Usually, about this time, my blog is all sweetness and light; filled me with me talking about attending whatever Crimson Moon party is upcoming. Unfortunately, I'm majorly bummed because next weeks CM party will have to go on without Cigi and I in attendance.
We had every intention of going, mind you. We haven't missed a party since July, 2006 (back when Cigi was still bald from chemo and not feeling very spankable). We were able to attend the October, 2006 party. As fate would have it, my St. Louis Cardinals won the World Series the first night of the party and Cigi happily walked the streets of Chicago with her Cardinal jacket on. Ah...sweet memories.
We survived upheavals that included three or four hotel changes and changes in leadership. We have survived having friends we cared about leaving the group or leaving the scene. We have survived death and illness, too. We love this group like family because of our shared bonds and this is why it hurts so much to miss that time with our CM friends. Not to mention all the good spanking I was planning on getting. I feel badly for the people who were planning on seeing us.
I guess I'm just going to have to find a way to make myself feel better. Maybe I will look up a spanking friend and see if maybe we can have a little party right in my apartment. Of course, it won't be the same, but it will be better than sitting around all weekend watching "House" reruns.
So Dr. Ken, say hi to everyone for us and tell them the twins will be there with bells on in July. In the meantime, I will be eating chocolate and doing other things to make up for how gypped I feel. Maybe I will go on a totally unnecessary shopping spree and load up on new spring clothes and panties. That sounds cool, but, as I have stated on this blog before, shopping isn't really a substitute for spanking in my mind. Nothing is.
OK, scratch the shopping spree. That won't cut it. Oh well...I'm sure if given enough time, I can come up with something.
So to everyone reading this who is heading for the party next week, safe travels and hey, keep me on your dance card for July, OK?
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Hi, My Name Is Cheryl And I'm a Spankoholic
It never fails.
I had a rather interesting conversation with a friend at work tonight. Something happened and spanking was mentioned. I think someone read something in the paper about a young kid going on a joyride and damaging her father's car. One of the older gentlemen I work with stated flatly that, if that had been HIS daughter, she would have been unable to sit down for an extended period of time because she would get some serious time with his belt. Now me being the spanko that I am, this comment intrigued me. Not that belts are my favorite thing, but any mention of corporal punishment perks me in a big way. I said something like "Lucky girl" or something to that effect. I thought no one had heard me, but another person I worked with, someone I considered a friend, looked at me as if I had just sprouted horns. But she waited until the break room was cleared before she said anything else. Now, this woman had been mine and Cigi's room mate for a year and she knew exactly what we were into. She warned me to be careful, that with the economy the way it is, they were looking for any excuse to fire people. I told her that I was discreet and that she needn't worry about me. Then she said something that was surprising, coming from her. She told me there were self-help groups for people with sex addiction. I told her I wasn't a sex addict. She then went on the explain to me that my fascination with spanking wasn't normal and that I should do everything I can to get out of the lifestyle before "something bad happens". This woman has slept with countless men just in the two years I've known her. Her mother calls her promiscuous and a hussy. I told her my spanking fetish was none of her business. How could she lecture ME? My little spanking thing doesn't even involve sex so how could I be sex addicted? And why is it that every time someone discovers that a friend or relative is into kink, they take it upon themselves to tell them how awful it is and then proceed to tell them all the ways they can be rehabilitated? That's why I said it never fails. Who says I want to be rehabilitated and live a spankless life? I did that for 42 years and have no intention of ever doing it again.
What makes people so smug and superior anyway? What gives them the right to judge how another person chooses to live their life? I have never harmed a living soul in all my life. I have the right to the pursuit of happiness and this is how I pursue it.
