My downstairs neighbor moved out today.  For those of you not in the know, she’s probably one of the biggest bitches I’ve ever met.

That’s not just me not liking someone.  My surrounding neighbors are currently celebrating her move in our parking lot with loud music, a cookout and Dominoes.  The game, not the pizza place.  If that doesn’t speak to how much of a bitch she is, I don’t know what does.

It’s kinda cool, cause they listen to music M usually isn’t interested in.  Not specifically rap, but a bit of pop, some oldies, reggae, a lot of Motown.  Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Diana Ross and the Supremes, The Four Tops and The Jackson 5 are today’s soundtrack.

I… wanna be out there.  Dancing, playing Dominoes and raising hell.  My body hasn’t stopped moving since they turned the radio on.  Unfortunately, we already did our partying this week, and we’re both feeling pretty crappy.  So here I sit.  But that’s okay.  Spring is just starting and we’ve got all of summer.  Without the bitch living downstairs, our parking lot will probably become “The Party Zone”.  Read more…

The other day, I’m not really sure what prompted it, but M said something about He thinks He’s a fire sign.  And I nearly laughed out loud.  Maybe I did laugh out loud.

I know how horribly disrespectful that sounds, but think about fire.  Fire is impetuous and enthusiastic.  It consumes most anything it touches, ever pushing forward, until someone or something puts it out.  Whereas air will go around an obstacle, fire burns right through it.

And fire depends on air to survive.  Fire has nothing, whatever, to do with air’s survival.  It just adds a pleasant smell to air on occasion.

What with my thirtieth birthday just twenty-four days away, I’ve been thinking about the past thirty years a lot.  What I’ve done with them and what I haven’t.  Who I was and who I’ve become.  And no matter what I’ve experienced, one thing’s never changed.  I am, without a doubt, the epitome of a cardinal fire sign.  An Aries, through and through.

About.com says a cardinal fire sign is always on the ready for something to be passionate about.  Intuitive and insightful.  Living large and following their instincts.  “Going on faith in their inner guidance gets them far, but they have a tendency to skip crucial steps, or to be unaware of the emotional impact of their actions.”

And as I read that, I had a Winona Ryder in Girl, Interrupted moment.  You know, when she’s reading her file.  “Oh, that’s me.”

(That’s everybody, sweet pea.)  Read more…

taken by SliceofNYC, edited by Rayne

As if the please would somehow soften the blow of my disrespect and get me out of trouble.  Ha!

Why… Yes! Yes, I am the queen of putting my foot in my mouth.  I mean, I am, after all, a woman, so I’ve gotta be queen of something, right? And since it’ll never be queen of this household, or queen of the world, it might as well be “Her Highness Metatarsals dans Bouche”.

~sighs~

What’s funny is, until I said that, Master was content to argue with me.  Well, I guess content isn’t the correct word.  He had already warned me a time or two that I wasn’t just toeing the line.  I’d leaped a mile out of bounds, and was still running, and He was right behind me gnashing at my heels.

I sort of ignored the finality in His voice when He said, and I’m paraphrasing at best, “I’ve had it.  I am not putting up with your disrespectful bullshit anymore.  Button it up, or you’re gonna be sorry.”

I made a half-assed attempt at reining it in, but when He said something I didn’t agree with, I started spitting my words at Him and clenching my fists.  I did better than I usually do, in that I actually listened to what He had to say, but I didn’t do better than the last time.  The last time, the second He hinted at me being out of line, I shut up.  This time, I stopped talking for a second, but then was right back at Him, lunging at the end of my chain, snarling and growling at Him.  Figuratively, of course.

So when I tried to explain something to Him, and He cut me off again (The reason this bothers me – not that it matters – is because it completely shatters my train of thought.  Every time.  I lose everything I was about to say and can’t even make my point to see if He thinks it’s valid.  And that’s when things stop making sense.  You know… I’m not sure I realized that fully until last night.  Who says no good comes of arguing?), I screamed at Him, “Will you just shut the fuck up and listen to me?” and when I saw the look on His face and realized what had just come out of my mouth, I tripped all over myself to say, “PLEASE??!?” all frantic like.

Time stood still for a moment.  And I honestly thought I was seconds from being knocked through the couch, and then the wall behind it.  But He just said, plainly and firmly, “No.”

And because I can’t just quit while I’m ahead, I replied with a defeated, “Fine.” as if I had any right to be upset with His answer.  As if He wasn’t well within His right, even if I weren’t a slave.  Even if we were equals, He’d be perfectly justified in refusing to listen to me when I’m acting the way I was acting last night.

