...there's a link to that SNL skit with Catherine Zeta Jones getting spanked as well as spanking her groom. You'll need to scroll down to "television" and click on "Spanker's Wedding."
Hat tip to a couple of people on the soc.sexuality.spanking newsgroup who posted this.
Monday, November 28, 2005
Saturday, November 26, 2005
For you Colin Firth fans
After watching this movie twice, I have to say that My Life So Far is the perfect movie for you spankos who drool at the thought of being spanked by Colin Firth.
Oh yes.
He plays the eccentric-inventor father of a gazillion kids in a huge house in Scotland ca. late 1920s. While he's definitely NOT Mr. Darcy here -- his character has some definite flaws and, indeed, is a total dick in certain parts of the movie -- he's also the lovable but stern father-figure.
And yep, there's even a spanking scene.
Granted, you only see the shadows as he's using the strap. But ya can't help but get goose-bumps when he lets the smarting lads go with "be lucky I don't use my cane to thrash the both of you!"
OMG
Ya got goose-bumps too, didn't ya?
Thursday, November 24, 2005
My pervy family
Like most other families, mine had turkey and pumpkin pie today. But along with these Thanksgiving staples, there was an underlying spanking theme throughout the afternoon.
-- A friend of my mom and my grandma's husband sat trading stories of how they were spanked as kids. The former told the "go cut a switch" story, but with the twist that when he'd come back with a small one, his dad would simply say, "no problem, I've got a back-up" and haul out a huge switch from the closet. Or when he and his siblings got into trouble once, his father lined them up oldest to youngest to spank each of them. "You'd think he'd have gotten tired by the time he got to me and my brother, but instead he was just more pissed off."
-- My six-year old nephew, brother of the spanko nieces I've referred to a few times, pleaded with the above mentioned friend of my mom to be spanked after being tickled. His mother, my sister, sat next to me blushing. "I don't know what it is with my kids always wanting to be spanked."
-- As that sister and I sat perusing the sales papers, I commented that this one piece of exercise equipment looked like some sort of S & M furniture. She laughed and then goes, "how would you know?" I grinned, as she's the one in my family familiar with my proclivities. "Oh, and like you don't know!" her boyfriend exclaimed.
-- Then there's my brother. He's a twenty-year old cutie with Down's Syndrome who seems to have also inherited the BDSM gene. My other sister once caught him tying up all of his stuffed animals when he was younger. Today he found himself bent over the couch at one point, which invited my mother to playfully kick him in the behind. He feigned distress, but when my mom stopped, he went, "again! again!" Later he comes over to me while I'm watching television, bends right over, and in case I haven't figured out what he wants me to do, says "spank me 'Chell."
Yep. Never know whether to be horrified or amused by my pervy family. But certainly there's no doubt where I get my spanko-ness from.
-- A friend of my mom and my grandma's husband sat trading stories of how they were spanked as kids. The former told the "go cut a switch" story, but with the twist that when he'd come back with a small one, his dad would simply say, "no problem, I've got a back-up" and haul out a huge switch from the closet. Or when he and his siblings got into trouble once, his father lined them up oldest to youngest to spank each of them. "You'd think he'd have gotten tired by the time he got to me and my brother, but instead he was just more pissed off."
-- My six-year old nephew, brother of the spanko nieces I've referred to a few times, pleaded with the above mentioned friend of my mom to be spanked after being tickled. His mother, my sister, sat next to me blushing. "I don't know what it is with my kids always wanting to be spanked."
-- As that sister and I sat perusing the sales papers, I commented that this one piece of exercise equipment looked like some sort of S & M furniture. She laughed and then goes, "how would you know?" I grinned, as she's the one in my family familiar with my proclivities. "Oh, and like you don't know!" her boyfriend exclaimed.
-- Then there's my brother. He's a twenty-year old cutie with Down's Syndrome who seems to have also inherited the BDSM gene. My other sister once caught him tying up all of his stuffed animals when he was younger. Today he found himself bent over the couch at one point, which invited my mother to playfully kick him in the behind. He feigned distress, but when my mom stopped, he went, "again! again!" Later he comes over to me while I'm watching television, bends right over, and in case I haven't figured out what he wants me to do, says "spank me 'Chell."
Yep. Never know whether to be horrified or amused by my pervy family. But certainly there's no doubt where I get my spanko-ness from.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Grandmas can be dangerous
Lordy my grandma is trying to get me in trouble.
I've been slowly feeling better the last few weeks. Last week I was feeling really good after I paid a visit to my acupuncturist/massage therapist/Magic Lady (as A. calls her). I walked five blocks home from the bus stop. Did a load of laundry all by myself (haven't done that since April!). Even made a pumpkin pie. My grandma called me up thrilled to hear I was feeling better and has decided to help pay for me to see the Magic Lady every week.
Of course, she also expressed concern that I not over do it too much. I told her not to worry. I was being careful to do a little bit, then sit and rest for a bit, then do a little bit more, then rest a bit more. "Besides," I explain. "A. has already warned me about over doing it and accompanied that with a look so stern it made it all the way across the Atlantic and the continent to Oregon."