When this woman discovered my kink (by getting on my computer without asking me) I went to great pains to explain the lifestyle from my standpoint as fully as I could. I explained that safe, sane and consensual are the standards we live by. I explained safewords and safecalls to her. I even let her watch one of my spanking videos. I thought I did all I could to dispel the idea that kinky people are different than "normal" people. I told her that anyone she knew could be kinky and she wouldn't know it. She lived with us for almost a year before she found out about us. We hid it so well that she never suspected a thing. Her attitude tonight hurt me somewhat. I think, at first, she thought it was kind of cool. But now, in light of the fact that Cigi and I are pushing 50, she thinks it's sick. Like only young women in their 20's should be getting spanked. So how do you respond to a person who thinks there should be an age limit when it comes to practicing kink? I tried to educate her, but because she's so much younger than me, I think she might suffer from the delusion that most young people suffer from--that once you hit a certain age, you should cease to be a sexual being. Not that spanking is sexual for me, but I do consider it a part of my sexuality. If I was 25 and she discovered I was kinky, she might think it was OK. But because I'm 48 years old, I should knock it off. I have news for her. I'm not a sex addict, I'm a spanking addict and I intend to stay one until I'm too old to risk playing. So don't expect to see me on "Intervention" anytime soon.
I think as long as my interest in spanking doesn't interfere with my job or my family, and doesn't bankrupt me or make me have a personality change, I will just stick with it, thank you. It's a lot healthier than many addictions I could name.
PS: I'm still looking for that elusive "Man From U.N.C.L.E." still. I have searched Google until my vision is blurry and no luck. Looks like I will just have to break down and buy the whole series on DVD. I want to thank anyone who may have read this and searched for it, with the same luck I had. Thanks, guys :)
I had a rather interesting conversation with a friend at work tonight. Something happened and spanking was mentioned. I think someone read something in the paper about a young kid going on a joyride and damaging her father's car. One of the older gentlemen I work with stated flatly that, if that had been HIS daughter, she would have been unable to sit down for an extended period of time because she would get some serious time with his belt. Now me being the spanko that I am, this comment intrigued me. Not that belts are my favorite thing, but any mention of corporal punishment perks me in a big way. I said something like "Lucky girl" or something to that effect. I thought no one had heard me, but another person I worked with, someone I considered a friend, looked at me as if I had just sprouted horns. But she waited until the break room was cleared before she said anything else. Now, this woman had been mine and Cigi's room mate for a year and she knew exactly what we were into. She warned me to be careful, that with the economy the way it is, they were looking for any excuse to fire people. I told her that I was discreet and that she needn't worry about me. Then she said something that was surprising, coming from her. She told me there were self-help groups for people with sex addiction. I told her I wasn't a sex addict. She then went on the explain to me that my fascination with spanking wasn't normal and that I should do everything I can to get out of the lifestyle before "something bad happens". This woman has slept with countless men just in the two years I've known her. Her mother calls her promiscuous and a hussy. I told her my spanking fetish was none of her business. How could she lecture ME? My little spanking thing doesn't even involve sex so how could I be sex addicted? And why is it that every time someone discovers that a friend or relative is into kink, they take it upon themselves to tell them how awful it is and then proceed to tell them all the ways they can be rehabilitated? That's why I said it never fails. Who says I want to be rehabilitated and live a spankless life? I did that for 42 years and have no intention of ever doing it again.
What makes people so smug and superior anyway? What gives them the right to judge how another person chooses to live their life? I have never harmed a living soul in all my life. I have the right to the pursuit of happiness and this is how I pursue it.
When this woman discovered my kink (by getting on my computer without asking me) I went to great pains to explain the lifestyle from my standpoint as fully as I could. I explained that safe, sane and consensual are the standards we live by. I explained safewords and safecalls to her. I even let her watch one of my spanking videos. I thought I did all I could to dispel the idea that kinky people are different than "normal" people. I told her that anyone she knew could be kinky and she wouldn't know it. She lived with us for almost a year before she found out about us. We hid it so well that she never suspected a thing. Her attitude tonight hurt me somewhat. I think, at first, she thought it was kind of cool. But now, in light of the fact that Cigi and I are pushing 50, she thinks it's sick. Like only young women in their 20's should be getting spanked. So how do you respond to a person who thinks there should be an age limit when it comes to practicing kink? I tried to educate her, but because she's so much younger than me, I think she might suffer from the delusion that most young people suffer from--that once you hit a certain age, you should cease to be a sexual being. Not that spanking is sexual for me, but I do consider it a part of my sexuality. If I was 25 and she discovered I was kinky, she might think it was OK. But because I'm 48 years old, I should knock it off. I have news for her. I'm not a sex addict, I'm a spanking addict and I intend to stay one until I'm too old to risk playing. So don't expect to see me on "Intervention" anytime soon.
