January 26, 2015

When No One is Home


All my life, animals have been part of my family. When I was born, my parents had a Sheep dog who had just weaned her litter and sent the little ones to good homes. She took over "herding" me, always making sure I was safe, didn't wander off the property, and added my brother to her litter as he came alone. By the time we were in school, the dog didn't want to see us go and would follow us to the doors of the building and wait the entire day, or if someone opened the door, would make her way into the classrooms to check on her "pups". Many times the office staff would have to call my Mom to come and collect the dog.

Our family wasn't without pets, until we all went to University and started our own households (with pets). Usually the pets were dogs and cats, but we did have a rabbit, a Gar Pike, several lizards, hamsters, guinea pigs, and even mice. Sorry, Blondie, no snakes! (*|*)

Many times I would wonder if the four legged members of the household were bored while they were alone for the day... what would they get up to, I would wonder. Ever wondered that?

Let's take a look...








 
 
I'm sure that sex isn't all they think about or get up to when alone. I don't know about you but I don't know what these next two were thinking.

 
 
Have a good week! :D
 

January 24, 2015

Confessions of the Guilty




Today, I have some confessions to share. The idea behind the miscreant wearing a sign that announces their "crime" to all and sundry is supposed to illicit feelings of embarrassment and shame. Looking at the faces of the guilty, I'm not sure if the goal was successful.

 

 

 

 

I still laugh every time I see this one! 

 

 

 
 
This one too! (above)
 

 

 
 
And finally...
 
 
 
 
Do you think the lesson was learned and the behaviour will improve? :D


January 21, 2015

Overwhelmed in Opposite Directions

The meeting was a weekly occurance and in general, had been going well. Until this week. This one was a difficult meeting.
 
Like the others, this one started with a call to discuss dinner options. There wasn't time to go home and cook, and eating out in close proximity to the meeting location, left few choices. Still it was discussed and a choice made.
 
After a quick meal, it was time to get started. What followed was a mediated experience that left me feeling angry, frustrated, exasperated, overwhelmingly sad and completely alone... in a room with other people.
 
If I'm honest with myself, I've been feeling alone a lot recently. I have a very close family and quite a few close friends. But its possible to feel alone in a crowd. I know all I have to do is reach out and say I'm feeling sad and alone and they will welcome me. Why can't they know that something is wrong and I'm suffocating from it all? Why do I need to say the words? The smart answer is that they don't read minds and without those words they can't know they are needed.
 
The car ride back from the meeting was long and quiet. The twenty minutes felt like twenty hours. In further silence, I left the car and hesitated before shutting the door to see if anything would be said.
 
Silence. I wiped away the tears that fell and went inside. A hot bath would help. I changed out of my work clothes and ran the water.
 
I soaked and soaked until the water was turning cold. Emptied the water and filled the tub again.
I couldn't hold back the tears anymore and had a deep cry. After the emotions of the last few hours, I didn't feel safe with being heard so i emptied the tub and just turned on the water. 

Not that long ago the lengthy time and the constant running of water would have drawn notice... even jokingly.  Nothing. Complete silence.
 
I dressed in pyjamas, tidied the washroom and headed towards the kitchen. And passed through the hallway of doors. All closed.
 
I headed for bed. At least in sleep, there was some solace.
 
Lying down, I turned towards the wall and buried my head in the pillow. And cried until my head felt heavy and my eyes sore.
 
Just as I was about to fall asleep, a hand touched the back of my head and slowly ran down my back.
This time the tears weren't just in my eyes.

January 14, 2015

SLAP It Butt Lamp Lights Up When Spanked

I know you're going to thank me for highlighting this product. Do you remember The Clapper? The device, from the 1980s, that allowed you to turn on a device, such as a lamp, by clapping your hands? And then turn it off by clapping again?

"Clap on, Clap off..."

Now... a gentleman by the name of Joseph Begley, has invented the SLAP IT. A silicone butt shaped lamp that is turned on and off by pinching, massaging or spanking the butt.



As you can see, it comes in a variety of colours and can be installed together to create an art installation, if that's your thing.