She giggled at that.
So, an hour or so ago she calls me up to discuss arrangments for her to pay for the Magic Lady and when she asks me how I'm feeling, I yawn and say something about being a bit tired as I didn't get enough sleep last week.
"Now, didn't you get a very stern look warning you not to over do it? Hmm?"
I hastily explained that it wasn't because I willfully over did it, just that my brain finally turned on, and I couldn't get it to turn off when I would try and go to sleep.
But in my mind I'm thinking, "geesh, woman, you're going to get me thrashed within an inch of my life!"
I've been slowly feeling better the last few weeks. Last week I was feeling really good after I paid a visit to my acupuncturist/massage therapist/Magic Lady (as A. calls her). I walked five blocks home from the bus stop. Did a load of laundry all by myself (haven't done that since April!). Even made a pumpkin pie. My grandma called me up thrilled to hear I was feeling better and has decided to help pay for me to see the Magic Lady every week.
Of course, she also expressed concern that I not over do it too much. I told her not to worry. I was being careful to do a little bit, then sit and rest for a bit, then do a little bit more, then rest a bit more. "Besides," I explain. "A. has already warned me about over doing it and accompanied that with a look so stern it made it all the way across the Atlantic and the continent to Oregon."
She giggled at that.
So, an hour or so ago she calls me up to discuss arrangments for her to pay for the Magic Lady and when she asks me how I'm feeling, I yawn and say something about being a bit tired as I didn't get enough sleep last week.
"Now, didn't you get a very stern look warning you not to over do it? Hmm?"
I hastily explained that it wasn't because I willfully over did it, just that my brain finally turned on, and I couldn't get it to turn off when I would try and go to sleep.
But in my mind I'm thinking, "geesh, woman, you're going to get me thrashed within an inch of my life!"
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Nailed to the ground
I'm not the only one feeling frustrated at the lack of spanking action.
A. had a dream last night that he was spanking me in front of someone with his hand (he doesn't know who or why), but couldn't get any force into the spanks. You know, like those dreams where you're trying to run but your feet seem to be nailed to the ground. At any rate, when he went to get an implement, he woke up.
All I have to say is that if I start feeling too sick again to play when he gets here in 28 days, I'm going to be super pissed.
A. had a dream last night that he was spanking me in front of someone with his hand (he doesn't know who or why), but couldn't get any force into the spanks. You know, like those dreams where you're trying to run but your feet seem to be nailed to the ground. At any rate, when he went to get an implement, he woke up.
All I have to say is that if I start feeling too sick again to play when he gets here in 28 days, I'm going to be super pissed.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Un-American naughtiness
My godfather has no idea I have a spanking kink. But he just told me during our phone conversation that I was being very naughty for a sarcastic post I made about the president on my regular blog.
So, of course, I said I would be sure to tell A. so he could make a note of my naughtiness. Which caused my godfather to improvise a version of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town." He's making a list, checking it twice.
::giggle:: He has no idea.
Perhaps A. will make me wear my stars and stripes knickers when he spanks me for this entry...
So, of course, I said I would be sure to tell A. so he could make a note of my naughtiness. Which caused my godfather to improvise a version of "Santa Clause is Coming to Town." He's making a list, checking it twice.
::giggle:: He has no idea.
Perhaps A. will make me wear my stars and stripes knickers when he spanks me for this entry...
Starving
O
M
G
My spanko cravings have suddenly turned on like you wouldn't believe.
They wake me up and keep me awake. Distract me from writing or unpacking. Make my daily meditation routine nearly impossible. Indeed, suppressing them is draining away my precious, fledgling energy.
And I've got a whole month to wait until A. is back.
:: sigh::
Gawd is it going to be a looooooong month.
M
G
My spanko cravings have suddenly turned on like you wouldn't believe.
They wake me up and keep me awake. Distract me from writing or unpacking. Make my daily meditation routine nearly impossible. Indeed, suppressing them is draining away my precious, fledgling energy.
And I've got a whole month to wait until A. is back.
:: sigh::
Gawd is it going to be a looooooong month.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Naughty priest
Nah, not THAT kind.
A chat pal was telling me tonight about a conversation she had with the priest at a wedding she attended this weekend. They sat across from each other at the rehearsal dinner and talked about how they both had problems getting to places on time. "I need a spanking," the priest told her.
Hmm...maybe he should consider joining Opus Dei.
A. tends to think spanking is a good remedy for tardiness too. ::sigh:: Six strokes with the brush for every minute I'm late. And, well, I have to admit, it's pretty damn effective. I haven't been late to a medical appointment in months and months. Granted, Medical Transportation has been taking me to my appointments over the last several months. But even when I've been able to go on my own, I've actually arrived a few minutes early. You know, just to make extra sure I don't get that damn brush. ::shiver::
A chat pal was telling me tonight about a conversation she had with the priest at a wedding she attended this weekend. They sat across from each other at the rehearsal dinner and talked about how they both had problems getting to places on time. "I need a spanking," the priest told her.
