February is winding down; I hate to see it end. We've had an absolutely glorious month filled with good food, lots of chocolate, amazing "stuff," and lots of extra special times. We've been swing dancing, tango-ing at a supper club, rode the dinner train that goes through the Cascade Mountain Range, spent a weekend at Whistler's Lodge in British Columbia, and had several memorable sleigh rides. I know you'll be amazed to hear that one can be very naughty under cover of a lap robe on a sleigh. It seems I'm more flexible than I realized.
I have new lingerie and the giant squid has a much finer appreciation for bits of silk and satin and lace. Several nights in a row he decided he didn't need a cardio workout the next day. LOL (However, our water bill is exceptionally high this month.)
A couple dropped by a few nights ago - we've known them for years. They're not close friends but acquaintances we see once in a while.
He's a smoker - Strike One!
She's a vegetarian - Strike Two!
I save green things for her to eat and if she shows up before they turn into science experiments in the refrigerator, fine. If not, she sticks to cheese and crackers or buttered toast. Tsk.
Cowboy says I could easily whip up a veggie and dip platter when they show up if I didn't constantly throw the veggies to the crows. Uh huh. I told him I could do that but the crows were depending on me.
SWAT!
Tsk.
The guy is a chain smoker. He has to do without nicotine while in my house or smoke on the back deck. I don't give an inch on this. Bad enough he stinks like a chimney. Cowboy goes out with him so the guy can have a cigarette. I'm stuck with Ms.GreenBeans who wants to know how I can possibly eat meat...
Er... with a knife and fork and A-1 sauce, although if I'm starving and no one is watching and especially if it's filet mignon, I pick that sucker up and dip it in sauce and eat it with my fingers.
"But... but... that's what the dogs do!" she postulates.
"No... the dogs don't have fingers and they skip the A-1 sauce."
"You should stock soy foods and tofu for your vegan guests like me," she lectures.
"The only soy food I have is soy sauce and tofu is not something I want my pups exposed to," I tell her. "I have standards." I say this as I open a box of Twinkies for my babies. All my pets love Twinkies - even the cats come running.
She drones on about tofu and my mind wanders to other more mouth watering delicacies - Twinkies dipped in melted chocolate, Twinkies in melted caramel and fried. swoon Twinkies instead of bananas in a banana split...
"What?" I just realized Ms.GreenBeans asked me a question.
"I said, did you know that tofu comes from Japan?"
"Well, that's earth shattering news," I say. "Aren't they the same folks that slaughter whales?"
Naturally, His Holiness comes back into the house as I make that pronouncement.
SWAT!
Tsk.
"I'd consider buying tofu if they'd leave the whales alone."
SWAT!
Tsk.
Fun-Gooch!
SWAT!
Tsk.
Do you sense a pattern here?
Fortunately they leave before I stuff Ms.GreenBeans' face in A-1 sauce.
"I want you to have some vegetables on hand when they come over next time," the giant squid frowns as he watches me share Twinkies with the 4-legged family members.
"Sure," I'm agreeable. "What do you think she'd like? Tomatoes, cucumbers or green peppers? Do ya suppose she eats them whole or likes to cut them into small pieces?"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Just for that, I'll give her raw asparagus and Brussels sprouts," I shout as I flee from the room, the dogs following me since I've got the rest of the Twinkies in my hands.
"Gonna warm your butt," the giant squid yells as he gives chase.
"You and what Army?"
"ARMY?"
For some reason, Naval officers are very sensitive about being lumped with other branches of the military. They're especially sensitive about the Army.
He caught me.
Just as the wrath of doom was about to descend, I reminded him what we did with plum tomatoes one afternoon when we had too much wine and lots of time and I had to change the bed linens anyway. The spanking was brief and sweet and stuff ensued and I really should write a snippet about those plum tomatoes. Every time I see them in the grocery store, I giggle and the giant squid whispers how he's gonna turn my butt tomato red if I don't buy some and do what I did that wild wicked afternoon.
I'm so pleased he appreciates my creativity.
~Sar~
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Sunday, February 19, 2006
February Creativity
It's still February, of course, and His Holiness and I continue to make this month a memorable one. I get creative and do things that should bring a normal man to his knees. It seems His Holiness isn't normal - mostly, he laughs at my shenanigans and sometimes, the wretch catches me up under his arm and delivers a swat or two!
Tsk! And I try so hard, too. For example, when I'm annoyed by something he's commanded me to do... Time out here for an eye rollin' session and sincere smirking. I generally stop cooking for a while to test just how long he can live on takeout or if he's REALLY annoyed me, I dye his undies a nice shade of hot pink. Hot pink undies under his "summer whites" uniform isn't exactly military protocol. This always annoys him since he has to buy new undies and it never fails to get him to retaliate but of course, he has to catch me first. Sometimes he gets to me before I can slide down the banister, escape into the backyard and put 2 attack-trained rottweilers in front of me. Other times, he has to placate the rotties before he can touch me and by then, I've already climbed to the highest possible branch of one of our trees. If I'm certain the wrath of a demented Neanderthal is about to descend on my very small butt, I head for one of the outer San Juan Islands.
By the time he finally catches up with me, he had to put a little effort into the chasing and catching. I think every UNDESERVED spanking should take a little effort on the part of the spanker. After all, I did MY part!
Anyway, I forget what he said that annoyed me but I remember that I was annoyed and that's the important part. And I was out of hot pink dye and it was time for a change. So, I dumped all his new white undies into the washing machine with a light blue dye. Light blue is an acceptable color in men's undies and besides, he's wearing his winter Navy blues right now. After looking at the water in the machine, it seemed that the light blue was a bit too pale and not worth the effort so I dumped in a box of deep purple. Wouldn't you know that deep purple, mixed with light blue and Tide and warm water, makes the undies a deep shade of mauve? Not violet or orchid, but mauve. Mauve isn't what I call a masculine color.
His Holiness had something else to say about it but I'm a lady and can't say words like that. Between you and me I always thought he was blue-green color blind so this was a complete shock when he recognized that his undies were no longer pristine white. Instead of shouting indelicate phrases, you'd think he'd just resign himself to colored undies or better yet, take them to the dry cleaners/laundry where his uniforms get cleaned. I wonder if sailors suffer small strokes of stooooopid as they go up in rank?
Oh yeah, he caught up with me as I was pulling out of the driveway on my way to the Canadian border. I was not happy with his hard and heavy hand and in between gasping breaths and threats of large doses of ipecac in his food, I threw out a few theories about his penchant for spanking me when I was just being ME. You're NOT going to believe this! The wretch laughed!