One reviewer wrote, "This is Slap It, a butt-shaped lamp. To turn it on all you gotta do is smack dat ass. It was created by London-based artist Joseph Begley. I like your style, man. Now do a boob version next! It could be activated by a nice squeeze or even a nip twist. You’re right, I’m getting ahead of myself, when I should be focusing on the behind. Butt joke!! I’m gonna be 10000000000% honest with you: this booty light makes me so damn happy I can barely contain myself. It’s the lamp of my dreams! Which is exactly why I’m taking up donations so I can have one of my own. C’mon, it’s limited edition and going for only $1,167! That’s a total steal when it comes to butt lamps. Trust me, I’ve done my research. THOROUGHLY." Source - SLAP IT


Want to see how it works? Let's head over to YouTube and see...


 I can see many unique uses for this device.  But for $1,167??

January 12, 2015

Broken Beyond Repair?

As recently as June, I would have never have asked myself the question: Is it broken beyond repair? It just wouldn't have occurred to me. As recently as a month ago, I would have answered with a yes, it was too late to fix what was broken, shattered.

A lot can change in a month. A small flicker of hope can take root and build into the belief that maybe... just maybe... something good can happen.

I swore that if I ever brought this to my blog so that I could process what had happened and what needed to happen, that I would not provide details. There are a few that know what this is about... and that needs to be enough for now.

Today is the self-imposed deadline for a decision that I need to make. One that I thought was going to be easy. I've thought of little else in the last few months, but specifically in the last few days, as the time neared. What was the absolute worst case scenario? What was the best possible outcome? Could I live with myself if I chose one over the other? Would I come to regret the decision?

I did manage to make the decision. In the end it was easy. My heart knew what the right path was to follow.

Until the doubts started to fill my mind. I was surprised at the actual fear I felt over the possible outcome. I felt insecure and doubtful... waffling back and forth.

Confused? Me too!

I'm going to stick with my decision. And trust that it is the right way. And hope that when all is said and done later tonight and the conversation is finished, and the door has been closed, that it is not broken beyond repair.

In the meantime, I'm going to do some housework. Maybe busy hands will settle my busy mind.

January 09, 2015

The Weener Kleener



The Weener Kleener Soap is every woman's dream come true. The last thing any man wants when he’s getting romantic with his lady is to be worrying about his junk being as funky as a monkey. Because let’s be honest, whether you’re a macho lumberjack beer drinking raw meat eating homo erectus or a meek and mild antique store owner, we all know without a proper daily regimen of personal hygiene your “situation” will be as odiferous as the hamper where the NY Giants toss their jockstraps after a big game. Well, worry no more! Because with the Weener Kleener Soap, you will score a hole-in-one when it comes to keeping your “boys” and their pal, Peter Longfellow as fresh as the morning dew. One size fits all, unless of course, you’re John Holmes. And, hey! Who says you have to enjoy this experience alone? Grab your lady and pull her into the shower with you and have a game of ring toss. Because in this little competition there really are no losers.
(http://www.baronbob.com/weenercleaner.htm)


 
(My apology to those from the South and specifically Mississippi for the video, but it was hilarious)

December 17, 2014

Time to Spank to the Music



Several years ago...

They had been laying in bed, cuddling and relaxing together. Words weren't always necessary as they had been together for so long that the silence was comfortable. When the need to touch arose, one would caress the body of the other. A heavy snow fell for most of the day and they had been outside with shovels trying to clear their driveway and that of their elderly neighbour. She had made cups of hot chocolate and they shared a simple but hearty meal together. Their stomachs were full, their muscles sore and their minds at peace.

Music was playing softly in the background; a compilation of Christmas carols and hymns. She was feeling so relaxed and hovering in that state between sleep and wakefulness, that she barely registered the fact that he got up from the bed and was gone for a moment.

Until... he grasped her elbow and pulled her over on to her tummy. She didn't get the chance to voice any words before he climbed on the bed, straddled her waist, facing her feet.

He aimed the remote at the stereo and without further ado, A Little Drummer Boy, started to play. And her bottom became the drums that rat... a tat... tat, rat... a tat... tat, bore the rhythm of the famous Christmas song. 

"What the...?" Her eyes popped open in surprise.

"Sshhhh... lay still. It's time to spank to the music."