Hmm...maybe he should consider joining Opus Dei.
A. tends to think spanking is a good remedy for tardiness too. ::sigh:: Six strokes with the brush for every minute I'm late. And, well, I have to admit, it's pretty damn effective. I haven't been late to a medical appointment in months and months. Granted, Medical Transportation has been taking me to my appointments over the last several months. But even when I've been able to go on my own, I've actually arrived a few minutes early. You know, just to make extra sure I don't get that damn brush. ::shiver::
Sunday, October 30, 2005
An afternoon reverie
That child-like part of me has been asserting herself more and more the last few days. Don't know how long it will last as she's been rather ephemeral of late. But right now she feels very palpable.
I want to be mischievous and insolent. Pouty and petulant. Told firmly, though calmly, to behave myself, please. And then when I continue with my impishness, taken firmly, though calmly, by the ear to the bed. Laid over the lap and my trousers and panties taken down. Spanked with crisp, sharp smacks until my bottom is good and red and scalding. Told to stand in the corner and ponder my naughtiness. After a few minutes when I whine, "can I come out yet?" I will be told, "yes, and please bring me the hairbrush." To which I will stamp my foot and cry, "but I already got spanked!" I will then hear, "yes, you did, but clearly it was not enough to change your disposition. Now please bring me the hairbrush or I shall use it on your thighs." I will then scowl so violently at the injustice of it all but do as I am told and present it for use on my already tender behind. And it will come down hard and fast with no pause so that I begin to cry and plead that I will be good. "An apology would be nice," I'll hear, to which I will feel badly that I haven't done so already and quickly say how sorry I am that I was bad. I will be told to return to the corner, where I consider for several moments what a naughty girl I have been and how truly repentant I am. Still sniffling, I will be told I can leave the corner now. "Alright, big cuddle," I will hear and smile with as much energy as I scowled earlier. And cuddle with a contentment to which most people on this planet only aspire .
::happy sigh::
Only 38 more days until A. is back -- the day before my birthday.
I want to be mischievous and insolent. Pouty and petulant. Told firmly, though calmly, to behave myself, please. And then when I continue with my impishness, taken firmly, though calmly, by the ear to the bed. Laid over the lap and my trousers and panties taken down. Spanked with crisp, sharp smacks until my bottom is good and red and scalding. Told to stand in the corner and ponder my naughtiness. After a few minutes when I whine, "can I come out yet?" I will be told, "yes, and please bring me the hairbrush." To which I will stamp my foot and cry, "but I already got spanked!" I will then hear, "yes, you did, but clearly it was not enough to change your disposition. Now please bring me the hairbrush or I shall use it on your thighs." I will then scowl so violently at the injustice of it all but do as I am told and present it for use on my already tender behind. And it will come down hard and fast with no pause so that I begin to cry and plead that I will be good. "An apology would be nice," I'll hear, to which I will feel badly that I haven't done so already and quickly say how sorry I am that I was bad. I will be told to return to the corner, where I consider for several moments what a naughty girl I have been and how truly repentant I am. Still sniffling, I will be told I can leave the corner now. "Alright, big cuddle," I will hear and smile with as much energy as I scowled earlier. And cuddle with a contentment to which most people on this planet only aspire .
::happy sigh::
Only 38 more days until A. is back -- the day before my birthday.
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Unpacking
Well, all moved in to my new apartment. It's like living in a fort at the moment. Though, my dad unpacked most of my kitchen tonight, so now it's a fort I can walk around in.
Also did a little unpacking tonight of the cyber sort. Turned on my Yahoo Messenger for the first time in a few months to find a number of you, dear readers, have IMed me. I apologize that it took me so long to open it up, but now that I've got my laptop back, I promise to be on Messenger a bit more frequently if any of you want to chat.
Also did a little unpacking tonight of the cyber sort. Turned on my Yahoo Messenger for the first time in a few months to find a number of you, dear readers, have IMed me. I apologize that it took me so long to open it up, but now that I've got my laptop back, I promise to be on Messenger a bit more frequently if any of you want to chat.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
Spanking on SNL
My my, now that I've got my laptop back it's like the spanko thoughts are pouring out of me.
Right. So I was watching Saturday Night Live last night. I was getting pretty sleepy and ready to turn it off because most of the sketches hadn't been all that funny, save the first one spoofing Brit Hume and President Bush. When the last skit started with guest host Catherine Zeta Jones and Will Forte playing a bride and groom singing their wedding vows to each other, I wasn't expecting much. But lo and behold, she starts singing about him spanking her ass. He then sings about her spanking him. Then they sing more about spanking and he sings about how she reminds him of his mother (who, along with most of the audience, is absolutely horrified). The bride turns around and bends over slightly so her loving groom can wallop her good (though, it actually looked rather fake). After several swats, he turns and she gives him several good whacks.
My eyes about popped out of my sockets.