Well, let me just say that it is not nice to spank me when I'm feeling righteous. So-o-o-o he buys me a beautiful and sexy dress and strappy FM high-heel sandals and takes me out to a most romantic place for an intimate dinner. I was NOT born yesterday. The man wants S-E-X and wants to pamper me as a way of apology for being heavy handed, I'm sure. Trust me, he gets plenty of lovin', he's just willing to make up a bit for jumping on me for dying his undies AGAIN. I mean... they were mauve, not hot pink.
I, of course, am the female of the species and far more vengeful than any man could ever be. And my tush is still burning. So, I'm dressed. We go out, get to the restaurant, get snuggled into a corner table by ourselves and the waiter serves the wine. His Holiness has an arm around me and he's whispering naughty thoughts in my ears, his fingers are heading toward my breast... I move slightly and his hand drops back and here comes the appetizers and he has to wait to try to cop a feel later.
Dinner is served and he cuts my steak and is watching my mouth... I take a sip of wine and kiss him. He's turned on - I slip my hand under the table and discover that things have GROWN considerably since we got to the restaurant. I can't resist. I take his hand and slip it under my dress. His fingers make their way higher... I spread my thighs... his fingers move to the center of his universe and he hisses. "NO UNDIES?"
Oops, I think I might have forgotten to put on undies.
"You're awfully fresh," I tell him as he pulls his hand away.
Have you ever seen a grown man - married forever - blush? And choke on his wine? It's an absolutely glorious sight. And then I let him know I'm not wearing a bra either and put his palm on my breast.
"Okay, we're leaving," he says and signals the waiter for the check.
Tsk. I'm going to finish my steak and then have cheesecake.
"When I get you home..." he says in a controlled whisper.
"When you get me home, you're going to make love to me like there's no tomorrow."
"This is revenge for that spanking, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"You're very very naughty."
"Are you bragging or complaining?"
He didn't answer me but the kiss that followed - while the waiter stood there wondering if he should refresh our wineglasses, convinced me that His Holiness wasn't at all unhappy about my latest bit of February creativity.
~Sar~
P.S. Look at the top right of this page. I've added a link that will show you pics of my babies. Aren't they handsome?
Tsk! And I try so hard, too. For example, when I'm annoyed by something he's commanded me to do... Time out here for an eye rollin' session and sincere smirking. I generally stop cooking for a while to test just how long he can live on takeout or if he's REALLY annoyed me, I dye his undies a nice shade of hot pink. Hot pink undies under his "summer whites" uniform isn't exactly military protocol. This always annoys him since he has to buy new undies and it never fails to get him to retaliate but of course, he has to catch me first. Sometimes he gets to me before I can slide down the banister, escape into the backyard and put 2 attack-trained rottweilers in front of me. Other times, he has to placate the rotties before he can touch me and by then, I've already climbed to the highest possible branch of one of our trees. If I'm certain the wrath of a demented Neanderthal is about to descend on my very small butt, I head for one of the outer San Juan Islands.
By the time he finally catches up with me, he had to put a little effort into the chasing and catching. I think every UNDESERVED spanking should take a little effort on the part of the spanker. After all, I did MY part!
Anyway, I forget what he said that annoyed me but I remember that I was annoyed and that's the important part. And I was out of hot pink dye and it was time for a change. So, I dumped all his new white undies into the washing machine with a light blue dye. Light blue is an acceptable color in men's undies and besides, he's wearing his winter Navy blues right now. After looking at the water in the machine, it seemed that the light blue was a bit too pale and not worth the effort so I dumped in a box of deep purple. Wouldn't you know that deep purple, mixed with light blue and Tide and warm water, makes the undies a deep shade of mauve? Not violet or orchid, but mauve. Mauve isn't what I call a masculine color.
His Holiness had something else to say about it but I'm a lady and can't say words like that. Between you and me I always thought he was blue-green color blind so this was a complete shock when he recognized that his undies were no longer pristine white. Instead of shouting indelicate phrases, you'd think he'd just resign himself to colored undies or better yet, take them to the dry cleaners/laundry where his uniforms get cleaned. I wonder if sailors suffer small strokes of stooooopid as they go up in rank?
Oh yeah, he caught up with me as I was pulling out of the driveway on my way to the Canadian border. I was not happy with his hard and heavy hand and in between gasping breaths and threats of large doses of ipecac in his food, I threw out a few theories about his penchant for spanking me when I was just being ME. You're NOT going to believe this! The wretch laughed!
Well, let me just say that it is not nice to spank me when I'm feeling righteous. So-o-o-o he buys me a beautiful and sexy dress and strappy FM high-heel sandals and takes me out to a most romantic place for an intimate dinner. I was NOT born yesterday. The man wants S-E-X and wants to pamper me as a way of apology for being heavy handed, I'm sure. Trust me, he gets plenty of lovin', he's just willing to make up a bit for jumping on me for dying his undies AGAIN. I mean... they were mauve, not hot pink.
I, of course, am the female of the species and far more vengeful than any man could ever be. And my tush is still burning. So, I'm dressed. We go out, get to the restaurant, get snuggled into a corner table by ourselves and the waiter serves the wine. His Holiness has an arm around me and he's whispering naughty thoughts in my ears, his fingers are heading toward my breast... I move slightly and his hand drops back and here comes the appetizers and he has to wait to try to cop a feel later.
Dinner is served and he cuts my steak and is watching my mouth... I take a sip of wine and kiss him. He's turned on - I slip my hand under the table and discover that things have GROWN considerably since we got to the restaurant. I can't resist. I take his hand and slip it under my dress. His fingers make their way higher... I spread my thighs... his fingers move to the center of his universe and he hisses. "NO UNDIES?"
Oops, I think I might have forgotten to put on undies.
"You're awfully fresh," I tell him as he pulls his hand away.
Have you ever seen a grown man - married forever - blush? And choke on his wine? It's an absolutely glorious sight. And then I let him know I'm not wearing a bra either and put his palm on my breast.
"Okay, we're leaving," he says and signals the waiter for the check.
Tsk. I'm going to finish my steak and then have cheesecake.
"When I get you home..." he says in a controlled whisper.
"When you get me home, you're going to make love to me like there's no tomorrow."
"This is revenge for that spanking, isn't it?"
"Yep."
"You're very very naughty."
"Are you bragging or complaining?"
He didn't answer me but the kiss that followed - while the waiter stood there wondering if he should refresh our wineglasses, convinced me that His Holiness wasn't at all unhappy about my latest bit of February creativity.
~Sar~
P.S. Look at the top right of this page. I've added a link that will show you pics of my babies. Aren't they handsome?
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
'Twas Glorious!
Actually, 'twas abso-perfect-lutely wonderful! A glorious Valentine's Day and I think I'll keep His Holiness for at least another year. *Smiles*
I was a little tired from working with the new dogs the day before. Washed all of them with my special doggie shampoo - a mixture of store bought stuff, oatmeal, liquid Vitamin E and lemon juice - then a follow-up with hair conditioner mixed with moisturizing skin lotion and a good brushing. (Tip: Always brush the fur the wrong way - it gets rid of loose fur.) And they smelled sweet and their fur coats started to get that silky feeling. A few more baths like that and they'll shine.
