A couple days ago Sar had to appear for her jury summons. To get to the justice center in time, she had to be up by 0500 hours. My wife is not a morning person.
She set the alarm but from past experience I know it will wake her, she will turn it off and go right back to sleep. I'm generally up by 0515 hours so I woke her when I got up.
Wild horses--
Took her into the shower with me. Let me just say that Sar is probably the only person on the planet who can stand under a hard shower spray and fall back to sleep. If she wasn't leaning on me she probably would have slipped to the floor and curled up and slept despite the water beating down.
Got her dried off and dressed presentably. She slept through the whole thing.
She had planned to drive down to the justice center but even after forcing a bit of coffee down her throat, she was still in dreamland. Made arrangements to take care of some matters in downtown Seattle which is about halfway between our home and where she had to be. Tucked her into the car and drove her down there myself. Two hours later we pull up in front of the justice center and Sar wakes up. I get some coffee and muffins into her and park the car and am gratified that she can walk into the building under her own steam.
I ask her if she's awake. She says of course she is and why would I ask. I know better than to tell her. I roll my eyes. Sar says I need a couth boost.
I watch her go through security and tell her to have a good day and to call me when she's dismissed for the day. I don't think she heard me. She was already unwrapping a Twinkie as she got in the elevator to go to her assigned room.
She calls me in the middle of the day to say that a judge gave the jury orientation and he told a lot of jokes. Sar said he needs to keep his day job - none were funny and no one laughed. She offered him a Twinkie when he finished speaking and he took it. This does not bode well for the justice system.
She was selected with a pool of 50 others to fill out a questionnaire. A panel of 12 will be chosen from that pool. The case was sexual misconduct and Sar wanted to know what kind of sexual misconduct. She said she asked if it was rape, attempted rape, something else? I told her I hoped she didn't ask if it was kinky sex like spanking. Her immediate reply was we're kinky? Cool!
I pick her up an hour or so later. The attorneys have to go over the questionnaire and she's dismissed until the next day. She's already eaten an entire box of Twinkies, a couple of candy bars and now she's ready for lunch. It's a little late for lunch but there's a small Greek restaurant in the area I've been meaning to try and they're open all day so we go there.
Did I ever mention my wife weighs a bit over 100 lbs? That's about 7 stone. I don't know where she puts all that food but trust me when I say if you're eating at our table you better help yourself before she consumes all the good stuff.
We get the mixed Greek platter so we can sample everything and as soon as Sar tastes something she really likes, she tries to take my portion after she eats hers. I give up trying to keep some for myself but I let the waitress know to start packing an order to take home. Eventually, I'm going to get to eat more than Greek salad.
Greek salad. Sar eats the feta cheese and some lettuce with pita bread and dumps the rest of it onto my plate. I tell her I'm gonna spank her when we get home. She rolls her eyes and I laugh. I love to watch her eat. A woman with that kind of appetite has an appetite for more intimate things and I am a very lucky man.
Dessert is Greek cookies and Baklava and a special kind of rice pudding. Sar orders all of it and when she can't eat another bite, I pay the fairly large check. She sleeps all the way home.
The next day is a repeat. I get up at 0500 hours, get her dressed and while she sleeps, I drive her down to the justice center. She calls me about an hour later. The case was dismissed and her civic duty is complete. I can't pick her up for at least an hour and she says that's ok, she's gonna check out the shops across from the justice center. I don't have to ask where she'll be. If there's a food establishment in the shopping district, that's where I'll find her.
I find her in the bakery-coffee shop drinking a latte and sharing a table with an elderly man wearing a baker's apron. They're swapping recipes and both of them seem to be having a good time. Sar is taking bites out of a big array of pastries and commenting. The old guy is beaming. Good thing I'm already married to this gal or she might run away with this man.
I'm not disappointed she wasn't chosen for the jury panel. When attorneys ask prospective jurors particular questions, I think most answer honestly and with courtesy. Sar would be honest in her answers but she speaks from her gut. "Cut off his balls!" is not an acceptable answer to what to do with someone found guilty of sexual misconduct.