I think as long as my interest in spanking doesn't interfere with my job or my family, and doesn't bankrupt me or make me have a personality change, I will just stick with it, thank you. It's a lot healthier than many addictions I could name.
PS: I'm still looking for that elusive "Man From U.N.C.L.E." still. I have searched Google until my vision is blurry and no luck. Looks like I will just have to break down and buy the whole series on DVD. I want to thank anyone who may have read this and searched for it, with the same luck I had. Thanks, guys :)
Friday, February 13, 2009
Help! Looking For A Still!
You know, having been interested in spanking (the M/f variety at least) as long as I can remember, I would've thought I'd seen every spanking still ever produced from a movie or TV show. But, alas, it appears I've missed one. What makes this whole thing frustrating and, I'll admit, somewhat embarrassing is the fact that this still is from a favorite show of mine. Because I had an older sister who was in love with these guys, she was glued to the TV every Tuesday and then later when it moved to Fridays. It ran from 1964 to 1968 and starred two very attractive men as spies for an international peace-keeping organization. Give up? Here's a hint:
These guys were the coolest thing on TV in those days. There was Robert Vaughn as the suave, deboinare Nepoleon Solo and David McCallum as the cool, calm Russian Illya Kuryakin. Now, of course, some of the plots were silly and contrived. And we were asked to believe that a Scottish actor could play a Russian secret agent believably. But they had the neatest gadgets and let's face it there's just something about the way men dressed in those days. The whole package was just cool with a capital C.
Now the reason I'm going on about The Man From U.N.C.L.E. is because there was a near spanking on that show that I just discovered recently. I admit to being a fan of the show and have seen it in syndication on several channels over the years. But I haven't seen every single episode. The episode in question was the third season opener and was called "The Her Master's Voice Affair". Yes, for those of you who remember, the word "affair" was in the title of every episode. Probably because the word is faintly British and in the mid-'60's anything British was bound to sell. I won't trouble you too much with the plot but it involves our heroes going to a girl's school on Long Island (or was it Rhode Island? I forget...) where young people are being trained to get important information from their scientist parents and pass them on to the Bad Guys. Illya is given the assignment of acting as body guard and tutor to a rather difficult young lady. The stuff of fantasy, right? Well, since I haven't seen the episode, I can't say what precedes the aborted spanking on this show. I'm told Illya has the young lady over his knee and is about to put palm to bottom when his communicator goes off. Now this was a plot contrivance that was commonly used when someone needed to be saved by the bell. And by all accounts, she needed saving badly.
I'm looking for a clip or still from this episode. Gwen, if you read this, maybe you can put your mavening powers to work and find it for me. I would be eternally grateful. It just galls me that there's something out there from a TV show (and one of my all-time favorites) that I haven't seen. At least, I don't remember seeing it. After all, I was five years old at the time. If anyone can dig this up for me, please let me know by leaving a comment here. Thanks!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Ch..Ch..Ch..Changes
You might be wondering why I opened my post today with not one, but two pictures of David Bowie. Well, most of you know me. Sometimes I like to say things in a roundabout way. I'm using photos of the man who inspired today's title to illustrate a point, which I will now get to. The two pictures of the aforementioned Mr. Bowie were taken six years apart; the left one in 1977, the other in 1983. By a mere coincidence, I have been in the spanking scene for six years--the exact length of time that seperates these two pictures of David Bowie (real name: David Jones). Bowie was (and probably still is) a chameleon; famous as much for his ability to change his appearance seemingly at will as for his musical ability.