To this day, every time she hears the Little Drummer Boy, she remembers that spanking and the intimacy that followed. She can feel the ghost of each smack from his hand as the drummer strikes the snare drum with his stick.

It's a good memory.

December 12, 2014

Assembly and Batteries Required



T’was the night before Christmas when all through the house
I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse.
Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
In hopes we could manage "Some Assembly Required."
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
While Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
A kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!

We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat....
Let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
If we can't get it right, it goes in the basement!

When what to my worrying eyes should appear,
But 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
So if we failed, only we could be blamed.

More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
All over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."

And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
That all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
To keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
With "assembly required" till morning's first light.

We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
Till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
Before we attached the last rod and last pin.

Then laying the tools away in the chest,
We fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.

Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
And not have to run to the store for a thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
For the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!"

Then off to dreamland and sweet repose I gratefully went,
Though I suppose there's something to say for those self-deluded...
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!


*Author Unknown


Ever wondered what the Seasonal Cast does the rest of the year? Hmmm...

 

December 10, 2014

5th Annual Blog Cookie Exchange

 
 
Wednesday December 10th is the 5th Annual Online Cookie Exchange and I'm taking a few moments away from packing suitcases, arranging for pet care, housesitting, plant watering (I have one indoor plant that is capable of surviving me and I would like to come home to it... alive) to join in the fun.

My contribution is not a cookie. It is more of a candy. I have made these as gifts for several years and they are usually devoured before the recipient fully finishes their appreciation. They're easy to make as well.




Ingredients
  • 250 gram Philidelphia Brick Cream Cheese, room temperature
  • 1 tsp pure peppermint extract
  • 3 dash food colouring of choice
  • 5 cup powdered sugar

  • Directions
    1. Line two baking sheets with wax paper, tape down the ends and set them aside. Fit a large pastry bag with a medium star tip.
    2. In a large bowl with an electric mixer, beat the cream cheese and peppermint extract until it's smooth. Add the powdered sugar and and mix it until you achieve the consistency of thick cream cheese frosting. The peaks should remain quite stiff and not melt down when the mixer is stopped. Add more powdered sugar if necessary.
    3. You can tint your cream cheese mints any colour using food colouring. I opted for an icy blue using a few drops of liquid blue food colouring. A little bit goes a long was so make sure not to add too much and make your mixture too thin.
    4. Fill the pastry bag with the minty mixture and pipe little kisses onto the prepared baking sheets. You should get about 250 of them.
    5. Let them sit for about an hour to set then store them in the fridge for freezer. They'll last about a month in the fridge and up to four in the freezer.

    Back to my "other" preparations. Enjoy the cookie exchange! Other participants are:

    Ashly Star
    Little Monkey (private blog, so Jz is posting for her)




    December 07, 2014

    Conrad and the Christmas Guest


    

    I'm going to be leaving (on another continent) for some time away. A few months ago, I knew the holidays would be difficult this year (and so far they have been) so decided to plan something different and go away for the holidays.  I've scheduled another post to be published while I'm away.

    These are the lyrics to a Christmas song, written by Robert Wells and performed by different singers. I love it. Even just the lyrics, which read like a poem, are soul lifting. Maybe you've heard it.

    It's called...

    The Christmas Guest

    It happened one day near December's end
    Two neighbors called on an old friend
    And they found his shop so meager and lean
    Made gay with a thousand bows of green.
     
    And Conrad was sitting with a face a-shine
    When he suddenly stopped as he stitched a twine
    And he said, "Old friends, at dawn today
    When the cock was crowing the night away
    The Lord appeared in a dream to me"
    And said, "I'm coming, your guest to be.
     
    "So I've been busy with feet astir
    Strewing my shop with branches of fern
    The table is spread and the kettle is shined
    And over the rafters the holly is twined.
     
    "Now I'll wait for my Lord to appear
    And listen closely so I will hear His step
    As He nears my humble place
    I'll open the door and look on His face."
     
    So his friends went home and left Conrad alone
    For this was the happiest day he had known
    For long since, his family had passed away
    And Conrad had spent many a sad Christmas Day.
     
    But he knew with the Lord as his Christmas Guest
    This Christmas would be the dearest and best
    So he listened with only joy in his heart
    And with every sound he would rise with a start
    And look for the Lord to be at his door
    Like the vision he had a few hours before.
     