We’d just returned home, so I was still fully clothed, and He ordered me naked and cuffed.  He gagged me and made me kneel in the middle of the living room while He asked me questions about the argument, the things He expects of me, and the things we agree qualify me as a slave to be sure we were on the same page (I hear ya.  “Who cares if you’re on the same page? His word is law.”  But Master likes to make sure I know what His word is.  And asking me these questions gives Him better insight into where my mindset is and what He needs to be working on.).  He told me for every time I got out of position, I would get twenty lashes with the cane, and He didn’t really care if I built up five-hundred.  And He began asking me yes or no questions, getting a feel for where we stood.  Read more…

Did I tell you I switched shampoos? I can’t remember.

We’ve been using Suave forever.  Normal Suave, Suave Professionals and Suave Daily Clarifying.  It’s cheap.  It smells nice.  It cleans.

But it leaves my hair looking like shit.

While I must admit that Suave Daily Clarifying works better than normal Suave, and Suave Professionals (all the versions but one… I forget which one) works even better than that, my coarse, half-way-between-straight-and-wavy hair just refuses to be tamed by any and all Suave products.

So after bugging Carrie a billion times about what she used before she got all uppity and started using salon brands, I began the process of talking M into believing I needed better shampoo.  And it worked! He let me buy Pantene’s stuff for long hair.  Beautiful Lengths, maybe? Anyway…

So I’ve been using this new shampoo for twenty days.  I wash my hair every other day, so that means, what? Ten washes? I condition every time.  Did with Suave, too.  And here’s the differences I’ve noticed:

• My hair isn’t anywhere near as frizzy.
• It looks much healthier.
• It’s stronger.
• It falls out less.
• My hair is actually half-way between wavy and straight, not half-way between wavy and curly.
• It stays clean longer.
• I don’t have to use anywhere near as much product (shampoo, conditioner, or styling products) as I did when I was using Suave.
• My hair’s no where near as dry as it used to be.

I can actually wear my hair down now without worrying about how poofy and frizzy and gross it looks.  Which is probably at least part of the reason it’s breaking less.  But! That’s still a plus for Pantene, because I’m leaving it down more because it looks better, and it looks better because I’m using Pantene.

Why am I telling you this? Just in case some of my submissive readers are having a hard time convincing their owners that you get what you pay for when it comes to shampoo.  There’s no doubt in my mind that Carrie’s hair is still better than mine cause the silly snot is paying for salon brands.  But I’m on the fast track to good hair, and it’s all thanks to her, so I suppose she’s allowed to be a silly snot.    Read more…

jenpet, for March Question Month, asked:

• If you could live anywhere in the world, (with no worries about income – ya know, the ultimate pipedream), where would you and Melen really like to live?

I want to live in Ireland.  Or the perfect Ireland replica with my own laws.  That would be cool.

M… M says He wants to live on the Lost island minus the time jumps and smoke monsters.  O.o

Dweaver asked:

• What’s your most/least favorite pain toy when it’s used on you?

My most and least favorite are the same thing.  The Delrin Cane.  I’m not really sure what’s wrong with me, but there it is.

• Have you ever done electric play of any kind? If so, what did you think about it? If not, do you want to at some point?

If, by electric play, you mean standing in a puddle whilst unplugging a refrigerator that’s spewing coolant and having “lightning” shoot from the corner of your eye to the back of said fridge, then yes.  I’ve done electric play.  If not, then I guess the answer must be no.  ~ducks~

I’m kinda intrigued and a little scared at the same time.  I mean, that shock I got? While it didn’t really hurt, per se, it was rather weird feeling.  That feeling intentionally? I’m not sure.  The jury’s still out.

• What celeb do you fantasize the most about Melen lending you to, and how does he or she use you in your thoughts?

I dunno.  That’s a serious toss up.  I mean, on the one hand, Greg Grunberg is that “every day Joe” kind of beautiful and I would just die for him to even notice me, much less borrow me from M.  On the other hand, Christian Bale is Ken doll beautiful in that “American Psycho” kinda way (I guess that makes sense since he starred in that movie.) and just picturing his face makes me wet my panties.

And then there’s Kevin Smith.  Ahhh… Kevin Smith.

I’m such a weirdo.  Aren’t girls supposed to be creaming their panties over, like… Tom Cruise or something?

Anyway… I’m not very creative in the use.  Usually I play the trophy girl for a little while, and then I have my face ground into what I really am: a fuck toy.  And boys can do whatever they want with their fuck toys.  Can you imagine what those boys would want to do with theirs? Mmm….