I have friends who swear I haven't changed a bit over the years. At work, I sometimes see people who I haven't seen since high school. Despite the fact that I graduated 30 years ago, they all swear they knew it was me as soon as they saw me. This got me to thinking. How much have I changed over the years? And, more importantly, how much have I changed in the six years I have been involved in the spanking scene? Let's find out:
The picture on the left was taken in 2003, my first year in the scene. The one on the right (which I also use as my profile picture) is much more recent. Despite the obvious changes (like the length and color of my hair) there have been a few subtle ones, too; the kind that don't show up in a photograph. For one thing, when I first started, I was naive to put it mildly. Like most of the women (and a lot of the men) in the scene, I have appearance issues that made me feel rather self-conscious. In the vanilla world, most men ignored me. When I joined the spanking scene, I discovered that for some men, I was considered attractive. This came as a shock. I never thought of myself as pretty before. I always considered myself a "handsome" woman, to use the parlance of my father's time. "Handome" meant not beautiful but not ugly either. A feeling of gratitude crept into my thinking. If I wasn't in the scene, would these men even bother to give me a second look? This led me to the second change I noticed in myself; something that nothing else had been able to hammer home: I am fine the way I am.
It's funny to think how much I have changed in six years; not just physically, but emotionally as well. I was afraid six years ago of being psychologically damaged in some way. Now I know that that isn't likely to happen. I'm a much more confident person because of my involvement in the spanking scene. This is also something that I tried many ways to change about myself. I wanted to be confident and upbeat, but I knew as long as I lacked the courage to acknowledge that side of myself it was never going to happen. So does confidence show outwardly? Can you see the difference in my confidence level between the two pictures of me? Or is it an illusion? Judge for yourself. Get a picture of yourself before you entered the scene and one after and see if there isn't a real difference. Not just the differences that happen because of the changes the years make in your appearance, but look at yourself beyond the merely physical and see if there aren't other changes that can be read. You might be surprised.
"Time may change me but I can't trace time".
---"Changes" by David Bowie
Friday, January 30, 2009
Get A Clue!
I had a rather fustrating chat tonight. This guy asked me right off the bat if I made love to any of the men who have spanked me. This was about three minutes into our chat and that was the second personal question he asked. The first was if I was childless by choice or because I couldn't have them. This guy is a dom and makes no bones about it. I can live with that.
What I can't live with is his insistance that "friends" can talk anything together. While I certainly agree that this is true, it was five minutes into our first chat. I hardly think that qualifies us as "friends".
This big Domly Dom then spent the next fifteen minutes or so pelting me with a sarcastic discussion of the weather, asking me if talking about the weather was "too personal". Geez, some people. Just because I wouldn't tell him if I was sleeping with any of my spankers. Why do some men think that spanking and sex are interchangable? That one can't possibly exist without the other? I knew what his game was. He was trying to guage me. I told him flat out that I was NOT a submissive and I didn't appreciate him treating me like one. He just assumed I would willingly answer any questions he asked me, no matter how personal, because I wanted to please him. Please! When will these doms get it through their heads that not all girls who get spanked are submissive? He was sarcastic and condescending throughout most of our chat. OK, I could have gone into a long and boring dissertation about how I'm a Christian and I'm not casual about sex, but I sincerely doubt his dom brain would've been able to grasp the concept of a woman who doesn't put out for every guy she meets. I didn't ask him personal questions. I was respectful and courteous to him at all times despite the fact that I'm sure he thought that was a submissive response. I just did it because it's what polite people do. I could've been terribly rude to him and told him off, but I didn't. The truth is, this one of the most enfuriating things I encounter in the scene. And it happens all the time. I don't treat every top I play with like a dom. Why should it happen the other way around?