Though, it's not the first time I've seen spanking on SNL. I watched the Best of Mike Meyers a few weeks ago (God bless the good folks at Netflix) and in the opening monologue, it shows Norm McDonald with his trousers down being caned while Lorne Michaels watches. Mike Meyers pushes him aside to get his own caning, only to be told by Lorne that when you're a host, you don't have to be caned when you mess up your lines.
My eyes about popped out of my sockets then too.
Though, I've long suspected that Mike Meyers is a total spanko.
Right. So I was watching Saturday Night Live last night. I was getting pretty sleepy and ready to turn it off because most of the sketches hadn't been all that funny, save the first one spoofing Brit Hume and President Bush. When the last skit started with guest host Catherine Zeta Jones and Will Forte playing a bride and groom singing their wedding vows to each other, I wasn't expecting much. But lo and behold, she starts singing about him spanking her ass. He then sings about her spanking him. Then they sing more about spanking and he sings about how she reminds him of his mother (who, along with most of the audience, is absolutely horrified). The bride turns around and bends over slightly so her loving groom can wallop her good (though, it actually looked rather fake). After several swats, he turns and she gives him several good whacks.
My eyes about popped out of my sockets.
Though, it's not the first time I've seen spanking on SNL. I watched the Best of Mike Meyers a few weeks ago (God bless the good folks at Netflix) and in the opening monologue, it shows Norm McDonald with his trousers down being caned while Lorne Michaels watches. Mike Meyers pushes him aside to get his own caning, only to be told by Lorne that when you're a host, you don't have to be caned when you mess up your lines.
My eyes about popped out of my sockets then too.
Though, I've long suspected that Mike Meyers is a total spanko.
Visions of grandeur
Forgot to mention that during our weekly read together of the Observer this morning, I noticed in the story about David Cameron, the wanna be Tory leader, this little gem.
Granted, I don't know too many two-year olds who would actually stay in the corner if made to stand there.
And while I'm not a big fan of smacking kids myself, the image of, say, being the PM's daughter and standing in the corner at 10 Downing Street is rather hot...
According to interviews yesterday, Cameron is a man who wouldn't smack his children - two-year-old Nancy is sent to stand in the corner instead...
Granted, I don't know too many two-year olds who would actually stay in the corner if made to stand there.
And while I'm not a big fan of smacking kids myself, the image of, say, being the PM's daughter and standing in the corner at 10 Downing Street is rather hot...
Yup
What to do on yet another Sunday afternoon in bed while my dad is busy packing my stuff and doing my laundry? Why, take spanking quizzes of course. And Patty's here pretty much nailed it.
Spanking's on your mind but right now you're
content to wistfully imagine it.
What kind of spanking do you deserve?
brought to you by Quizilla
Spanking's on your mind but right now you're
content to wistfully imagine it.
What kind of spanking do you deserve?
brought to you by Quizilla
Saturday, October 22, 2005
A little good news
My laptop is fixed! Yay! So now I can snuggle up with it and write about all the spanko thoughts I've had while laying bed.
And I've missed so many. Particularly those related to current events. Like George Bush's note to Condoleeza Rice at the UN asking for permission to pee. A. and I have been wondering whether Condi was a sub or domme. But that note clinched it.
A. is also happy that Angela Merkel became chancellor in Germany. As a former tabloid journalist, he sees great potential with the name Merkel. "Plus," he says, "she is someone else I can fantasise about spanking when her country lurches to the right."
And I've missed so many. Particularly those related to current events. Like George Bush's note to Condoleeza Rice at the UN asking for permission to pee. A. and I have been wondering whether Condi was a sub or domme. But that note clinched it.
A. is also happy that Angela Merkel became chancellor in Germany. As a former tabloid journalist, he sees great potential with the name Merkel. "Plus," he says, "she is someone else I can fantasise about spanking when her country lurches to the right."
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Faith
I so wanna be naughty.
I was reading one of Patty's punishments over at her blog last night and felt intensely jealous. Of course, if I was in the middle of said punishment I wouldn't be jealous at all. Indeed, I'd be thinking something like "what the FUCK was it again that possessed me to WANT this?!"
Yep, the Natty part of me is back. Trouble is, she's living in a body that doesn't want to be mischievous. Or even really has the energy to be. Putting a DVD into the player or my dinner in the microwave -- that I can manage. Throwing the temper tantrums that are building up inside? Well, not really.
Hell, I started writing this post last Friday. It's taken me four days of typing away at it little by little to get it publishable.
My laptop screen was broken a few months ago, so I've got my laptop hooked up to a huge-ass ancient monitor at my desk. Since I can't take it to bed with me, I don't spend as much time on the computer. However, my grandma is paying to get it fixed so hopefully in the next few weeks there'll be more regular posts.
Then again, I am moving next week. Since I can't go to school anymore I can't stay in student housing so I'm moving about 8 blocks away to a nice little studio in a HUD building (Housing and Urban Development). A nice local social service agency is helping me with the move. Hopefully it won't be too bad. (Though if anyone reading this in the Portland area has extra boxes they need to get rid of, drop me an email! I've got 1100 books or so to move and can't have too many boxes at this point.)