The justice system has no idea they just dodged a bullet.
Cowboy
Friday, March 31, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Maintenance
No, no, not maintenance spankings. How crass!
If you've been trying to get to my story website and/or drool over the pics of my beautiful babies... the links aren't currently working. The reason is that 50.megs - my host server is down for maintenance. If they're not back up tomorrow, I shall investigate the problem and drop you another note.
Worn out from my first day of jury duty - nothing earth shattering going on there and I hope it stays that way.
Thanks for the notes.
~Sar~
If you've been trying to get to my story website and/or drool over the pics of my beautiful babies... the links aren't currently working. The reason is that 50.megs - my host server is down for maintenance. If they're not back up tomorrow, I shall investigate the problem and drop you another note.
Worn out from my first day of jury duty - nothing earth shattering going on there and I hope it stays that way.
Thanks for the notes.
~Sar~
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Mr. Grumpy!
It's Spring! We're having "Perry Como" skies ("The bluest skies you'll ever see are in Seattle.") The sun is shining, the air is crisp and the temps are in the low 50's F. Crocus is coming up and so are the daffodils and I can see the first green leaves of the tulips popping up everywhere! Woody Woodpecker (red headed bird from the cartoons) has already visited my suet stand and pierced the cat with his steely glare. The cat stared back. Woody visits every year with his mate and their new baby. There's a new saltlick on the side of the house for all the Bambis about to be born and visiting and I'm eager to be in the backyard doing things and enjoying the great outdoors.
"Grass is wet, bambina. Stay inside today."
Jeez! What a spoil sport.
"Too chilly for you to be working in the yard today. I don't want you to get a sore throat."
Oh for cryin out loud!
"The robins are yanking worms out of the ground. If it's not too cold for those little critters, it's not too cold for me!" So there!
"I know a spot that's gonna get warmed real fast if you defy me."
"Defy you! Who died and made you king of the world?"
SWAT!
Tsk.
When I get the sniffles or God forbid, cough once or twice, the squid goes into commando mode. He morphs into Dr. GooglePuss - so named because he earned his medical degree on Google. He rolls his eyes when I call him Dr. GooglePuss because he says he learned a lot of medical stuff when he was training to be a Seal. Yeah, yeah, and I'm queen of Finland.
Not sure if Finland has a queen but nevertheless...
If I come down with a fever, all hell breaks loose. I get aspirin, cough medicine, and hot tea with honey - all forced down my throat and against my will. I threaten his need for a food taster and he threatens to turn my butt into combustible heat.
I check my forehead - feels okay to me.
He checks my forehead... "You feel a little warm, bambina. Stay inside today."
"Listen up, Squid!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"I was thinking of making peach cobbler later," I inform the giant squid.
"Make it now. Then you won't have time to think about being out in the yard."
"Nope. Need to be outdoors and then when I come back in, I'll be energized to make the cobbler."
"Any second now I'm gonna be energized to warm your butt."
Tsk. The man has a one-track mind.
"Okay. I'll make cobbler and while you're away today, I'll eat the whole thing by myself."
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Hot cobbler with cold vanilla ice cream... all for me!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"I need that cobbler, bambina."
"I need to be outdoors for a while."
Do you know that look? The one where Genghis Khan lifts his arm to throw the killing spear? He's on his giant steed and his Fu Manchu mustache twitches with delight and his eyebrows arch and his eyes go all steely and he yells the battle cry.
Oy!
So now I'm looking at the floor from an upside down position and the caveman I live with - a throwback to Neanderthals and maybe pro-magnum creatures - certainly not anything Homo-erectus - is chuckling as he gives me a really hard swat.
"I'll never make peach cobbler again," I yell.
"You'll never sit comfortably in this lifetime if you don't make that peach cobbler."
"Piss-ant!"
SWAT!
"I won't climb any trees, just want to be outside for a while."
"You can fill the bird feeders and then come right back in. Are we clear on this?"
Are we clear? Jeez. I'm upside down; of course we're clear. But wait till I'm back on my feet again.