So I slept later than usual on Valentine's day and when I woke up... this *huge* man was in my bed! And he was kissing me! And I was in my birthday suit!
"Ohhhhhh," I said. "If my husband shows up, you're in big trouble!"
"I'm his stand-in," the behemoth said and kissed me again!
'Twas wonderful!
"You can stand-in *any* time," I assured him and kissed him back.
"Such a hussy you are!" the giant squid growled and before I knew it, I was over his lap and his excessively hard hand was doing the one-clap dance.
Tsk.
"Now that I think about it," I told him between gasps of ouches and sighs of pleasure, "you do remind me of His Holiness."
"What gave it away?" the wretch wanted to know as he continued to practice his drumbeats.
"No one kisses quite like you."
"Who else have you been kissing?"
Oye - poor choice of words.
"Welllll, there's this Neanderthal I'm occasionally fond of..."
"Only occasionally?"
SWAT!
"And a giant squid that I feel sorry for and feel an obligation to kiss every once in a while - just so he doesn't feel neglected."
"Feel sorry for?"
SWAT!
"An obligation?"
SWAT!
"Feel neglected?"
SWAT!
"And then there's His Holiness who thinks I should follow his orders but between you and me, he's just a wussie Navy Seal and I just can't resist a wussie Navy Seal."
"Seals are not wussies."
SWAT!
"Oh yeah? But can they kiss?"
"Damn straight!"
SWAT!
"Prove it!"
~ sigh ~ And he did.
Then there was chocolate and cuddles and lots of laughter when I got tickled till I was breathless and then more chocolate and more cuddles and Cue the violins good stuff.
Breakfast was shared - we fed each other cheese blintzes and strawberries and cream and chicory coffee and cuddled some more.
I had hung several mistletoe Valentines around the house so when he took a phone call on his cell - standing in the doorway to his office, I heard him say "Sir?" Oh joy! That means someone higher ranked than His Holiness was on the phone - a rare occurrence. What's a loving wife supposed to do at a time like that?
I came up behind him and yanked his sweats down and when he instantly turned to face me, I let my hands talk for me. Boy! Was he surprised! And then I slipped to the floor - drum roll, please! - And practically choked on my... errr... laughter... as I listened to him try to carry on a civil conversation with a superior officer and act as if he were immune to what was happening below his waist.
The wretch made some excuse and ended his call and before I could make my escape, I was lifted above his head, told what a naughty girl I was and was bent over his desktop before I took another breath.
Hark! Was that a herd of stampeding longhorns? Thunder rolling in? Fighter jets passing through Mach 2?
Ohhhhh myyyyy! What followed was stingy and not-so-gentle loving... falling to the carpet... rolling over and over fighting to be on top... kissing here, there and everywhere and wowzers! Firecrackers and shooting stars and such absolute bliss I'm struggling to find the right words and I just might leave those mistletoe Valentines up for a while.
~ long contented sigh ~
The rest of the day was equal amounts of chocolate, cuddling, teasing, chasing, catching, and lots of loving. I vaguely remember lunch. But for dinner, Cowboy gave me a sexy number to wear and he donned a jacket and we were soon dressed to go out. I wondered where he was taking me when the doorbell rang.
A waiter showed up with my favorite foods, set my dining room table with linens, et al and served us a delicious meal. There was wine and triple chocolate cake and lots of flowers and when I couldn't eat another bite, the dishes were cleared away and we retired to the sofa in front of the fireplace and cuddled until the man left. The temps are below freezing, the fire was warm and I got up to make a chocolate drink for my beloved - Bicerin - and what followed was so very sweet on the rug in front of the blazing fire.
We weren't totally alone all day. My rott was drawn to the wine... and kept nosing me under the table in case I forgot he was there. The mastiff knows I won't give him chocolate but that didn't stop him from swiping one of the small cheese/dip platters the waiter had put on the kitchen counter prior to serving it. The dog is so large, he just stood on his hind legs and stole the ENTIRE platter. Then both dogs assumed the rug in front of the blazing fire was for THEM and they settled in for a nice long nap until His Holiness made ugly noises in their direction and they retreated to the rug under the kitchen table.
The cats sprawled on top of the fireplace mantle and watched us make whoopee - feline voyeurs.
It was a wonderful day to remember why we wed and to enjoy each other. There's more to February yet to come... and I plan to give His Holiness a few more surprises. With any luck, he'll be *up* to the challenge.
~Sar~
I was a little tired from working with the new dogs the day before. Washed all of them with my special doggie shampoo - a mixture of store bought stuff, oatmeal, liquid Vitamin E and lemon juice - then a follow-up with hair conditioner mixed with moisturizing skin lotion and a good brushing. (Tip: Always brush the fur the wrong way - it gets rid of loose fur.) And they smelled sweet and their fur coats started to get that silky feeling. A few more baths like that and they'll shine.
So I slept later than usual on Valentine's day and when I woke up... this *huge* man was in my bed! And he was kissing me! And I was in my birthday suit!
"Ohhhhhh," I said. "If my husband shows up, you're in big trouble!"
"I'm his stand-in," the behemoth said and kissed me again!
'Twas wonderful!
"You can stand-in *any* time," I assured him and kissed him back.
"Such a hussy you are!" the giant squid growled and before I knew it, I was over his lap and his excessively hard hand was doing the one-clap dance.
Tsk.
"Now that I think about it," I told him between gasps of ouches and sighs of pleasure, "you do remind me of His Holiness."
"What gave it away?" the wretch wanted to know as he continued to practice his drumbeats.
"No one kisses quite like you."
"Who else have you been kissing?"
Oye - poor choice of words.
"Welllll, there's this Neanderthal I'm occasionally fond of..."
"Only occasionally?"
SWAT!
"And a giant squid that I feel sorry for and feel an obligation to kiss every once in a while - just so he doesn't feel neglected."
"Feel sorry for?"
SWAT!
"An obligation?"
SWAT!
"Feel neglected?"
SWAT!
"And then there's His Holiness who thinks I should follow his orders but between you and me, he's just a wussie Navy Seal and I just can't resist a wussie Navy Seal."
"Seals are not wussies."
SWAT!
"Oh yeah? But can they kiss?"
"Damn straight!"
SWAT!
"Prove it!"
~ sigh ~ And he did.
Then there was chocolate and cuddles and lots of laughter when I got tickled till I was breathless and then more chocolate and more cuddles and Cue the violins good stuff.
Breakfast was shared - we fed each other cheese blintzes and strawberries and cream and chicory coffee and cuddled some more.