    So he ran to the window after hearing a sound
    But all he could see on the snow covered ground
    Was a shabby beggar whose shoes were torn
    And all of his clothes were ragged and worn.
     
    But Conrad was touched and he went to the door
    And he said, "You know, your feet must be frozen and sore
    I have some shoes in my shop for you
    And a coat that will keep you warm too."
     
    So with a grateful heart the man went away
    But Conrad noticed the time of day
    And wondered what made the Lord so late
    And how much longer he'd have to wait.

    When he heard a knock, he ran to the door
    But it was only a stranger once more
    A bent old lady with a shawl of black
    With a bundle of kindling piled on her back
    She asked for only a place to rest
    But that was reserved for Conrad's Great Guest.

    But her voice seemed to plead, "Don't send me away
    Let me rest for awhile on Christmas Day."
    So Conrad brewed her a steaming cup
    and told her to sit at the table and sup.

    But after she left he was filled with dismay
    For he saw that the hours were slipping away
    And the Lord hadn't come as he said he would
    and Conrad felt sure he had misunderstood,.

    When out of the stillness he heard a cry
    "Please help me and tell me where am I?"
    So again he opened his friendly door
    And stood disappointed as twice before
    It was only a child who had wandered away
    And was lost from her family on Christmas Day.

    Again Conrad's heart was heavy and sad
    But he knew he should make the little girl glad
    So he called her in and wiped her tears
    And quieted all of her childish fears.

    He led her back to her house once more
    But as he entered his own darkened door
    He knew the Lord was not coming today
    For the hours of Christmas had passed away.

    So he went to his room and knelt down to pray
    And he said, "Dear Lord, why did You delay?
    What kept You from coming to call on me?
    For I wanted so much Your face to see."

    When soft in the silence a voice he heard
    "Lift up your head for I kept my word
    Three times my shadow crossed your floor
    And three times I came to your lonely door.

    "I was the beggar with bruised, cold feet
    And I was the woman you gave something to eat
    I was the child on the homeless street.

    "Three times I knocked and three times I came in
    And each time I found the warmth of a friend
    Of all the gifts, love is the best,
    And I was honored to be your Christmas Guest."


    A little early but... Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!
     

    November 29, 2014

    The World's ONLY Penis Museum



    I swear I didn't go looking for this attraction on purpose. It started when a travel brochure came in the mail and I was looking at a trip to Iceland. It's a nature lover's paradise in the summer months. Not to mention a fantastic opportunity to see Aurora Borealis (Northern Lights). And I like to travel to places that are "different".

    I was doing a google search for things to do in Iceland when I came across a link to the Icelandic Phallological Museum and being me, I had to share it. In simple terms, its the Icelandic Penis Museum! Just when you thought you had seen or heard of everything. In fact, you could say that the Internet just dropped this gem in my lap.

    Allow me to introduce you...

    The founder, SigurĂ°ur Hjartarson (born 1941), started the collection in 1974, when he was gifted with a whale's penis as a joke. From there his collection grew and grew.

    The Icelandic Phallological Museum contains a collection of more than two hundred and fifteen penises and penile parts belonging to almost all the land and sea mammals that can be found in Iceland. Visitors to the museum will encounter fifty six specimens belonging to seventeen different kinds of whale, one specimen taken from a rogue polar bear, thirty-six specimens belonging to seven different kinds of seal and walrus, and one hundred and fifteen specimens originating from twenty different kinds of land mammal: all in all, a total of two hundred and nine specimens belonging to forty six different kinds of mammal, including specimens from Homo Sapiens. It should be noted that the museum has also been fortunate enough to receive legally-certified gift tokens for four specimens belonging to Homo Sapiens.

    The museum has a gift shop (will admit my imagination roamed with the idea of what could be purchased), a guest book, its own Website and is on Facebook.

    If that's not enough to pique your interest, you can learn about the museum's desire to complete the collection with a human penis on YouTube by clicking on the Final Member. An American and an Icelandic man compete to be the one to donate their penis and take it to unbelievable lengths.

    After all, museums should be a learning experience, right?

    So, the next time you're visiting Iceland, would you include a trip to the Penis Museum on your itinerary? I would.