"Uh-huh."
"Don't make me chase you, bambina."
Oh why not? You might slip or trip and I'd be hard pressed not to laugh.
SWAT!
Tsk. How did he know what I was thinking?
So I went outside and filled the bird feeders and lingered until he made "red hot" threats and when he saw me begin to make the cobbler, he kissed me goodbye and took off for the navy base. From now on, if I get sick I'm not calling him Dr. GooglePuss anymore. Meet the giant squid... also known as Mr. Grumpy.
~Sar~
P.S. The cobbler was ready about an hour later and the pups and I ate it for lunch.
Don't mess with me when I'm queen of Finland.
"Grass is wet, bambina. Stay inside today."
Jeez! What a spoil sport.
"Too chilly for you to be working in the yard today. I don't want you to get a sore throat."
Oh for cryin out loud!
"The robins are yanking worms out of the ground. If it's not too cold for those little critters, it's not too cold for me!" So there!
"I know a spot that's gonna get warmed real fast if you defy me."
"Defy you! Who died and made you king of the world?"
SWAT!
Tsk.
When I get the sniffles or God forbid, cough once or twice, the squid goes into commando mode. He morphs into Dr. GooglePuss - so named because he earned his medical degree on Google. He rolls his eyes when I call him Dr. GooglePuss because he says he learned a lot of medical stuff when he was training to be a Seal. Yeah, yeah, and I'm queen of Finland.
Not sure if Finland has a queen but nevertheless...
If I come down with a fever, all hell breaks loose. I get aspirin, cough medicine, and hot tea with honey - all forced down my throat and against my will. I threaten his need for a food taster and he threatens to turn my butt into combustible heat.
I check my forehead - feels okay to me.
He checks my forehead... "You feel a little warm, bambina. Stay inside today."
"Listen up, Squid!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"I was thinking of making peach cobbler later," I inform the giant squid.
"Make it now. Then you won't have time to think about being out in the yard."
"Nope. Need to be outdoors and then when I come back in, I'll be energized to make the cobbler."
"Any second now I'm gonna be energized to warm your butt."
Tsk. The man has a one-track mind.
"Okay. I'll make cobbler and while you're away today, I'll eat the whole thing by myself."
SWAT!
Tsk.
"Hot cobbler with cold vanilla ice cream... all for me!"
SWAT!
Tsk.
"I need that cobbler, bambina."
"I need to be outdoors for a while."
Do you know that look? The one where Genghis Khan lifts his arm to throw the killing spear? He's on his giant steed and his Fu Manchu mustache twitches with delight and his eyebrows arch and his eyes go all steely and he yells the battle cry.
Oy!
So now I'm looking at the floor from an upside down position and the caveman I live with - a throwback to Neanderthals and maybe pro-magnum creatures - certainly not anything Homo-erectus - is chuckling as he gives me a really hard swat.
"I'll never make peach cobbler again," I yell.
"You'll never sit comfortably in this lifetime if you don't make that peach cobbler."
"Piss-ant!"
SWAT!
"I won't climb any trees, just want to be outside for a while."
"You can fill the bird feeders and then come right back in. Are we clear on this?"
Are we clear? Jeez. I'm upside down; of course we're clear. But wait till I'm back on my feet again.
"Uh-huh."
"Don't make me chase you, bambina."
Oh why not? You might slip or trip and I'd be hard pressed not to laugh.
SWAT!
Tsk. How did he know what I was thinking?
So I went outside and filled the bird feeders and lingered until he made "red hot" threats and when he saw me begin to make the cobbler, he kissed me goodbye and took off for the navy base. From now on, if I get sick I'm not calling him Dr. GooglePuss anymore. Meet the giant squid... also known as Mr. Grumpy.
~Sar~
P.S. The cobbler was ready about an hour later and the pups and I ate it for lunch.
Don't mess with me when I'm queen of Finland.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Updating
Never thought I'd be one to blog but Sar's been a bit busy lately and when she started this thing she gave me the url for posting along with her password so I could - in her words - feel free to ramble during my *senior moments.* Oh yeah, gave her a swat for that.