I hate to say it, but I think sometimes submissives do us bottoms a disservice. They are all so accomodating--they get naked and get sexual with total strangers because, well, that what subs do, isn't it? The men become so conditioned to this response that they expect it from every woman they play with. I played at a party once with a dom who told me rather smugly that every woman he has ever played with has orgasmed copiously from playing with him and he expected no less from me. In fact, he insisted I report to him how many orgasms I had when we were done playing. I got up off his lap and jerked my panties up. "It was a nice round number" I told him. "Zero." His brow furrowed. He asked me in perfect seriousness if he had given me permission to pull my panties up. I told him they were MY panties and didn't need his precious permission to pull them up. He told me my dom needed to train me better, starting with being obediant and having an orgasm during a spanking. I laughed. I told him I didn't have a dom because I wasn't a sub. He told me (in the same smug tone) that he could have sworn I was and that he had NEVER been wrong about being able to spot a sub. I told him I guessed his batting average was going to go down a few points. He avoided me the rest of the party. This big, arrogant dom couldn't face a woman who dared to stand up to him. That is what I dispise about a lot of doms. They are very ego driven people. Everything is about them. I didn't want to be rude to him, but I believed his arrogance deserved to be met with derision. I'm not downing submissives either. A lot of women I know in the scene identify as submissives. Many are good friends of mine.
The first question this dom I chatted with asked me was if I enjoyed spanking. I told him there would hardly be any point to doing it if I didn't like it. He had seen all the photos I had posted to my Fetlife profile. Most of them were pics of me being spanked. Now, with all that photographic evidence in front of him, why did he feel he needed to ask me if I enjoyed it? Did he think I did it for some other reason? Did he happen to miss the big smile on my face in most of the pictures? Some people are so wrapped up in themselves that it's sickening. Obviously, this guy was so busy looking at my pictures for supposed "clues" to my submission that he missed the reality of my attitude entirely. But it seems that most of the men that I have met or chatted with from Fetlife are doms. There are precious few tops out there. Fetlife is generally more geared toward the BDSM crowd than spanko purists like me. Even in the spanking groups I belong to, the words "dom" and "sub" seem to be the words of choice when it comes to describing those who spank and those who get spanked. I rarely see the words "top" and "bottom". It makes me wonder how well I actually fit in with the Fetlife crowd. I like the freedom on Fetlife as opposed to how limited the Yahoo groups are. But maybe that's where I belong though?
I don't want to give the impression that I'm ambivilent about the scene. I realize that there are times I certainly feel that way, but this isn't one of them. I just need to meet a nice, fun top and get a nice fun spanking. Gee, it's been forever...but that changes Thursday and I can't wait!
What I can't live with is his insistance that "friends" can talk anything together. While I certainly agree that this is true, it was five minutes into our first chat. I hardly think that qualifies us as "friends".
This big Domly Dom then spent the next fifteen minutes or so pelting me with a sarcastic discussion of the weather, asking me if talking about the weather was "too personal". Geez, some people. Just because I wouldn't tell him if I was sleeping with any of my spankers. Why do some men think that spanking and sex are interchangable? That one can't possibly exist without the other? I knew what his game was. He was trying to guage me. I told him flat out that I was NOT a submissive and I didn't appreciate him treating me like one. He just assumed I would willingly answer any questions he asked me, no matter how personal, because I wanted to please him. Please! When will these doms get it through their heads that not all girls who get spanked are submissive? He was sarcastic and condescending throughout most of our chat. OK, I could have gone into a long and boring dissertation about how I'm a Christian and I'm not casual about sex, but I sincerely doubt his dom brain would've been able to grasp the concept of a woman who doesn't put out for every guy she meets. I didn't ask him personal questions. I was respectful and courteous to him at all times despite the fact that I'm sure he thought that was a submissive response. I just did it because it's what polite people do. I could've been terribly rude to him and told him off, but I didn't. The truth is, this one of the most enfuriating things I encounter in the scene. And it happens all the time. I don't treat every top I play with like a dom. Why should it happen the other way around?