    November 27, 2014

    Her Name Is Mary



    I have a friend and her name is Mary. That isn't her real name, just what I'm going to use to refer to here as I tell you about her. I've known Mary since 2001, and while we now live on opposite sides of the country and visiting isn't frequent, we do have long phone conversations. She is a little woman... shorter than I am. She was born in another country, her first language isn't English and she practices another religion. She and I are close.

    The quality I love and admire the most about her is that she by far the most optimistic person I've ever met in my life, past, present or likely future. I'm not just saying that. There is NOTHING that makes Mary waver in her optimism. I've often teased and tried to list things that I thought would annoy her. Without luck.

    About a year ago, the company she worked for decided to close its office and relocate to another city. Mary and everyone else in the office was out of work. When I heard the news, I called to see how she was doing. She was excited at the chance of having a new opportunity, although she didn't know what that would be just yet.

    We were out one day with a few other friends and it was one of those days where everything that could go wrong, did go wrong, sometimes twice too. Gas tank that ran out of gas, cell phones that wouldn't work, pouring rain, a lost credit card, a group of steadily growing grumpy women... and Mary. "Come on girls, eventually it will stop raining. Anyway, the flowers need it."

    The list can go on and on.

    Always the optimist... it comes naturally to her.

    I'm capable of seeing the positive in life's events, but I also get mired down with negative thinking. It's a symptom of Major Depression. Most of the time, I can self-talk myself out of it. But those times when its all-consuming... I call Mary.

    By the time I've talked to her for even a few minutes, I'm feeling better. By the time the phone call is over and we say goodbye until the next time, I walk away with a feeling of comfort, as if I was wrapped in sunshine.

    I hope you also, have a Mary in your life. Or perhaps you are the friend named Mary, in someone else's life.



    (This reminds me of Mary)

    November 25, 2014

    Simon the Wooden Spoon



    My name is Simon.  I am a wooden spoon.  I was designed to be in a kitchen.  My purpose in life is to mix butter, eggs, sugar and flour into delicious cookies, to stir fragrant spices into pasta sauce, to fold fresh and silky cream into soups.  Just thinking of all the culinary options is practically orgasmic!

    But was I bought for those purposes?  NO!  I was purchased from a Wal-Mart kitchen aisle, where I was shelved with all of the plebeian spoons of birch and pine, for a different purpose.  To spank with!  It fills me with embarrassment to even admit that.  I don’t want to even think of what my ancestors would say if they knew my shame.

    Imagine my gleaming oak self, far superior to those others of the cheaper variety, used for spanking the naked bottom of my owner’s wife.  How utterly debasing… it is so far beneath me!  Every time it happens, I’m practically traumatized to my grain.

    I spend all of my “non-spanking” time in a jar with the other spoons.  The ones that get to make the cookies, sauce and the soup.  They get to beat the cake mixes, stir the drinks for the party.  <sigh> I am practically green with jealousy as I watch my owner’s wife pick one of them for the job at hand.  As she runs her hands over all of the spoons looking for the right one, she pushes me to the back of the jar with disdain.  How she tells me apart from the others, do you ask?  Aside from the fact that I am made of far superior wood, which she doesn’t seem to appreciate fully, I have to wear a red elastic band around my handle so my owner knows which one to pick when he wants to partake in that oh-so-disgusting activity of spanking his wife’s bottom.

    Just last night, she had been sassing him, while they were in the kitchen getting dinner ready.  He warned her to stop but she didn’t.  No, no, no!  I felt my handle start to give off splinters with dread as I knew what was coming next.  Sure enough, he grabbed me.  He took her arm and bent over the counter, lifted her skirt, pulled down her panties and WHAM!  He hit me right on her left bottom cheek, then the right, then the left, then the right.  You get the idea, I’m sure!  Every time he pulled his arm back, I would catch sight of the steaming, delicious smelling food in the pot on the stove.  It was enough to drive me insane.  Oh, what I would give to go for a dip inside and stir the contents.  I would do it with so much love.

    By the time I made it back to the jar, it took all of my superior abilities to hold down the instinct to gag.  I needed a shower.  All I could feel was the skin of her bottom and worse… the top of her thighs.