Whenever I am away for a few days the imp reverts to the habits of her life before me. She eats junk and sleeps when her eyes close and lives life in double time. We've been married for a lot of years and she still has that zest for living every day to the fullest that she had when we first met. Translation: doing whatever pleases her. I spend a lot of time slowing her down a bit so she'll have the energy to enjoy another day. About the only way to do that is to keep an arm around her which isn't a bad way to spend a few hours.
So the other night there was a full moon and the imp wants to dance naked in the backyard. This is a monthly event but one I object to in the winter months. The first time I laid eyes on her she was dancing at a benefit for military veterans. It was in DC and I took one look and knew I needed to know more. On that particular occasion she had clothes on. It wasn't until we got a fenced yard that she started dancing without any clothes on. Have to say I didn't object. In the beginning we lived in a wooded area in Virginia. Had a lot of trees and the closest neighbors were a bit away from us. Sat on the back steps and watched this wood nymph dance. It was a beautiful sight. It's still a beautiful sight but I don't want her catching pneumonia.
Sar wears leg warmers when she dances and if it's cold out she adds a wool scarf. Last night after I told her earlier it was too cold for her to be out there dancing, I noticed she added mittens and a wool cap. Naked lady with leg warmers, scarf, mittens and cap. I'm telling you folks this woman could teach Special Forces how to evade the enemy. I put noisemakers on all the doorknobs that lead to the backyard so I know if they are opened - cowbells, mobiles, anything that rings or clacks together - and she still got out the door without my hearing her. On top of that her Rott and Mastiff got out with her without making a sound.
I realize it's too quiet in the house and walk out to the back deck and there she is - dancing like it's 80 degrees - her dogs sitting in the middle of the yard watching her. I take off after her. The dogs get in my way. I order them to sit. They don't listen to me. I consider that insubordination and yell at them. I'm not gonna swear to this but the sounds they made might have been dog laughter.
I chase after her. Her scarf gets caught on one of the evergreens and I get a grip on her arm. That's the end of the dance. I haul her over my shoulder, deliver a couple of good hot swats and pull my sweater off and cover her up. The whole time she is protesting and laughing and wiggling and - ok, she's sexy as hell and all I can think of is getting her in the house and warming that butt and lovin her.
I do all that and have to leave the house early in the morning. Come home about mid morning and Sar is on the back deck with 4 dogs and 2 cats and 2 boxes of twinkies - about 40 twinkies - and an empty gallon of milk. The boxes are empty. Sar is asleep. Her Mastiff is snoring. The 3 Rotts are glass eyed and the 2 cats are doing what cats do - licking their fur. Sugar high. At least she was wearing enough warm clothes. I pick her up to take her in the house - she's waking up and giving me that drunk look she gets when she doesn't remember how she got where she is. I think this is how women achieve an innocent look when you ask them something they don't want to answer. It's a memory thing. I tell her she ate too many twinkies. Sar says there's no such thing as too many. She says the same thing about chocolate. I'm thinking a spanking is about to happen. The rest is none of your business.
Cowboy
Whenever I am away for a few days the imp reverts to the habits of her life before me. She eats junk and sleeps when her eyes close and lives life in double time. We've been married for a lot of years and she still has that zest for living every day to the fullest that she had when we first met. Translation: doing whatever pleases her. I spend a lot of time slowing her down a bit so she'll have the energy to enjoy another day. About the only way to do that is to keep an arm around her which isn't a bad way to spend a few hours.
So the other night there was a full moon and the imp wants to dance naked in the backyard. This is a monthly event but one I object to in the winter months. The first time I laid eyes on her she was dancing at a benefit for military veterans. It was in DC and I took one look and knew I needed to know more. On that particular occasion she had clothes on. It wasn't until we got a fenced yard that she started dancing without any clothes on. Have to say I didn't object. In the beginning we lived in a wooded area in Virginia. Had a lot of trees and the closest neighbors were a bit away from us. Sat on the back steps and watched this wood nymph dance. It was a beautiful sight. It's still a beautiful sight but I don't want her catching pneumonia.