But...I HATE BEING SICK!
I HATE BEING IN BED ALL THE TIME!
I HATE THAT I NEVER GET TO GO OUTSIDE EXCEPT TO GO TO DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENTS!
I HATE THAT I DON'T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY TO STAMP MY FOOT, DAMNIT!
Of course, a lot of what I think about in terms of spanking right now makes me miss my boyfriend. The trans-continental thing really really sucks, I have to say. But the other day we were reminiscing about a particularly romantic moment that only other spankos would appreciate. It was a conversation we had not quite three years ago on Yahoo Messenger. At the time, we knew we liked each other, but we had no idea when we were ever going to meet in person. Both of us were living in dire poverty and visiting the other's country wasn't in the plans any time soon. But we did have faith. And in this instance, an exercise book to represent that faith.
Here is the following excerpt from that conversation, a bit cleaned up, though with a "who's on first" sort of feel at times.
Do note that by the time I managed to get to England nine months later, he had lost the punishment book. However, he assured me the other day that he's far more organized now and has a new punishment book should I commit the mortal sin at the moment -- overdoing it. Indeed, I got a look so stern it made it all the way over the Atlantic and across the continent to Oregon when it accompanied his reminder not to over do it upon my feeling a bit better for a few days.
Sigh. So I'm not. I'm being good. Which means it's probably time I got off the computer.
[rolling my eyes]
I can at least manage that act of brattiness still. ;)
I was reading one of Patty's punishments over at her blog last night and felt intensely jealous. Of course, if I was in the middle of said punishment I wouldn't be jealous at all. Indeed, I'd be thinking something like "what the FUCK was it again that possessed me to WANT this?!"
Yep, the Natty part of me is back. Trouble is, she's living in a body that doesn't want to be mischievous. Or even really has the energy to be. Putting a DVD into the player or my dinner in the microwave -- that I can manage. Throwing the temper tantrums that are building up inside? Well, not really.
Hell, I started writing this post last Friday. It's taken me four days of typing away at it little by little to get it publishable.
My laptop screen was broken a few months ago, so I've got my laptop hooked up to a huge-ass ancient monitor at my desk. Since I can't take it to bed with me, I don't spend as much time on the computer. However, my grandma is paying to get it fixed so hopefully in the next few weeks there'll be more regular posts.
Then again, I am moving next week. Since I can't go to school anymore I can't stay in student housing so I'm moving about 8 blocks away to a nice little studio in a HUD building (Housing and Urban Development). A nice local social service agency is helping me with the move. Hopefully it won't be too bad. (Though if anyone reading this in the Portland area has extra boxes they need to get rid of, drop me an email! I've got 1100 books or so to move and can't have too many boxes at this point.)
But...I HATE BEING SICK!
I HATE BEING IN BED ALL THE TIME!
I HATE THAT I NEVER GET TO GO OUTSIDE EXCEPT TO GO TO DOCTOR'S APPOINTMENTS!
I HATE THAT I DON'T EVEN HAVE ENOUGH ENERGY TO STAMP MY FOOT, DAMNIT!
Of course, a lot of what I think about in terms of spanking right now makes me miss my boyfriend. The trans-continental thing really really sucks, I have to say. But the other day we were reminiscing about a particularly romantic moment that only other spankos would appreciate. It was a conversation we had not quite three years ago on Yahoo Messenger. At the time, we knew we liked each other, but we had no idea when we were ever going to meet in person. Both of us were living in dire poverty and visiting the other's country wasn't in the plans any time soon. But we did have faith. And in this instance, an exercise book to represent that faith.
Here is the following excerpt from that conversation, a bit cleaned up, though with a "who's on first" sort of feel at times.
A.: Right. I'm just looking at Nick Cohen's traditional end of year quiz
Natty: yeah?
Natty: in the Observer?
A.: yeah
A.: it's always good fun
Natty: I'm on my way...
A.: okay, I imagine the answers are at the bottom
A.: so no peeking
Natty: oh okay
A.: that's an order lady!
Natty: :P
A.: I mean it now
A.: I can tell if you have been cheating
Natty: you think so huh?
A.: well maybe
Natty: he he he
A.: uh don't let that be an incentive to cheat
Natty: lol
A.: you will only be cheating yourself
A.: ;)
Natty: so?
A.: okay, we will do it together
Natty: cool :)
A.: I'll write down our answers
A.: Q1
Natty: Ken Lay...
A.: that must be Enron
A.: and he was the chairman?
Natty: yep
A.: ok
A.: q2
Natty: strawberry
A.: I imagine he did add that
Natty: oh wait that's q#3
Natty: yes to q2
A.: stop jumping and answer q2
Natty: yes
A.: are you looking at the answers?
A.: huh?
Natty: [-(
Natty: lol
A.: so the answer to did he really add...
A.: is strawberry?
A.: lol
Natty: no - it's yes
A.: huh?
A.: huh?
Natty: that's the answer to question 3
Natty: strawberry that is
A.: yep
A.: okay 4
A.: I think that was coconut oil
Natty: papaya, melon and mud...