I hate to say it, but I think sometimes submissives do us bottoms a disservice. They are all so accomodating--they get naked and get sexual with total strangers because, well, that what subs do, isn't it? The men become so conditioned to this response that they expect it from every woman they play with. I played at a party once with a dom who told me rather smugly that every woman he has ever played with has orgasmed copiously from playing with him and he expected no less from me. In fact, he insisted I report to him how many orgasms I had when we were done playing. I got up off his lap and jerked my panties up. "It was a nice round number" I told him. "Zero." His brow furrowed. He asked me in perfect seriousness if he had given me permission to pull my panties up. I told him they were MY panties and didn't need his precious permission to pull them up. He told me my dom needed to train me better, starting with being obediant and having an orgasm during a spanking. I laughed. I told him I didn't have a dom because I wasn't a sub. He told me (in the same smug tone) that he could have sworn I was and that he had NEVER been wrong about being able to spot a sub. I told him I guessed his batting average was going to go down a few points. He avoided me the rest of the party. This big, arrogant dom couldn't face a woman who dared to stand up to him. That is what I dispise about a lot of doms. They are very ego driven people. Everything is about them. I didn't want to be rude to him, but I believed his arrogance deserved to be met with derision. I'm not downing submissives either. A lot of women I know in the scene identify as submissives. Many are good friends of mine.
The first question this dom I chatted with asked me was if I enjoyed spanking. I told him there would hardly be any point to doing it if I didn't like it. He had seen all the photos I had posted to my Fetlife profile. Most of them were pics of me being spanked. Now, with all that photographic evidence in front of him, why did he feel he needed to ask me if I enjoyed it? Did he think I did it for some other reason? Did he happen to miss the big smile on my face in most of the pictures? Some people are so wrapped up in themselves that it's sickening. Obviously, this guy was so busy looking at my pictures for supposed "clues" to my submission that he missed the reality of my attitude entirely. But it seems that most of the men that I have met or chatted with from Fetlife are doms. There are precious few tops out there. Fetlife is generally more geared toward the BDSM crowd than spanko purists like me. Even in the spanking groups I belong to, the words "dom" and "sub" seem to be the words of choice when it comes to describing those who spank and those who get spanked. I rarely see the words "top" and "bottom". It makes me wonder how well I actually fit in with the Fetlife crowd. I like the freedom on Fetlife as opposed to how limited the Yahoo groups are. But maybe that's where I belong though?
I don't want to give the impression that I'm ambivilent about the scene. I realize that there are times I certainly feel that way, but this isn't one of them. I just need to meet a nice, fun top and get a nice fun spanking. Gee, it's been forever...but that changes Thursday and I can't wait!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Wasting Makeup
When I was in high school (continuing into my 20's) my girlfriends and I always ritualized the motions we went through in order to get ready for a date. "Putting on ones face" was a euphemism for putting on makeup---you know, foundation, eye shadow, blush and mascara---all the things required to make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. If the date was made during the week, countless hours were spent talking about what should be worn, etc. The entire group participated in this rather juvenile behavior. If the date turned out to be a jerk who stood a friend up, we were there for that, too. We waited with the member of the group who was going on the date (or not). If the guy said he would pick her up at 7:00 and it was going on 8:30, it was time to pack it in and forget about Mr. Wondeful showing up. It was still early enough to go out and have a girl's night though. We had a quaint turn of phrase for those who held out until the last possible moment. We called it "wasting makeup". Most of us back then were on an allowance (or later when we had jobs, they were of the restaurant or department store variety) and money was scarce. It seemed impractical to waste good makeup on a guy who was not going to show up.
When I got into the spanking scene, I caught myself on several occasions engaging in the same behavior I used to loathe myself for as a teenager. Most of the men who play with me have to travel fairly long distances to get together with me and sometimes, for whatever reason, we don't connect as we'd planned. I have only been stood up on two occasions in almost six years of doing this and it's a record I'm proud of. Both times, I sat and waited either by the phone or in a restaurant until it was obvious nothing was going to happen that day. And I always found it a bit sad that good makeup had to be wasted that way.
This week, I had two play dates planned. One for Wednesday and one for Thursday. Both of my dates cancelled due to the horrible weather we were having. Wednesday was particularly disappointing as I felt it was a waste of not only good makeup, but a nice job of applying it as well. I had outdone myself in that department. However, there was always the next day and I sort of foolishly felt optimistic. I made plans with the Thursday date about a week before and we had a couple of very enthusiastic chats about all the fun things we were going to do. Imagine my surprise when I don't hear a peep from him. Cigi and I had something that popped up that morning that had to be taken care of. I had neglected to get his phone number from him but he had mine. I thought as it got to be late and I still wasn't at the restaurant where we'd planned to meet, he would call and ask what was up. But he never called. I didn't hear from him at all that day. Again, I was disappointed because you know, makeup doesn't grow on trees.