Sar wears leg warmers when she dances and if it's cold out she adds a wool scarf. Last night after I told her earlier it was too cold for her to be out there dancing, I noticed she added mittens and a wool cap. Naked lady with leg warmers, scarf, mittens and cap. I'm telling you folks this woman could teach Special Forces how to evade the enemy. I put noisemakers on all the doorknobs that lead to the backyard so I know if they are opened - cowbells, mobiles, anything that rings or clacks together - and she still got out the door without my hearing her. On top of that her Rott and Mastiff got out with her without making a sound.
I realize it's too quiet in the house and walk out to the back deck and there she is - dancing like it's 80 degrees - her dogs sitting in the middle of the yard watching her. I take off after her. The dogs get in my way. I order them to sit. They don't listen to me. I consider that insubordination and yell at them. I'm not gonna swear to this but the sounds they made might have been dog laughter.
I chase after her. Her scarf gets caught on one of the evergreens and I get a grip on her arm. That's the end of the dance. I haul her over my shoulder, deliver a couple of good hot swats and pull my sweater off and cover her up. The whole time she is protesting and laughing and wiggling and - ok, she's sexy as hell and all I can think of is getting her in the house and warming that butt and lovin her.
I do all that and have to leave the house early in the morning. Come home about mid morning and Sar is on the back deck with 4 dogs and 2 cats and 2 boxes of twinkies - about 40 twinkies - and an empty gallon of milk. The boxes are empty. Sar is asleep. Her Mastiff is snoring. The 3 Rotts are glass eyed and the 2 cats are doing what cats do - licking their fur. Sugar high. At least she was wearing enough warm clothes. I pick her up to take her in the house - she's waking up and giving me that drunk look she gets when she doesn't remember how she got where she is. I think this is how women achieve an innocent look when you ask them something they don't want to answer. It's a memory thing. I tell her she ate too many twinkies. Sar says there's no such thing as too many. She says the same thing about chocolate. I'm thinking a spanking is about to happen. The rest is none of your business.
Cowboy
Thursday, March 09, 2006
I'm Home!
And the imp is in high gear. After the initial hello and missed you and sweet stuff she went straight into "Sar" mode. She probably was already living in the fast lane while I was away and just paused long enough for a reunion. "Sar" mode means she ate junk food the entire time I was away, slept little and jogged far more miles than she should. And if she was feeling those endorphins, she probably "ran" more than she jogged. Running is not good for her. She has weak lungs. Jogging is ok if paced and if she doesn't overdo.
I asked her about that. Naturally she denied any knowledge of running or jogging or anything else. I gave her a couple of swats just for good measure. She called me an anal retentive baboon butthead. That's a compliment - better than a piss-ant which is an annoying creature.
I wanted to know exactly how much rest she got. Sar has bouts of insomnia and if I'm not home to keep her in bed she'll get up and work in her studio all night. Instead of answering my questions she jumped me, hugged me tight, kissed me - very sweet kisses - and did naughty things. She fights dirty and she plays dirty. I'm married to an imp and a seductress and about the time I'm ready to upend her and light a fire where it will do the most good, she's goes and does something that has my heart racing and my hands eager to do other things.
We had some unexpected company for a few days. They just left and the whole time they were here I had the greatest urge to warm the imp's butt. She teased me, touching me on the sly in places she shouldn't touch unless we can follow through. She flashed me when no one was looking - no undies. And when she served a meal she made sure she leaned her soft breasts on my shoulder as she set a plate in front of me. I was ready to grab her and ignore our guests and just have done with it. At night when we were alone in our bedroom, I was painfully aware that our guests were down the hall in the guestroom. I'm not an exhibitionist so while I made "quiet" love to my wife, I could hardly spank her. I made a lot of threats and the imp laughed.
As soon as I post this I'm going out to the backyard, gonna climb that tree she's hiding in, haul her down and over my lap and spank that cute little butt of hers. Yeah, good stuff follows.
