate myself by spilling details but suffice to say, MsHairUpHerAss, my nosy neighbor, has enough cat litter to "toilet" a dozen cats for a year. Now... to get her a dozen cats...
I heard David, a senior ranked officer in the US Marine Corps, is checking out the benefits of enlisting in the Air Force. FOFL! VISA charge, $100 for the gay men's chorus singing telegram; a photo of his startled homophobic face when they "touched" him while singing - PRICELESS! This is all hearsay, of course - 5th amendment and all that. Is this country great or what? I didn't want him to feel badly when I learned all these details so when he came over to spend a night with us - he lives on one of the islands in the San Juans - I made his favorite chicken and dumplings dinner with Boston Creme pie for dessert. Of course, I also short-sheeted the bed.
I discovered that one of the Christmas gifts the wretch gave to Cowboy was a long-handled wooden bathbrush. Egads! I immediately turned that into firewood. David casually mentioned that cheese boards and large wooden trivets make interesting "implements." Interesting? More firewood and now I will cut the cheese on a fiberglass tray and purchase very small trivets... iron. I think we won't need to buy an extra cord of wood this winter. I am such a thrifty housewife.
Ohhhh, did I mention Santa was very good to me this year? He was and I thanked him in ways he really liked. I plan to get my first 2006 letter composed to him shortly. I like to update him quarterly; it's just so efficient to keep him in the loop.
So, last night... we ordered pizza for dinner. I've been cooking and baking for eons and needed a break. We got 1 extra large mushroom and pepperoni pizza for me and the squid, 2 extra large pizzas for the 4 pups. (The outside pups aren't going to let us get away with eating pizza and not get some.) All of us want extra cheese and when the pies were delivered, I faithfully cut 2 of them in half, gave half to each pup and saved a small wedge for each cat.
Then Cowboy gets a phone call he says he has to take.
I'm starving.
The phone call goes on for a few minutes.
I'm getting hungrier by the second.
The pups have finished their pizza and are eyeing the pizza on the counter.
Cowboy is still on the phone in another room.
I'm salivating along with the pups.
I sneak a piece of pepperoni off the pizza, give one to each of the 2 indoor pups (outside pups back in the yard) and quickly close the pizza box.
Cowboy is still on the phone.
That one piece of pepperoni has my stomach growling.
Ergo: The pups and I eat ALL the pepperoni off the pizza.
I disappear upstairs to brush my teeth, dragging the dogs with me and spray their mouths with Binaca to hide the evidence.
Cowboy finally finishes his phone call and... did you happen to hear a sound that was similar to a jet hitting Mach 2 last night? That was Cowboy when he discovered the pizza only had mushrooms... Oops.
He calls the pizza place, makes loud noises into the phone, mumbles, and about 30 minutes later, voila! Another pizza is delivered - free of charge - and it has LOTS of extra pepperoni.
He tips the driver.
I, of course, have suddenly become mute and am an innocent bystander. Folks, please remember that the first rule of survival is "never admit guilt" - not even to your lawyer. The second rule is "Deny! Deny! Deny!" If all else fails, act indignant and then, sniff audibly and shed a tear or two. This doesn't always work, but it's always worth a try.
"Sarrrrrrrrrrrrr." Cowboy growls after we eat.
"What?"
"I'm gonna count to 3."
"Is that as high as a squid can count?"
Have I mentioned that the wretch can laugh and spank at the same time? I have no earthly idea why the man automatically assumes I was the guilty party. It's enough to make me think I should run amok 52 weeks a year.
Oh wait. I think I already do that.
~Sar~
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