A.: ah right
A.: q5
Natty: Dick Armey
A.: q6
Natty: the Senate assistant majority leader
A.: right
Natty: 6 -- a paragraph...
A.: q6?
Natty: yep
A.: did it get any coverage?
Natty: not with only a paragraph
A.: how do you know it was a paragraph?
Natty: uh...
A.: okay.. q7
A.: any idea?
Natty: that one is Egypt -- saw that on the news a couple of weeks ago
A.: ah okay
Natty: and actually, that's only one episode of the show
A.: q8
A.: hrm?
A.: around 20-30%?
Natty: no - -I'd say less
A.: yeah?
Natty: less than 10%
A.: okay, pick a number and we will go with that
Natty: uh...8%
A.: LOL
A.: I knew you were going to say 8
Natty: LOL
Natty: and how did you know that??
A.: you
A.: flipping
A.: cheater
Natty: LOL
A.: you were thinking..
A.: now if I say 9, he will guess I'm cheating
A.: yeah?
A.: oh, sorry
A.: It was 8
Natty: no -- because it is 8 percent LOL
Natty: if I said 9 then I'd be wrong... and wouldn't have looked LOL
A.: I scrolled down after q6 and thought it said 9
A.: right, quiz time over lady
Natty: aaawww
A.: well, I did tell you not to peek
A.: and if you're gonna cheat, cheat better
Natty: well... I wouldn't have even thought to if you hadn't said anything...
A.: oh, so it is my fault you cheated?
A.: is it?
Natty: it is indeed
Natty: lol
A.: oooo
A.: you really need your backside tanned, young lady
Natty: nuh uh...
Natty: [-(
A.: nuh uh indeed
A.: you could at lest try to form a coherent sentence
Natty: lol
A.: or even a complete word would be nice
A.: maybe I will teach you one
A.: called 'ouch'
Natty: oh, but words...sentences...they are so overrated...
A.: lol
Natty: ouch?
A.: yes, and maybe get you to say it sixty or seventy times for good measure
Natty: :O
Natty: [gulp]
A.: hrm.. well luckily for you, and your bottom, I am a few thousand miles away
Natty: :D
[momentary pause]
Natty: well, actually, that you are so far away is rather sad...
A.: yes it is
A.: :(
Natty: :(
[another momentary pause]
A.: however, I do have an exercise book by my pc
Natty: okay...
Natty: what does that mean?
A.: and it is turned to a fresh page
A.: oh it is a lined book for writing in
Natty: oh oh -- you mean like a punishment book?
A.: it could act as such, yes
Natty: ohhh
Natty:[gulp]
A.: what is the date today?
Natty: December 29
A.: thank-you
A.: give me a moment and I will scroll up and read your earlier comments
Natty: okay...
Natty: and why do you have to read those?
A.: I want to see how many answers you cheated on
Natty: oh dear...
Natty: well, how do you know?
A.: I will take off the ones I believe you would have known
A.: shhh
A.: give me a moment
Natty: sigh...fine...
A.: okay, I believe you would have know the first three questions anyway
Natty: sure
A.: Q4 was a cheat
A.: as was Q6 and Q8
A.: was Q5 a cheat or did you know the answer to it?
Natty: well...sort of...
Natty: I mean, I wasn't sure specifically but once I saw the answer then I kinda figured
A.: so you would probably have not come up with the name without prompting?
Natty: well...no...
A.: okay, and I suspect Q7 was a cheat as well
Natty: that one actually wasn't at all -- I knew that before I ever looked down
A.: okay, then that is good
A.: otherwise that would have been a cheat and a lie to cover the cheating
A.: okay..your misdemeanor has been entered
Natty: and uh...well...er...uh...Q3 was a cheat too...
A.: and there are 22 lines on this page
A.: well, thank-you for owning up
Natty: :">
A.: I thought you might have remembered that from the article
Natty: nah
Natty: but I figured that's what you were thinking
A.: well, that doesn't affect what I wrote in my entry
Natty: so how many lines did it take up?
A.: I will tell you this time, but this is the only time I will
A.: two
Natty: okay
Natty: :)
A.: and I almost had to start a third line
Natty: you did?
A.: yes
Natty: because of Q3?
A.: no, I had written it up before you told me about Q3
A.: okay, just this once I will tell you what I have written
Natty: okay
Natty: :)
A.: Dec 29: Cheating at a quiz after promising not to. Attempting to justify cheating.
Natty: okay
A.: that is fair, is it not?
Natty: sigh...yeah it is...
A.: yup
Natty: though of course I'm going to try and justify it LOL
A.: trust is very important after all
Natty: true
A.: so you should know that attempting to justify cheating is a punishable offence
Natty: yes Sir...