Cowboy
I asked her about that. Naturally she denied any knowledge of running or jogging or anything else. I gave her a couple of swats just for good measure. She called me an anal retentive baboon butthead. That's a compliment - better than a piss-ant which is an annoying creature.
I wanted to know exactly how much rest she got. Sar has bouts of insomnia and if I'm not home to keep her in bed she'll get up and work in her studio all night. Instead of answering my questions she jumped me, hugged me tight, kissed me - very sweet kisses - and did naughty things. She fights dirty and she plays dirty. I'm married to an imp and a seductress and about the time I'm ready to upend her and light a fire where it will do the most good, she's goes and does something that has my heart racing and my hands eager to do other things.
We had some unexpected company for a few days. They just left and the whole time they were here I had the greatest urge to warm the imp's butt. She teased me, touching me on the sly in places she shouldn't touch unless we can follow through. She flashed me when no one was looking - no undies. And when she served a meal she made sure she leaned her soft breasts on my shoulder as she set a plate in front of me. I was ready to grab her and ignore our guests and just have done with it. At night when we were alone in our bedroom, I was painfully aware that our guests were down the hall in the guestroom. I'm not an exhibitionist so while I made "quiet" love to my wife, I could hardly spank her. I made a lot of threats and the imp laughed.
As soon as I post this I'm going out to the backyard, gonna climb that tree she's hiding in, haul her down and over my lap and spank that cute little butt of hers. Yeah, good stuff follows.
Cowboy
Thursday, March 02, 2006
Cowboy's Away...
His Holiness is away for a few days. When he left, he admonished me to "behave."
Tsk.
As if I needed reminding. I'm so good it's downright disgusting. On the up side, there isn't a veggie in sight and the pups and I are eating real food - burgers and onion rings and milkshakes and mac and cheese and Twinkies and plenty of chocolate for me, plenty of beer and wine for the pups. The other night, we all got high on our intake of choice and almost passed out on the back deck.
Naturally, that's when the giant squid called to say hello, what are you doing and how come I'm not gonna be happy with the answer.
I don't tolerate obscene or rude phone calls so I hung up on him.
Did you hear him yell? My name, when spoken in a normal conversational tone rhymes with "star" or "far." When spoken softly - as it generally is during loving is more a whisper of desire. However, when roared at an unbelievable volume over the phone lines... sounds more like When I get home, I'm gonna burn your butt!
Double tsk.
This might be a good time for the pups and I to head south. We haven't been down to Oregon in a while and the beach there, in winter, is magnificent - high bluffs, huge winds, nice cozy cabins, and lots of little cafés and shops.
Meanwhile...
I got a jury summons. I don't have to appear until the end of the month and I don't mind doing my patriotic good citizen duty and serving. I live in an unincorporated area so the courthouse is a 2-hour drive away. Commuting 4 hours a day doesn't do a lot for my disposition and I'd be happy to take a motel room just to avoid the traffic but it's in an area I'm unfamiliar with and that makes me a little uncomfortable. So, I'll drive back and forth each day I'm required to be there.
I was summoned to superior court. I have no idea what superior court is - makes one think there must be an "inferior" one below that. Tsk.
I was called for jury duty when we lived in Florida. We lived in the outskirts of Dade County - that's Miami - and that courthouse is on the edge of downtown Miami where parking your car and leaving it for more than 30 seconds insures that all or parts of it will be missing before you can blink an eye.
They herded us into a courtroom after some administrative stuff and the "congratulations! You get to do your civic duty" speech. One by one, an attorney asked us questions. The accused was on trial because while intoxicated, he ran his car over another person who had the gall to die. So the attorney says "do you believe in the death penalty?"
"Hell yes!" I shouted. "Hang the bastard!"
I was dismissed.
I wonder if they would have kept me on if I said, "fry him" instead? Florida has the electric chair, Ol Sparky, I think they call it.
I went back to the common room and read my self-help book, Winning Through Intimidation.