Yesterday, he left me an offline message apologizing because a storm had left him without power and he'd had to purchase a generator (not a cheap buy, I can assure you). We made plans to meet after the Holidays. Hopefully, no makeup will get wasted then.
So ladies, I guess the lesson to be learned from this is that just because your date stood you up is no reason to let perfectly good makeup go to waste. Call some friends and have dinner and a movie. Lift each other's spirits when it happens because it can be a tremendous blow to the ego, especially if you never hear from the guy again. If you're lucky, while you're out tending to your wounded pride, you just might meet someone who will make that makeup job worth the trouble.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
How Was YOUR Week?
I have mentioned before that I live in an apartment. There are twelve apartments in my building. We all manage to live together relatively peacefully (when we aren't backing into each other's cars, that is). Now I want to warn the reader right now that this is probably going to turn into a rant and probably won't have anything (or very little) to do with spanking.
The week got off to a pretty bad start for us. We discovered that Cigi is going to have to have knee surgery to repair a torn meniscus in her left knee. The surgeon assured us her condition wasn't serious, but the surgery would alleviate her pain and allow her to return to work. Well, OK, I can live with that.
Tuesday we were leaving to meet a new spanko friend for breakfast when we accidentally backed into the car of another person who lives in the building. Now because I don't drive, part of my job is to be Cigi's extra pair of eyes. She was clear as a bell so she began to ease out of the parking spot. Next thing I knew BAM! We had hit another car. Cigi got out of the car, apologizing profusely. The young man seemed pretty laid back about the whole thing (probably because he knew he was at least partly at fault). The two exchanged insurance cards and phone numbers and realized that they both had insurance with the SAME company. I don't know what will happen now.
Wednesday Cigi informed me that she didn't want to do a big Thanksgiving dinner. We have what's commonly referred to as a "galley kitchen"; meaning maybe two people can fit in it at the same time and might be able to cook a meal in it if they time their turns and whatnot so as not to bump into each other. Needless to say, I was disappointed. We had done the big Thanksgiving dinner last year (the first year since her cancer was diagnosed that she felt like doing the "big spread") and it had turned out very nicely. If memory serves me, we only got in each other's way a couple of times. But since I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, I hid my disappointment and asked her what she would like instead. She wanted a pot roast. OK, no problem there. I love pot roast no matter what day of the year it is. Of course, when I woke up the next morning and smelled all the turkeys cooking in the neighboring apartments, my disappointment returned momentarily. It was soon gone however as we sat down to a wonderful meal.
Friday was what is commonly referred to in retail circles as Black Friday. It usually means that a store will be profitable for the year if sales are high enough. Us retail workers call it that for another reason. First of all, I had to get up out of a warm bed at 4:15 because I had to be at work at 5:30. I work in a home improvement store in a strip mall...a strip mall that contains a Target store and is banked on one side by a Best Buy store. You can imagine what the lines looked like. Later, we learned that a man in New York had been trampled to death by "out of control" shoppers at a Wal-Mart there. Shoppers reportedly stepped over the man's body to get inside the store to shop, despite the fact that police had closed the store because it was a crime scene. The greed of people at this time of year never fails to make me shake my head.
Sunday we had our first snow of the year. We had five inches of accumulation. The plows and salt trucks didn't get out until Monday morning. When I went to work, having to take the long way because of two accidents on the street where I live, we discovered that many of the main roads hadn't been plowed or salted yet, despite being designated as emergency snow routes. The next morning, a front page article in our local paper patted the Department Of Public Works for the "great" job they did with the snow. It was five inches of snow during which there were dozens of accidents and three people died. I am cringing at what will happen when that first blizzard hits...the kind that dumps a foot and a half of snow on us. It's coming, believe me.