I had hung several mistletoe Valentines around the house so when he took a phone call on his cell - standing in the doorway to his office, I heard him say "Sir?" Oh joy! That means someone higher ranked than His Holiness was on the phone - a rare occurrence. What's a loving wife supposed to do at a time like that?
I came up behind him and yanked his sweats down and when he instantly turned to face me, I let my hands talk for me. Boy! Was he surprised! And then I slipped to the floor - drum roll, please! - And practically choked on my... errr... laughter... as I listened to him try to carry on a civil conversation with a superior officer and act as if he were immune to what was happening below his waist.
The wretch made some excuse and ended his call and before I could make my escape, I was lifted above his head, told what a naughty girl I was and was bent over his desktop before I took another breath.
Hark! Was that a herd of stampeding longhorns? Thunder rolling in? Fighter jets passing through Mach 2?
Ohhhhh myyyyy! What followed was stingy and not-so-gentle loving... falling to the carpet... rolling over and over fighting to be on top... kissing here, there and everywhere and wowzers! Firecrackers and shooting stars and such absolute bliss I'm struggling to find the right words and I just might leave those mistletoe Valentines up for a while.
~ long contented sigh ~
The rest of the day was equal amounts of chocolate, cuddling, teasing, chasing, catching, and lots of loving. I vaguely remember lunch. But for dinner, Cowboy gave me a sexy number to wear and he donned a jacket and we were soon dressed to go out. I wondered where he was taking me when the doorbell rang.
A waiter showed up with my favorite foods, set my dining room table with linens, et al and served us a delicious meal. There was wine and triple chocolate cake and lots of flowers and when I couldn't eat another bite, the dishes were cleared away and we retired to the sofa in front of the fireplace and cuddled until the man left. The temps are below freezing, the fire was warm and I got up to make a chocolate drink for my beloved - Bicerin - and what followed was so very sweet on the rug in front of the blazing fire.
We weren't totally alone all day. My rott was drawn to the wine... and kept nosing me under the table in case I forgot he was there. The mastiff knows I won't give him chocolate but that didn't stop him from swiping one of the small cheese/dip platters the waiter had put on the kitchen counter prior to serving it. The dog is so large, he just stood on his hind legs and stole the ENTIRE platter. Then both dogs assumed the rug in front of the blazing fire was for THEM and they settled in for a nice long nap until His Holiness made ugly noises in their direction and they retreated to the rug under the kitchen table.
The cats sprawled on top of the fireplace mantle and watched us make whoopee - feline voyeurs.
It was a wonderful day to remember why we wed and to enjoy each other. There's more to February yet to come... and I plan to give His Holiness a few more surprises. With any luck, he'll be *up* to the challenge.
~Sar~
Saturday, February 11, 2006
February Musings
Cowboy here. Sar is still flying high so I'm updating her blog. It's not just chocolate that makes the imp dizzy with happiness although that's a given.
Don't know if she's mentioned that we foster large breed dogs that have been rescued. They come from breeding kennels that have been shut down, were abandoned or the owners died, etc. Sar is skilled in teaching "obedience" and getting the animals rehabilitated and socialized. Most of them earn "companion" dog titles before they're adopted out and some learn the basics of living with a disabled person and assisting them. All animals are attracted to her - 2-legged and 4-legged varieties. I generally push the 2-legged ones away from her.
She's good at this and I'm damn proud of her accomplishments. This morning, I screened a few dogs that need a second chance at life and brought them home for her to rehabilitate and train. When she saw the "pure dog rescue" van pull into the driveway, she flew out of the house to meet us. It took great restraint on her part to keep her hands off until each was individually kenneled. I had to laugh - when Sar can't wait to touch them, she hugs herself and simultaneously tells me to hurry so she can meet the dogs.
I brought home an English mastiff - neglected and too thin and rough patches on his coat. His nails are too long, teeth a little yellow and he's scratching his ears a lot - probably mites. Sar declared him a handsome rogue waiting to strut his stuff. She named him Oliver.
We also took in an older bloodhound - arthritic and torn paw pads, a crooked tail, and chest scars. His name is Archie and when he saw Sar, he bayed. The first time I saw her I bayed too but that's another story.
There's a Scottish Deer hound in the crowd. Murdock - the first time we've fostered one of those. They're sight hounds, should be easy to train.
And last, there's a young Alaskan Malamute. Malamutes are medium sized dogs but powerful and extraordinarily bright. It takes a mentally strong trainer to teach them new habits. Sar chose to call him Tuma, a proud Inuit name.
With me and her rott and mastiff in attendance, Sar introduced herself to each dog, examined their eyes, ears, teeth, paws and coat and made notes on their health problems. This "meeting" always astounds me. The dogs look at me and mostly ignore me or growl low. When they see Sar, they turn to mush, each one wants her attention and wants to sit on her lap. While she talks to them, she's offering bits of peanut butter cookies and they're lapping it out of her hand.
Each dog gets the same lecture while she pets them. Sar tells them what the rules are, what they will eat and what she expects of each one.
"You jump on me, you get kicked in the chest."
"You nip me, you get your nose pinched."
"You fight with the other dogs, you eat kibble while everybody else gets mac and cheese and twinkies."
"You play nice and try hard, you eat large."
"Herbal bath twice a week and daily brushing."
"Daily dose of vitamin C and no spitting it out."
"No growling or backtalk while I clean your ears, brush your teeth and clip your nails."
"You be good to me and I'll make you the happiest pooch on the planet."
The mastiff stands still during the lecture. The bloodhound bays through the whole thing. The deer hound has been nosing Sar's pockets and the malamute is chewing on her shoe laces. I smile at the imp; she has a lot of work ahead of her and she's hyped for the challenge. When she gets through with them, 4 families will get 4 very obedient and healthy pets.
She makes a special supper for them - cooked oatmeal mixed with small amounts of kibble and ground chicken and eggs and I don't know what else. She feeds each one of them from her hand - there is a reason for this. She wants them to know she is the alpha in the pack and controls the food. When she grooms them, she will subtly introduce commands - sit, down, stay. But the main thing she will teach during grooming is "watch me." This is an important command. If they learn to watch her, the other commands will be learned quickly. She'll teach them to respond to voice and hand signals, and when she works with them, her own dogs will be in attendance to keep the peace.
On another note, it is February. Both of us are enjoying the extra effort we have put into sharing this special month. I have ordered imported chocolates for my sweetheart and will bring flowers home on Valentine's Day. She told me she wants more than chocolate and flowers.
What do you want? I asked her. New lingerie?
Sex, she said.
Sex? I try not to laugh in case she is serious.
Lots of sex, she says. And sweet spankings.
You don't get enough?
You're getting old, she tells me. I want as much as possible before you're too old.