The next case I was interviewed for was rape. They dressed up the accused in really nice clothes and the victim in a pinafore-type dress. It was like watching a really awful "B" movie. If the attorney looked anything like David Niven, I'd have managed to stay alert. The attorney says "if found guilty, what kind of sentence would you consider?"
"Cut off his dangly bits!"
I was dismissed.
Tsk. I really wanted to say cut off his balls but I'm a lady.
Not long after that, the judge in the rape case showed up at the same social function His Holiness and I were attending. When the man saw me, his hand went straight to his crotch! Tsk! Such ungentlemanly behavior.
In a few weeks, I'll let you know how this jury summons went. I did "google" the area around the courthouse and there's a Dairy Queen there. I wonder if one can eat during a trial? I'm bringing plenty of chocolate just in case.
The foster pups are doing great. Oliver, the Mastiff has filled out quite a bit; he likes my beef stew and liver biscuits and he's learned not to sit on me. That's a huge plus since he's the size of a pony.
The Scottish Deerhound - Murdock - is a disgrace to his breed. Bambi and his mom visit the saltlick on the side of the yard regularly. Murdock wants to play with Bambi. It's possible the dog embraces all species but I think he might be a wee bit mentally challenged.
Tuma, the Alaskan Malamute, tries my patience to the limit. He's a prankster and though he's learning to follow both voice and hand signals, he goes deaf and dumb on me whenever the mood strikes. Two nights in a row of kibble cures him for a few days. I may have to sic DomTom, my alpha cat, on him.
Then, there's Archie, the bloodhound. The old fella thinks he's at a spa and lives to be waited on and adored. Both cats adore him. I think the attraction is his ears but whatever it is, both groom him regularly. I reminded him that his nose is vitally important and should be used in a worthwhile manner. He goosed the squid - I considered that very worthwhile.
I think I've mentioned that D.H. Lawrence's lover, Lady Chatterly, lives down the street from me. Her "daddy" is flying in this weekend and she wanted to show me some of her new gladrags. I was happy to see her model them - v-e-r-y sexy stuff. I'm sure her daddy will be thrilled. The male neighbors on either side of her house also got a show; their wives were not so thrilled. Since she moved into the neighborhood, more people own binoculars than ever before.
There's a full moon on the 14th. Traditionally, I dance nude in the backyard to welcome the full moon and especially to celebrate the rites of Spring. I have a very high wooden fence though that doesn't stop my 97-year old neighbor from watching me from his 2nd story window. He has a telescope. Cowboy says Spring doesn't happen till April but I like to practice. With any luck he'll be out of town that night. Otherwise, the dance will be short and/or I'll get warmed up faster than I like when his hand connects with my dancing butt. The man just doesn't appreciate the fine art of dancing. And it's not like I'm completely nude; I wear leg warmers and a long woolen scarf.
~Sar~
Tsk.
As if I needed reminding. I'm so good it's downright disgusting. On the up side, there isn't a veggie in sight and the pups and I are eating real food - burgers and onion rings and milkshakes and mac and cheese and Twinkies and plenty of chocolate for me, plenty of beer and wine for the pups. The other night, we all got high on our intake of choice and almost passed out on the back deck.
Naturally, that's when the giant squid called to say hello, what are you doing and how come I'm not gonna be happy with the answer.
I don't tolerate obscene or rude phone calls so I hung up on him.
Did you hear him yell? My name, when spoken in a normal conversational tone rhymes with "star" or "far." When spoken softly - as it generally is during loving is more a whisper of desire. However, when roared at an unbelievable volume over the phone lines... sounds more like When I get home, I'm gonna burn your butt!
Double tsk.
This might be a good time for the pups and I to head south. We haven't been down to Oregon in a while and the beach there, in winter, is magnificent - high bluffs, huge winds, nice cozy cabins, and lots of little cafés and shops.
Meanwhile...
I got a jury summons. I don't have to appear until the end of the month and I don't mind doing my patriotic good citizen duty and serving. I live in an unincorporated area so the courthouse is a 2-hour drive away. Commuting 4 hours a day doesn't do a lot for my disposition and I'd be happy to take a motel room just to avoid the traffic but it's in an area I'm unfamiliar with and that makes me a little uncomfortable. So, I'll drive back and forth each day I'm required to be there.