After having a crummy day at work, during with countless of customers yelled at me because we ran out of shovels, all I wanted to do was go home and take a soak in a hot bath. But I had laundry to do. We stopped at the store to get stuff to make spaghetti for supper and got some gas. It took over an hour because the store and gas station were crowded with people all acting like they were caught in Donner Pass. It was five inches of snow, people. Get a grip. You aren't going to get snowed in with no way to get supplies and groceries.
When we got home, Cigi put the food on and I got a load of laundry together. When I got downstairs, this was what I saw:
The week got off to a pretty bad start for us. We discovered that Cigi is going to have to have knee surgery to repair a torn meniscus in her left knee. The surgeon assured us her condition wasn't serious, but the surgery would alleviate her pain and allow her to return to work. Well, OK, I can live with that.
Tuesday we were leaving to meet a new spanko friend for breakfast when we accidentally backed into the car of another person who lives in the building. Now because I don't drive, part of my job is to be Cigi's extra pair of eyes. She was clear as a bell so she began to ease out of the parking spot. Next thing I knew BAM! We had hit another car. Cigi got out of the car, apologizing profusely. The young man seemed pretty laid back about the whole thing (probably because he knew he was at least partly at fault). The two exchanged insurance cards and phone numbers and realized that they both had insurance with the SAME company. I don't know what will happen now.
Wednesday Cigi informed me that she didn't want to do a big Thanksgiving dinner. We have what's commonly referred to as a "galley kitchen"; meaning maybe two people can fit in it at the same time and might be able to cook a meal in it if they time their turns and whatnot so as not to bump into each other. Needless to say, I was disappointed. We had done the big Thanksgiving dinner last year (the first year since her cancer was diagnosed that she felt like doing the "big spread") and it had turned out very nicely. If memory serves me, we only got in each other's way a couple of times. But since I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, I hid my disappointment and asked her what she would like instead. She wanted a pot roast. OK, no problem there. I love pot roast no matter what day of the year it is. Of course, when I woke up the next morning and smelled all the turkeys cooking in the neighboring apartments, my disappointment returned momentarily. It was soon gone however as we sat down to a wonderful meal.
Friday was what is commonly referred to in retail circles as Black Friday. It usually means that a store will be profitable for the year if sales are high enough. Us retail workers call it that for another reason. First of all, I had to get up out of a warm bed at 4:15 because I had to be at work at 5:30. I work in a home improvement store in a strip mall...a strip mall that contains a Target store and is banked on one side by a Best Buy store. You can imagine what the lines looked like. Later, we learned that a man in New York had been trampled to death by "out of control" shoppers at a Wal-Mart there. Shoppers reportedly stepped over the man's body to get inside the store to shop, despite the fact that police had closed the store because it was a crime scene. The greed of people at this time of year never fails to make me shake my head.
Sunday we had our first snow of the year. We had five inches of accumulation. The plows and salt trucks didn't get out until Monday morning. When I went to work, having to take the long way because of two accidents on the street where I live, we discovered that many of the main roads hadn't been plowed or salted yet, despite being designated as emergency snow routes. The next morning, a front page article in our local paper patted the Department Of Public Works for the "great" job they did with the snow. It was five inches of snow during which there were dozens of accidents and three people died. I am cringing at what will happen when that first blizzard hits...the kind that dumps a foot and a half of snow on us. It's coming, believe me.
After having a crummy day at work, during with countless of customers yelled at me because we ran out of shovels, all I wanted to do was go home and take a soak in a hot bath. But I had laundry to do. We stopped at the store to get stuff to make spaghetti for supper and got some gas. It took over an hour because the store and gas station were crowded with people all acting like they were caught in Donner Pass. It was five inches of snow, people. Get a grip. You aren't going to get snowed in with no way to get supplies and groceries.
When we got home, Cigi put the food on and I got a load of laundry together. When I got downstairs, this was what I saw:
I went back upstairs and ate my dinner in silence. All of the planets were aligned against me, it seemed. Boy, I hope next week is better.
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