I grab her and hug the stuffing out of her. I'm not so old that I can't please my wife on a regular basis. I should spank her for being sassy and I will later. Right now I promise her she doesn't have to worry. I'll deliver everything she wants and maybe more.
Cowboy
Don't know if she's mentioned that we foster large breed dogs that have been rescued. They come from breeding kennels that have been shut down, were abandoned or the owners died, etc. Sar is skilled in teaching "obedience" and getting the animals rehabilitated and socialized. Most of them earn "companion" dog titles before they're adopted out and some learn the basics of living with a disabled person and assisting them. All animals are attracted to her - 2-legged and 4-legged varieties. I generally push the 2-legged ones away from her.
She's good at this and I'm damn proud of her accomplishments. This morning, I screened a few dogs that need a second chance at life and brought them home for her to rehabilitate and train. When she saw the "pure dog rescue" van pull into the driveway, she flew out of the house to meet us. It took great restraint on her part to keep her hands off until each was individually kenneled. I had to laugh - when Sar can't wait to touch them, she hugs herself and simultaneously tells me to hurry so she can meet the dogs.
I brought home an English mastiff - neglected and too thin and rough patches on his coat. His nails are too long, teeth a little yellow and he's scratching his ears a lot - probably mites. Sar declared him a handsome rogue waiting to strut his stuff. She named him Oliver.
We also took in an older bloodhound - arthritic and torn paw pads, a crooked tail, and chest scars. His name is Archie and when he saw Sar, he bayed. The first time I saw her I bayed too but that's another story.
There's a Scottish Deer hound in the crowd. Murdock - the first time we've fostered one of those. They're sight hounds, should be easy to train.
And last, there's a young Alaskan Malamute. Malamutes are medium sized dogs but powerful and extraordinarily bright. It takes a mentally strong trainer to teach them new habits. Sar chose to call him Tuma, a proud Inuit name.
With me and her rott and mastiff in attendance, Sar introduced herself to each dog, examined their eyes, ears, teeth, paws and coat and made notes on their health problems. This "meeting" always astounds me. The dogs look at me and mostly ignore me or growl low. When they see Sar, they turn to mush, each one wants her attention and wants to sit on her lap. While she talks to them, she's offering bits of peanut butter cookies and they're lapping it out of her hand.
Each dog gets the same lecture while she pets them. Sar tells them what the rules are, what they will eat and what she expects of each one.
"You jump on me, you get kicked in the chest."
"You nip me, you get your nose pinched."
"You fight with the other dogs, you eat kibble while everybody else gets mac and cheese and twinkies."
"You play nice and try hard, you eat large."
"Herbal bath twice a week and daily brushing."
"Daily dose of vitamin C and no spitting it out."
"No growling or backtalk while I clean your ears, brush your teeth and clip your nails."
"You be good to me and I'll make you the happiest pooch on the planet."
The mastiff stands still during the lecture. The bloodhound bays through the whole thing. The deer hound has been nosing Sar's pockets and the malamute is chewing on her shoe laces. I smile at the imp; she has a lot of work ahead of her and she's hyped for the challenge. When she gets through with them, 4 families will get 4 very obedient and healthy pets.
She makes a special supper for them - cooked oatmeal mixed with small amounts of kibble and ground chicken and eggs and I don't know what else. She feeds each one of them from her hand - there is a reason for this. She wants them to know she is the alpha in the pack and controls the food. When she grooms them, she will subtly introduce commands - sit, down, stay. But the main thing she will teach during grooming is "watch me." This is an important command. If they learn to watch her, the other commands will be learned quickly. She'll teach them to respond to voice and hand signals, and when she works with them, her own dogs will be in attendance to keep the peace.
On another note, it is February. Both of us are enjoying the extra effort we have put into sharing this special month. I have ordered imported chocolates for my sweetheart and will bring flowers home on Valentine's Day. She told me she wants more than chocolate and flowers.
What do you want? I asked her. New lingerie?
Sex, she said.
Sex? I try not to laugh in case she is serious.
Lots of sex, she says. And sweet spankings.
You don't get enough?
You're getting old, she tells me. I want as much as possible before you're too old.
I grab her and hug the stuffing out of her. I'm not so old that I can't please my wife on a regular basis. I should spank her for being sassy and I will later. Right now I promise her she doesn't have to worry. I'll deliver everything she wants and maybe more.
Cowboy
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Ya know...
Sometimes a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.
So when His Holiness announced that we were going back to the doctor for a follow-up visit and that I wasn't supposed to eat or drink anything after 10 p.m. the night before, I went into "warrior princess" mode. My savior - Wonder Woman - has been mighty busy lately and her image has been tainted ever since someone posted a pic of her bare bum getting smacked by Super Man on the Internet. I couldn't rely on her to save me so I went to Plan B.
I've learned over the years not to argue with His Holiness when he says we're doing something I object to. I generally just ignore him and make my escape, but this time I knew I couldn't get away in time.
So... in the middle of the night when I got up to go to the bathroom, I scarfed down a few Twinkies, HoHos and DingDongs. I would have had a few Heath Bars but I didn't want to push it. Then, the next morning, while Cowboy was jogging, I made a few boxes of Mac and Cheese for me and the pups. Forget this fasting blood thing - I'm going to get weighed when I get to the doc and I need to carbo load.
When he came back he said: "You didn't eat breakfast, did you?"
Mac and Cheese for breakfast? Nawwww.
"I made breakfast for the pups, dear." (Which was true. And since I've never ever done anything in my life for which I felt guilt, there was no reason to volunteer information that would raise Cowboy's blood pressure.)
"They're going to draw more blood, imp. You don't want our visit to end up with you upended, do you?"
Visit? A doctor's appointment is not a visit. It's a date with doom. And don't they have enough of my blood by now? What are they doing? Selling it to the closet vampires?
"We have to leave as soon as I shower," the giant squid announced.
"I'm ready," I smiled and put the mastiff in the backseat of the car. The doc is obviously afraid of the rottweiler - the mastiff is bigger and has a friendlier face. Fortunately, he also bites on command.
The dog knows where his loyalty lies so he gets down on the floor of the SUV behind the front seat and under a blanket and doesn't pop his head up until we're at the base clinic.
"You brought the beast? How many times do I have to tell you dogs are not allowed in the clinic?"
"You're an Admiral. Rank has its privileges. I'll be much more comfortable with BullyBoy beside me."
"He's not gonna be beside you when I get you home and alone in the bedroom with the door shut!"
ACKKK! I think I was just threatened.
The clinic staff is used to me. They don't get alarmed when I walk in with a 165 lb. dog by my side. I think they're just happy I didn't bounce in with an AK47. So, while Cowboy is talking with the doc, I'm in another room where the nurse is weighing me. I keep her attention on the bar at the top of the scale and BullyBoy puts his paw on the scale next to my foot. It took *forever* to teach him to do that and to hold his paw there until I said "okay" and then remove it as I step off the scale. Between me and BullyBoy's paw, I have gained six pounds! A miracle! The nurse is very impressed with my weight gain. I make a mental note to give the pup extra liver biscuits when we get home.