I was summoned to superior court. I have no idea what superior court is - makes one think there must be an "inferior" one below that. Tsk.
I was called for jury duty when we lived in Florida. We lived in the outskirts of Dade County - that's Miami - and that courthouse is on the edge of downtown Miami where parking your car and leaving it for more than 30 seconds insures that all or parts of it will be missing before you can blink an eye.
They herded us into a courtroom after some administrative stuff and the "congratulations! You get to do your civic duty" speech. One by one, an attorney asked us questions. The accused was on trial because while intoxicated, he ran his car over another person who had the gall to die. So the attorney says "do you believe in the death penalty?"
"Hell yes!" I shouted. "Hang the bastard!"
I was dismissed.
I wonder if they would have kept me on if I said, "fry him" instead? Florida has the electric chair, Ol Sparky, I think they call it.
I went back to the common room and read my self-help book, Winning Through Intimidation.
The next case I was interviewed for was rape. They dressed up the accused in really nice clothes and the victim in a pinafore-type dress. It was like watching a really awful "B" movie. If the attorney looked anything like David Niven, I'd have managed to stay alert. The attorney says "if found guilty, what kind of sentence would you consider?"
"Cut off his dangly bits!"
I was dismissed.
Tsk. I really wanted to say cut off his balls but I'm a lady.
Not long after that, the judge in the rape case showed up at the same social function His Holiness and I were attending. When the man saw me, his hand went straight to his crotch! Tsk! Such ungentlemanly behavior.
In a few weeks, I'll let you know how this jury summons went. I did "google" the area around the courthouse and there's a Dairy Queen there. I wonder if one can eat during a trial? I'm bringing plenty of chocolate just in case.
The foster pups are doing great. Oliver, the Mastiff has filled out quite a bit; he likes my beef stew and liver biscuits and he's learned not to sit on me. That's a huge plus since he's the size of a pony.
The Scottish Deerhound - Murdock - is a disgrace to his breed. Bambi and his mom visit the saltlick on the side of the yard regularly. Murdock wants to play with Bambi. It's possible the dog embraces all species but I think he might be a wee bit mentally challenged.
Tuma, the Alaskan Malamute, tries my patience to the limit. He's a prankster and though he's learning to follow both voice and hand signals, he goes deaf and dumb on me whenever the mood strikes. Two nights in a row of kibble cures him for a few days. I may have to sic DomTom, my alpha cat, on him.
Then, there's Archie, the bloodhound. The old fella thinks he's at a spa and lives to be waited on and adored. Both cats adore him. I think the attraction is his ears but whatever it is, both groom him regularly. I reminded him that his nose is vitally important and should be used in a worthwhile manner. He goosed the squid - I considered that very worthwhile.
I think I've mentioned that D.H. Lawrence's lover, Lady Chatterly, lives down the street from me. Her "daddy" is flying in this weekend and she wanted to show me some of her new gladrags. I was happy to see her model them - v-e-r-y sexy stuff. I'm sure her daddy will be thrilled. The male neighbors on either side of her house also got a show; their wives were not so thrilled. Since she moved into the neighborhood, more people own binoculars than ever before.
There's a full moon on the 14th. Traditionally, I dance nude in the backyard to welcome the full moon and especially to celebrate the rites of Spring. I have a very high wooden fence though that doesn't stop my 97-year old neighbor from watching me from his 2nd story window. He has a telescope. Cowboy says Spring doesn't happen till April but I like to practice. With any luck he'll be out of town that night. Otherwise, the dance will be short and/or I'll get warmed up faster than I like when his hand connects with my dancing butt. The man just doesn't appreciate the fine art of dancing. And it's not like I'm completely nude; I wear leg warmers and a long woolen scarf.
~Sar~
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Tofu, Tomatoes & Twinkies
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~
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~
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~
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
February!
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~
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~
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~
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