A.: thank-you
A.: and it will be interesting to see what words keep cropping up in your punishment book
Natty: true
A.: when it is all read out it may sound very bad indeed
Natty: yeah
Natty: I suspect that justifying thing will come up a lot
A.: yes, I do too
Do note that by the time I managed to get to England nine months later, he had lost the punishment book. However, he assured me the other day that he's far more organized now and has a new punishment book should I commit the mortal sin at the moment -- overdoing it. Indeed, I got a look so stern it made it all the way over the Atlantic and across the continent to Oregon when it accompanied his reminder not to over do it upon my feeling a bit better for a few days.
Sigh. So I'm not. I'm being good. Which means it's probably time I got off the computer.
[rolling my eyes]
I can at least manage that act of brattiness still. ;)
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
"Why is everyone so anti-enema all of a sudden?"
I couldn't help but giggle last Wednesday morning when the medical assistant in the urologist's office asked this question out loud in response to two patients in a row whining about having to have an enema before their medical procedures.
Well, indeed. Why would anyone not want an enema?
(Hit "Keep reading" to continue.)
As you might imagine, the fact that I'm in a urologists office to hear such questions means my health is still pretty shitty. The doctor's assessment last Tuesday was that I have interstitial cystitis and so he proceeded to do something called a DMSO wash. "It'll sting for 15 minutes but then it will numb everything," promised the medical assistant.
Sting was an understatement and it lasted a hell of a lot longer than 15 minutes. After two hours I couldn't even pee and had to head into the emergency room for a catheter and a morphine shot.
"You want the shot in your butt or the front of your thigh?" asked the nurse.
Normally my butt would have won hands down, but that would have meant moving. And pressure on my bladder. So my thigh it was. Ouch.
They sent me home with a catheter and the doctor decided the next morning to leave it in until Friday. Lemme tell ya, life just doesn't get much better than have a bag of piss strapped to your leg. I will never again take for granted that blissful feeling of relief you get after you pee when you've had to go for a really long time.
As it turned out, I still had a UTI, which came as no surprise to me because I managed to get an entirely different UTI a couple of weeks ago while still on antibiotics for the first UTI the week before that. But the urologist usually has about 6 patients waiting for him at any given moment so doesn't really sit down and listen to what's going on. Just assumes a lot because, hey, he's been doing this for 30 years or whatever and doesn't really need you to tell him what's going on because he already knows. That is, until he gets a patient like me whose body doesn't quite cooperate with his assumptions.
So, now I'm on heavy duty antibiotics that make me both very sleepy and very nauseous. The medication they gave me to counter the nausea also makes me very sleepy so I'm sleeping about 15 hours a day or so and during the time that I'm not sleeping I'm barely lucid. Right now is about the time the antibiotic starts to wear off, but I just took my second dose a half an hour ago so I'll probably be in a coma in about 15 minutes. However, I've been trying to type up this post for almost a week now and thought I'd take my few minutes of lucidity to clean it up enough to post already.
Right, so all of this difficulty with...um...elimination along with the fatigue that has been more profound than my normal relapses have reminded me of not quite seven years ago when I had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung) after having knee and ankle surgery. When I was admitted the hospital, my nurse introduced herself and sternly forbade me to get up to use the bathroom.
"I've had patients say to me that they'd rather die than use a bedpan and sure enough, they get up to go and that clot hits their brain or their heart and they do die before using a bed pan."
Fair enough. I was scared good and proper and used the bed pan without complaint. And was quite happy to graduate to the bedside commode the next day. A friend who was caring for me at the time joked that it was "a big potty chair." I certainly felt a bit like a toddler when the nurse stood me up after doing my business and wiped my backside. I also felt an odd sort of tingle that I now understand was arousal buried beneath a lot of embarrassment and just plain being grossed out by the close proximity to bodily fluid and waste than I was normally accustomed to or wished for.
For the last month or so I've had this odd, empty feeling when it came to my spanko-ness. Certainly pain has been a part of that, as it was last year at this time. While I am normally an insatiable spanko slut, I've had no desire at all to be spanked or to even think about it. However, it's been different than last year in that the child-like part of me -- the "Natty" me -- has barely been around. Usually when I go through a patch of bad health, the child part of me gets very cranky and constantly wants attention. And I try to give that part of me as much attention as I can by reading fun books like Harry Potter, or watching movies like Anne of Green Gables, and eating naughty stuff like ice cream or candy (though I try to get the organic stuff to give myself the illusion that it's not quite as naughty).
Now she sorta comes and goes. I know she'll be back. She came back after the P.E. eventually. And when I do feel little, I find myself thinking a lot about that nurse I had. How wonderful it was to be cared for by someone who wasn't grossed out by the help that I needed. Then I think about A. and how wonderful he's been. How instead of getting tired of me being sick all the time, he just gets sweeter.
Okay, I also took my pain meds along with the antibiotic and nausea medicine so I really am about to crash. Hopefully I'll be able to write a more well-constructed post at the end of the week.
Well, indeed. Why would anyone not want an enema?
(Hit "Keep reading" to continue.)
As you might imagine, the fact that I'm in a urologists office to hear such questions means my health is still pretty shitty. The doctor's assessment last Tuesday was that I have interstitial cystitis and so he proceeded to do something called a DMSO wash. "It'll sting for 15 minutes but then it will numb everything," promised the medical assistant.