The doc wants to draw blood.
I say no.
His Holiness says yes.
I run a finger down BullyBoy's back.
BullyBoy smiles - showing his pearly whites. The pup has such a sweet smile. And he wags his tail. Such a well-mannered puppy.
His Holiness arches a brow.
I tap BullyBoy on the head.
BullyBoy morphs into canine terrorist and growls. When a dog growls, it's a bit startling. When a BIG dog like BullyBoy growls, every nerve in your body screams "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
His Holiness mutters an unintelligible sound which I'm certain is not a compliment.
The doc eyes the dog and you can just see what he is thinking. RABID DOG! RED ALERT! He says the blood test isn't really all that necessary, just a backup to confirm what he already knows.
I arch a brow at His Holiness and mouth words like "Somalia."
His Holiness makes a hand gesture that clearly interpreted means "spanking" and mouths "you."
Tsk.
We make an appointment to return in 3 months. (As soon as I get home, I cancel the appointment.)
On the way home... His Holiness says he didn't realize BullyBoy's paw weighed so much. Tsk. For someone who was born in the dark ages, Cowboy knows a lot more about my tricks than I give him credit for.
I suggest we stop for brunch and ice cream.
He suggests we high tail it home so he is not tempted to spank me in public.
I suggest Prozac.
He suggests making a stop to pick up some very soft pillows.
I tell him someone I know has referred to him as a "serial spanker."
He tells me he loves that appellation and takes the freeway exit that goes to the road to our house.
I tell him he needs to pull over onto the shoulder NOW.
He pulls over... I grab him and kiss him and tell him I love him for not telling the doc about BullyBoy's paw.
I get a hard swat, a mind blowing kiss, another swat - lighter this time - and since I didn't hurt the doc, I get a promise that we'll go out for a nice dinner later.
"Will I be sitting comfortably at dinner?" I need details.
"Depends."
"Depends on what?"
"On how good you are to me when we get home."
"Ohhhh. I can be very very good."
"You'll have to prove it."
~sigh~
Well, a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do... and I did.
~Sar~
So when His Holiness announced that we were going back to the doctor for a follow-up visit and that I wasn't supposed to eat or drink anything after 10 p.m. the night before, I went into "warrior princess" mode. My savior - Wonder Woman - has been mighty busy lately and her image has been tainted ever since someone posted a pic of her bare bum getting smacked by Super Man on the Internet. I couldn't rely on her to save me so I went to Plan B.
I've learned over the years not to argue with His Holiness when he says we're doing something I object to. I generally just ignore him and make my escape, but this time I knew I couldn't get away in time.
So... in the middle of the night when I got up to go to the bathroom, I scarfed down a few Twinkies, HoHos and DingDongs. I would have had a few Heath Bars but I didn't want to push it. Then, the next morning, while Cowboy was jogging, I made a few boxes of Mac and Cheese for me and the pups. Forget this fasting blood thing - I'm going to get weighed when I get to the doc and I need to carbo load.
When he came back he said: "You didn't eat breakfast, did you?"
Mac and Cheese for breakfast? Nawwww.
"I made breakfast for the pups, dear." (Which was true. And since I've never ever done anything in my life for which I felt guilt, there was no reason to volunteer information that would raise Cowboy's blood pressure.)
"They're going to draw more blood, imp. You don't want our visit to end up with you upended, do you?"
Visit? A doctor's appointment is not a visit. It's a date with doom. And don't they have enough of my blood by now? What are they doing? Selling it to the closet vampires?
"We have to leave as soon as I shower," the giant squid announced.
"I'm ready," I smiled and put the mastiff in the backseat of the car. The doc is obviously afraid of the rottweiler - the mastiff is bigger and has a friendlier face. Fortunately, he also bites on command.
The dog knows where his loyalty lies so he gets down on the floor of the SUV behind the front seat and under a blanket and doesn't pop his head up until we're at the base clinic.
"You brought the beast? How many times do I have to tell you dogs are not allowed in the clinic?"
"You're an Admiral. Rank has its privileges. I'll be much more comfortable with BullyBoy beside me."
"He's not gonna be beside you when I get you home and alone in the bedroom with the door shut!"
ACKKK! I think I was just threatened.
The clinic staff is used to me. They don't get alarmed when I walk in with a 165 lb. dog by my side. I think they're just happy I didn't bounce in with an AK47. So, while Cowboy is talking with the doc, I'm in another room where the nurse is weighing me. I keep her attention on the bar at the top of the scale and BullyBoy puts his paw on the scale next to my foot. It took *forever* to teach him to do that and to hold his paw there until I said "okay" and then remove it as I step off the scale. Between me and BullyBoy's paw, I have gained six pounds! A miracle! The nurse is very impressed with my weight gain. I make a mental note to give the pup extra liver biscuits when we get home.
The doc wants to draw blood.
I say no.
His Holiness says yes.
I run a finger down BullyBoy's back.
BullyBoy smiles - showing his pearly whites. The pup has such a sweet smile. And he wags his tail. Such a well-mannered puppy.
His Holiness arches a brow.
I tap BullyBoy on the head.
BullyBoy morphs into canine terrorist and growls. When a dog growls, it's a bit startling. When a BIG dog like BullyBoy growls, every nerve in your body screams "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"
His Holiness mutters an unintelligible sound which I'm certain is not a compliment.
The doc eyes the dog and you can just see what he is thinking. RABID DOG! RED ALERT! He says the blood test isn't really all that necessary, just a backup to confirm what he already knows.
I arch a brow at His Holiness and mouth words like "Somalia."
His Holiness makes a hand gesture that clearly interpreted means "spanking" and mouths "you."
Tsk.
We make an appointment to return in 3 months. (As soon as I get home, I cancel the appointment.)
On the way home... His Holiness says he didn't realize BullyBoy's paw weighed so much. Tsk. For someone who was born in the dark ages, Cowboy knows a lot more about my tricks than I give him credit for.
I suggest we stop for brunch and ice cream.
He suggests we high tail it home so he is not tempted to spank me in public.
I suggest Prozac.
He suggests making a stop to pick up some very soft pillows.
I tell him someone I know has referred to him as a "serial spanker."
He tells me he loves that appellation and takes the freeway exit that goes to the road to our house.
I tell him he needs to pull over onto the shoulder NOW.
He pulls over... I grab him and kiss him and tell him I love him for not telling the doc about BullyBoy's paw.
I get a hard swat, a mind blowing kiss, another swat - lighter this time - and since I didn't hurt the doc, I get a promise that we'll go out for a nice dinner later.