    Just as I was about to sink to the depths of despair, I felt the presence of a new spoon beside me.  “Hey mate!  I just saw what you were up to!  Details, man… what was it like?  Did you love the feel of her skin as you smacked it?  Was it smooth?  As her bottom became that delicious shade of red, was it warm to the touch?  Man, I was sporting a woody just thinking about what it was like.”

    I could only stare at him in abject horror.  Did he think I actually liked my job?  Was he insane?

    “Me?  I have to deal with the heat and steam of the pots, the taste of all the baking…” His voice faded as he visibly shuddered.

    I had an epiphany.  Certainly it couldn’t be that simple?

    With an air of conspiracy, I whispered my plan to him.  He was more than willing; excited even. 

    Now he wears the red elastic band that marks him as a spanking spoon and I get picked by the wife to cook and bake.

    Since that one moment, life has never been better.  I’m so happy. 

    My name is Simon.  I’m a wooden spoon and I don’t ever have to be involved in spanking a naked bottom again.  <contented sigh>

    November 23, 2014

    It Could Always Be Worse




    A friend of mine sent this to me in an email.  It made me laugh, and I hope it gives you some laughter or makes you smile.

    This little animal is called the Naked Mole Rat. He can be found in north Africa...



    If life is tough and getting you down, or just feeling sorry for yourself, just remember...



    You could always go through life looking like a wrinkled penis with buckteeth!!

    November 21, 2014

    Shooting Rainbows from Her Nipples

    I'm sorry, but no, this post isn't going to have anything to do with shooting (is loud if from a gun), rainbows (while yes, they are pretty) or nipples (we all have 'em). I just needed a title and couldn't think of anything else and decided to use this one.

    It seems that some in blogland feel I have returned and not explained what or why everything happened a few months ago in the "Christina Scandal". I spent a lot of thought and time writing a few posts, one of which you can read HERE.

    I'm going to make it as simple as I can and hope this helps.

    Jim - He is a REAL man. He has a head, shoulders, 2 arms, 2 hands, a chest, stomach, bottom, dangly bits, 2 legs and 2 feet. If you pricked him, he would bleed. He is Scottish, speaks Gaelic, wears a kilt, competes in Highland Games. He loves playing and watching NHL hockey. In the past, he has coached children's teams. He brushes his hair, shaves his face, dresses himself and manages all of the functions that an adult male does. He occasionally farts in bed and grins sheepishly and tries to look innocent. He has a sweet tooth and loves anything baked with butter. He thinks onions smell funny and look slimly if cooked, but can eat them raw without a problem. He fell victim to a penis prank, a lawnmower prank, an underwear prank, and a few others not previously described on my blog, by ME. We've been part of each other's lives for more than a quarter of a century. He grew up in a family that practiced DD, and as the HoH he has practiced DD with me.  He spanks and is fond of other punishments as well. He is a Christian but cannot sing like an angel, which is why the Church choir hasn't asked him to join. He is good with his hands and can rebuild an engine. He was not at the LDD Retreat in June 2014, because it became obvious a few months ahead of time (not conveniently at the last moment) that he had to be away for work. As a result, no one during that 10 day trip of mine, which ended with a visit to Rogue, met him in person. That fact can't be changed.

    No, I didn't tell you on my previous blog that he was not real and now claim he is. I didn't say he was just someone I knew. He was real then and is real now and tomorrow and next month will still be real. The lie and apology that followed were about the fact that I presented him on my old blog as my husband. That we were married.

    Regarding the children, please see the aforementioned link.

    You can choose to believe me or not. That is your prerogative. You can also choose to continue to follow my blog here and interact with me, or you can choose not to. Again, your choice.

    However, I am asking politely that you refrain from emailing others to ask questions or spread unfounded gossip. That situation is similar to a group of children playing the telephone game, where one whispers a story to the one on the right who does the same to the one on their right. By the time it reaches the beginning, the story might have a grain of truth remaining but has been stretched beyond the original. Each person that was personally affected by the "Christina Scandal" of July 2014, has their own issues in their personal lives that makes the addition of time and energy spent on this drama, stressful.

    There isn't anyone but me that knows the intimate details of the relationship with Jim. It stands to reason that I should be the one that the questions are directed to. Just saying...