"Will I be sitting comfortably at dinner?" I need details.
"Depends."
"Depends on what?"
"On how good you are to me when we get home."
"Ohhhh. I can be very very good."
"You'll have to prove it."
~sigh~
Well, a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do... and I did.
~Sar~
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Football Fever!
It's Super Bowl Sunday!
big deal!
I've never been much of a football fan, never had football fever but this year... it's the Pittsburgh Steelers vs. the Seattle Seahawks. I live in the Seattle area and this is the Seahawks' very first time in the Super Bowl. The football fever here is at an all-time high. Everywhere you go, "have a nice day" has been replaced with "Go Seahawks!"
yawn
I attended a lot of football games when I was in college. They were held every Sunday afternoon during the season and the reason I went was because I knew my date would buy hotdogs and chips and soda pop. I'd eat my share and then, whenever he jumped up to shout and make a fool of himself along with the other football fiends... err... fans, I could help myself to the rest of the food. I rarely went to a football game with the same guy twice. They always seemed to wonder when they had eaten their hotdogs and I know you won't believe this, but some of them actually looked at me with great suspicion. I think those were the days when I spent a lot of time practicing my innocent look. I entered college as a 16-year old freshman so I had youth on my side. Those were the good old days.
~sigh~
I knew absolutely nothing about the game until I went off to college and even though I spent most of my time eating... some of what was happening on the field eventually rubbed off. A lot of people today - females - know as much or more about the game than the men do, but there are still people - in third-world countries - who don't understand the intricacies of the sport. Well, I'm here to clue you in.
The rules are very specific:
1/There are two groups of guys. These groups are called teams. Each team has to have the same number of players. Offhand, I don't know how many but it can't be too many because I don't think football players can count too high.
2/Each team has to wear a uniform in different colors than the other team. This is so a mama can tell if it's her little boy running like a bat out of hell down the field or if he's the one on the bottom of a pile of oversized testosterone getting squashed. This is not a game for the faint of heart.
pass the chips
3/The football is not round like a baseball or a basketball. It's oval shaped and get this: It's made out of pig skin! Is that disgusting or what? I wonder how many little piggies they have to slaughter just to cover that thing. And what's worse! It's brownish and leathery. I do hope they didn't roast that poor little piggie until it was already dead. Tsk.
4/The game is played for 60 minutes. The playing time is divided into 4 quarters. After 2 quarters, there's a few minutes of entertainment. This is called the "half-time show." The reason there's the half-time show is because the football players have been running around like chickens with their heads cut off and now they need a break so they can pee and have a beer. "Sporty" guys do that a lot.
4/In addition to the players, there are men with somber faces watching everything they do. They wear uniforms too - stripes. Since the game is seasonal, it's possible they get these guys from the work-release programs at the local penitentiary. Isn't that lovely? I forget what they call these guys - umpires or referees maybe. Whatever... they're the watchdogs and not one of them ever cracks a smile. I bet they don't floss either.
5/Also on the side of the playing field are the team coaches and in a lot of games, the media is also there. The coaches are the ones wearing portable microphones and carrying a clipboard. Clipboards are very important accoutrements of a football game. I don't know why; I think it's a part of the uniform. There's usually one coach that chews gum through the whole event and it's truly disgusting. First, he chews with his mouth open and second, he chews a WAD of the stuff. Of course, this makes his dentist happy because the guy probably also grinds his teeth. He can't wait for the half-time break so he can shove a new wad in. Ewwww.
6/The game begins with someone singing our national anthem, "The Star Spangled Banner." Then the two teams face each other in the middle of the field and act all macho. They crouch over like someone just kicked them in the gut, the really big fellas just sort of lean on their knuckles and channel King Kong in the hopes of scaring the beejeebees out of the other gorillas on the opposing team. This is a case of "my shoulder pads are bigger than your shoulder pads" or... something like that.
7/Then the quarterback goes into action. This is the star of the team and everyone on the opposing team wants to tackle him and smother him. The reason he's called a quarterback is because he's about 1/4 the size of the gorillas. He can run faster than they can which is a good thing. I think they need to paint him with pig grease (from the pig they slaughtered) so he can slip through the gorillas more easily.
8/I forgot to mention that the football players wear helmets with face guards. This is so nobody gets a fist or a foot in the face in the heat of all that good sportsmanship. They also paint thick dark lines under their eyes. Is this really necessary? It makes they look like wussies.
9/When a team gets the ball, they play "4 downs" and then the other team gets the ball. Once in a while, they don't get all 4 "downs" because the other team "intercepts" the ball. Okay folks, since little kids are watching, they call this a "ball intercept," but you and I both knew what really happens is that the other team gets greedy and can't wait their turn and they steal the ball. And every time this happens, the crowd goes wild! Very very sad grown men can't play nice.
10/The "4 downs:" Every time I hear it's the "1st down" or the "2nd down," etc. I can't help wondering when it will be the "1st UP." There are certain immutable things in life: Day - night, black - white, vanilla - chocolate, left - right, down - up. All those "downs" and no "ups." And nobody ever mentions it, either! Unbelievable.
11/The goal of the game is to get the football to the far end of the field with all of one's body parts intact. This is called a touchdown and everybody makes a big deal out of it. This is really my favorite part because everybody jumps up and down and goes crazy and nobody notices that I just grabbed the last of the nachos, etc. At least I have *my* priorities in order.
Okay, who's up for pizza?
12/After a touchdown, the team gets to play for an extra point. This is usually done by kicking the football between two goal posts. The team has a "kicker" and as far as I can tell, that's all he does. Everybody in the stands is watching this guy. The TV cameras are watching him. The coach is chewing like crazy and he's watching him. His mama is watching. This puts a lot of pressure on the poor guy and it's a really tense moment. Sometimes that one point can make or break the game for the team. Will he make the kick?
Like I care. Pass the pizza.
I asked His Holiness to look this over to make sure I explained everything. He said it wasn't quite accurate. Now he tells me!
And would you believe the wretch is laughing?
Tsk. Now, I'm not sure if I should explain the rules of basketball and baseball to you.
~Sar~
big deal!
I've never been much of a football fan, never had football fever but this year... it's the Pittsburgh Steelers vs. the Seattle Seahawks. I live in the Seattle area and this is the Seahawks' very first time in the Super Bowl. The football fever here is at an all-time high. Everywhere you go, "have a nice day" has been replaced with "Go Seahawks!"
yawn
I attended a lot of football games when I was in college. They were held every Sunday afternoon during the season and the reason I went was because I knew my date would buy hotdogs and chips and soda pop. I'd eat my share and then, whenever he jumped up to shout and make a fool of himself along with the other football fiends... err... fans, I could help myself to the rest of the food. I rarely went to a football game with the same guy twice. They always seemed to wonder when they had eaten their hotdogs and I know you won't believe this, but some of them actually looked at me with great suspicion. I think those were the days when I spent a lot of time practicing my innocent look. I entered college as a 16-year old freshman so I had youth on my side. Those were the good old days.
~sigh~
I knew absolutely nothing about the game until I went off to college and even though I spent most of my time eating... some of what was happening on the field eventually rubbed off. A lot of people today - females - know as much or more about the game than the men do, but there are still people - in third-world countries - who don't understand the intricacies of the sport. Well, I'm here to clue you in.
The rules are very specific:
1/There are two groups of guys. These groups are called teams. Each team has to have the same number of players. Offhand, I don't know how many but it can't be too many because I don't think football players can count too high.
2/Each team has to wear a uniform in different colors than the other team. This is so a mama can tell if it's her little boy running like a bat out of hell down the field or if he's the one on the bottom of a pile of oversized testosterone getting squashed. This is not a game for the faint of heart.
pass the chips
3/The football is not round like a baseball or a basketball. It's oval shaped and get this: It's made out of pig skin! Is that disgusting or what? I wonder how many little piggies they have to slaughter just to cover that thing. And what's worse! It's brownish and leathery. I do hope they didn't roast that poor little piggie until it was already dead. Tsk.
4/The game is played for 60 minutes. The playing time is divided into 4 quarters. After 2 quarters, there's a few minutes of entertainment. This is called the "half-time show." The reason there's the half-time show is because the football players have been running around like chickens with their heads cut off and now they need a break so they can pee and have a beer. "Sporty" guys do that a lot.
4/In addition to the players, there are men with somber faces watching everything they do. They wear uniforms too - stripes. Since the game is seasonal, it's possible they get these guys from the work-release programs at the local penitentiary. Isn't that lovely? I forget what they call these guys - umpires or referees maybe. Whatever... they're the watchdogs and not one of them ever cracks a smile. I bet they don't floss either.
5/Also on the side of the playing field are the team coaches and in a lot of games, the media is also there. The coaches are the ones wearing portable microphones and carrying a clipboard. Clipboards are very important accoutrements of a football game. I don't know why; I think it's a part of the uniform. There's usually one coach that chews gum through the whole event and it's truly disgusting. First, he chews with his mouth open and second, he chews a WAD of the stuff. Of course, this makes his dentist happy because the guy probably also grinds his teeth. He can't wait for the half-time break so he can shove a new wad in. Ewwww.
6/The game begins with someone singing our national anthem, "The Star Spangled Banner." Then the two teams face each other in the middle of the field and act all macho. They crouch over like someone just kicked them in the gut, the really big fellas just sort of lean on their knuckles and channel King Kong in the hopes of scaring the beejeebees out of the other gorillas on the opposing team. This is a case of "my shoulder pads are bigger than your shoulder pads" or... something like that.
7/Then the quarterback goes into action. This is the star of the team and everyone on the opposing team wants to tackle him and smother him. The reason he's called a quarterback is because he's about 1/4 the size of the gorillas. He can run faster than they can which is a good thing. I think they need to paint him with pig grease (from the pig they slaughtered) so he can slip through the gorillas more easily.
8/I forgot to mention that the football players wear helmets with face guards. This is so nobody gets a fist or a foot in the face in the heat of all that good sportsmanship. They also paint thick dark lines under their eyes. Is this really necessary? It makes they look like wussies.
9/When a team gets the ball, they play "4 downs" and then the other team gets the ball. Once in a while, they don't get all 4 "downs" because the other team "intercepts" the ball. Okay folks, since little kids are watching, they call this a "ball intercept," but you and I both knew what really happens is that the other team gets greedy and can't wait their turn and they steal the ball. And every time this happens, the crowd goes wild! Very very sad grown men can't play nice.
10/The "4 downs:" Every time I hear it's the "1st down" or the "2nd down," etc. I can't help wondering when it will be the "1st UP." There are certain immutable things in life: Day - night, black - white, vanilla - chocolate, left - right, down - up. All those "downs" and no "ups." And nobody ever mentions it, either! Unbelievable.
11/The goal of the game is to get the football to the far end of the field with all of one's body parts intact. This is called a touchdown and everybody makes a big deal out of it. This is really my favorite part because everybody jumps up and down and goes crazy and nobody notices that I just grabbed the last of the nachos, etc. At least I have *my* priorities in order.
Okay, who's up for pizza?
12/After a touchdown, the team gets to play for an extra point. This is usually done by kicking the football between two goal posts. The team has a "kicker" and as far as I can tell, that's all he does. Everybody in the stands is watching this guy. The TV cameras are watching him. The coach is chewing like crazy and he's watching him. His mama is watching. This puts a lot of pressure on the poor guy and it's a really tense moment. Sometimes that one point can make or break the game for the team. Will he make the kick?
Like I care. Pass the pizza.
I asked His Holiness to look this over to make sure I explained everything. He said it wasn't quite accurate. Now he tells me!
And would you believe the wretch is laughing?
Tsk. Now, I'm not sure if I should explain the rules of basketball and baseball to you.
~Sar~
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
A quick note
I adore your comments on the blog and I am really delighted to read the emails you send to my addy. However...
A few weeks ago, someone sent me an email... the "sender" line was blank; the "subject" line was "none" and I mistakenly opened it. It turned out okay - it was someone commenting on my stories. But...
In this age of virus scares and undesirable email i.e., I'm not in need of a penile enlargement device, Viagra, breast enhancement, nor a mortgage and I definitely do NOT want to see Candy on her webcam or celebrities "doing it."
In the past few days I have received about half a dozen emails with blank lines on sender and subject line and I have not opened them. If you want to comment, please put something in the subject line so I know it has to do with my website fiction and/or blog. A "sender" name would be helpful, too. I reply to most emails - ignoring the few ugly ones I receive that boast about the size of their equipment and/or "ya haven't lived till you make it with a female dom." Oye!
So, if you've sent email and I didn't reply... I'm not being rude, just cautious.
~Sar~
A few weeks ago, someone sent me an email... the "sender" line was blank; the "subject" line was "none" and I mistakenly opened it. It turned out okay - it was someone commenting on my stories. But...
In this age of virus scares and undesirable email i.e., I'm not in need of a penile enlargement device, Viagra, breast enhancement, nor a mortgage and I definitely do NOT want to see Candy on her webcam or celebrities "doing it."
In the past few days I have received about half a dozen emails with blank lines on sender and subject line and I have not opened them. If you want to comment, please put something in the subject line so I know it has to do with my website fiction and/or blog. A "sender" name would be helpful, too. I reply to most emails - ignoring the few ugly ones I receive that boast about the size of their equipment and/or "ya haven't lived till you make it with a female dom." Oye!
So, if you've sent email and I didn't reply... I'm not being rude, just cautious.
~Sar~
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