    This is also directed to the one that started the ball rolling with an email to Chelsea. I have to wonder at your motives behind the email. They certainly weren't pure. The less hurtful way of "helping" would have been to contact me. After all, you must have my address and phone number and know where I work, right?  If you have something to say, do you have the decency to address your concerns to me, since apparently you know me so well? You haven't so far, but perhaps you do now.

    Yes, I lied.  But, I also took responsibility for my actions, apologized publicly and have been working with those hurt to try to make amends.

    There is a time for confessions, a time for recriminations, for the gathering of a community to support those hurt, a time for punishment and a time to say, "Enough."

    It's been 5 months.

    November 18, 2014

    He Was Called Ugly



    Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage and love. The combination of these three things, combined with a life spent outside, had their effect on Ugly.

    To start with he had only one eye, and where the other should have been, was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner. His tail had long since been lost, leaving only a short stub, which he would always twitch and jerk. Ugly would have been a dark gray striped tabby, except for the sores covering his head, neck and shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs.

    Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat!”

    All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave.

    Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness. When he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If you ever picked him up, he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.

    One day, Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s dogs. They didn’t respond kindly and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent that his short, sad life was near an end.

    Ugly lay in a wet circle, his lower legs and back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white stripe of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home, I could hear his wheezing and gasping, and I could feel him struggling. I must be causing him terrible pain and suffering.

    Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear.  Ugly, in so much pain and suffering and obviously dying, was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly, battle scarred cat, was asking for only a little affection, and perhaps compassion.

    At that moment, I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me with complete trust to relieve his pain.

    Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deforemed little stray, could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly. Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful.

    He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, but it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I care for.

    Many people want to be more successful, richer, beautiful, well-liked, but for me, I will always try to be Ugly.
    Something to think about, isn't it?

    Source - Ugly
     


    November 10, 2014

    We Will Remember

    On November 11th at 11:11 am, we take a moment out of day and embrace silence as we remember those brave men and women that have fought and died in the many wars of our past. I don't have any relatives or friends in the armed forces, but I will stop and remember in silent tribute. Please do the same.












     
    

     

     
    For service and sacrifice given. For blood spilled. For injuries received and lives changed forever. For precious lives lost.
    We will remember.
     

    Blondie's Place - Where There is a Paddle for Everyone



    Looking to buy a paddle? Want a good deal? Do you admire excellent craftsmanship? Check out Blondie's Place on Etsy. She and her husband currently have 57 different paddles available, all hand made.

    Shop Announcement -
     
    Handcrafted wooden paddles made for every shape and size and for all types of spankings!
    If you are just starting out with spankings to add some spice to the bedroom or you are heavy into the BDSM scene or somewhere in between, we have a paddle for you!

    My husband decided to make some paddles that we would enjoy. H is paddles are beautiful.  We have many different sizes and types of wood.  And they can even be customized to your liking.

    These paddles are made for consensual adult spankings only.  Both partners are to be in agreement before the paddle is used.  These paddles will HURT. Use CAUTION when using them.  Always play safe.

    Let us know if you like what you see or you want one that is more personalized. Please ask questions and we can help you find the perfect paddle.  Pick a size and/or shape, type of wood and color of finish - we would love to make a paddle to your liking.

    We use a variety of American domestic and exotic woods from around the world and each piece is crafted with a personal touch making each paddle unique.

    Thank you and...Welcome to Blondie's Place!

    A few months ago, the instruction was given to me to purchase two implements. One was a paddle from Blondie's shop. I love the purpleheart wood! For a small looking and thin paddle, the sting delivered is quite deceptive. Here's a picture -




    Check out the store and buy a paddle at Blondie's Place

    November 08, 2014

    Dirty Minds and a Wet Pussy

     
     
    I was surfing the 'net and came across a few things to share.  I hope you are successful at figuring out the words and don't forget to look at the wet pussy at the end of the post - as a reward! 
     
     



     
    I'll admit that even I fell for them, so no need to feel embarassed ... LOL!
     
     

    They say...
     
    

     
     
    I didn't forget. As a reward for your hard work and naughty mind, here is the wet pussy I promised to show you ...
     

     
    Have a good weekend! :D