Sting was an understatement and it lasted a hell of a lot longer than 15 minutes. After two hours I couldn't even pee and had to head into the emergency room for a catheter and a morphine shot.
"You want the shot in your butt or the front of your thigh?" asked the nurse.
Normally my butt would have won hands down, but that would have meant moving. And pressure on my bladder. So my thigh it was. Ouch.
They sent me home with a catheter and the doctor decided the next morning to leave it in until Friday. Lemme tell ya, life just doesn't get much better than have a bag of piss strapped to your leg. I will never again take for granted that blissful feeling of relief you get after you pee when you've had to go for a really long time.
As it turned out, I still had a UTI, which came as no surprise to me because I managed to get an entirely different UTI a couple of weeks ago while still on antibiotics for the first UTI the week before that. But the urologist usually has about 6 patients waiting for him at any given moment so doesn't really sit down and listen to what's going on. Just assumes a lot because, hey, he's been doing this for 30 years or whatever and doesn't really need you to tell him what's going on because he already knows. That is, until he gets a patient like me whose body doesn't quite cooperate with his assumptions.
So, now I'm on heavy duty antibiotics that make me both very sleepy and very nauseous. The medication they gave me to counter the nausea also makes me very sleepy so I'm sleeping about 15 hours a day or so and during the time that I'm not sleeping I'm barely lucid. Right now is about the time the antibiotic starts to wear off, but I just took my second dose a half an hour ago so I'll probably be in a coma in about 15 minutes. However, I've been trying to type up this post for almost a week now and thought I'd take my few minutes of lucidity to clean it up enough to post already.
Right, so all of this difficulty with...um...elimination along with the fatigue that has been more profound than my normal relapses have reminded me of not quite seven years ago when I had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung) after having knee and ankle surgery. When I was admitted the hospital, my nurse introduced herself and sternly forbade me to get up to use the bathroom.
"I've had patients say to me that they'd rather die than use a bedpan and sure enough, they get up to go and that clot hits their brain or their heart and they do die before using a bed pan."
Fair enough. I was scared good and proper and used the bed pan without complaint. And was quite happy to graduate to the bedside commode the next day. A friend who was caring for me at the time joked that it was "a big potty chair." I certainly felt a bit like a toddler when the nurse stood me up after doing my business and wiped my backside. I also felt an odd sort of tingle that I now understand was arousal buried beneath a lot of embarrassment and just plain being grossed out by the close proximity to bodily fluid and waste than I was normally accustomed to or wished for.
For the last month or so I've had this odd, empty feeling when it came to my spanko-ness. Certainly pain has been a part of that, as it was last year at this time. While I am normally an insatiable spanko slut, I've had no desire at all to be spanked or to even think about it. However, it's been different than last year in that the child-like part of me -- the "Natty" me -- has barely been around. Usually when I go through a patch of bad health, the child part of me gets very cranky and constantly wants attention. And I try to give that part of me as much attention as I can by reading fun books like Harry Potter, or watching movies like Anne of Green Gables, and eating naughty stuff like ice cream or candy (though I try to get the organic stuff to give myself the illusion that it's not quite as naughty).
Now she sorta comes and goes. I know she'll be back. She came back after the P.E. eventually. And when I do feel little, I find myself thinking a lot about that nurse I had. How wonderful it was to be cared for by someone who wasn't grossed out by the help that I needed. Then I think about A. and how wonderful he's been. How instead of getting tired of me being sick all the time, he just gets sweeter.
Okay, I also took my pain meds along with the antibiotic and nausea medicine so I really am about to crash. Hopefully I'll be able to write a more well-constructed post at the end of the week.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Head girl ain't what it used to be
These head girls from a recent Indy article are so not what you read about in those spanking stories...
If it's got you hankering for the good old days, check out this oldie but goodie from Pablo over at the Treehouse.
If it's got you hankering for the good old days, check out this oldie but goodie from Pablo over at the Treehouse.
Human Contact
I just finished eating my dinner from Meals on Wheels, and I have to say, I've never been more grateful to have people show up at my door with a warm cooked meal. Indeed even as I typed that last sentence I started to tear up a bit. The isolation of illness has been particularly brutal since my boyfriend left last week to head back home to England.
Damn those 90-day limits on tourist visits.
As those of you who read this blog regularly have probably noticed (and there are a handful of you who check in at least daily) it's been a bit quiet the last couple of weeks. My immune system has been overwhelmed with a variety of infections: a staph infection in my right index finger, an ambivalent respiratory virus, two separate UTIs, and the ever-present yeast infections that accompany 5 weeks of antibiotics. It's all left me so weak that even moving my fingers across a keyboard has seemed like a gargantuan task. And since other trivial activities like bathing or cutting up a few vegetables for soup have also turned into gargantuan tasks, blogging has been relegated to the superfluous.
However, when you spend most of your time without actual human contact, blogging becomes a way of feeling like you do have some sort of connection to the outside world. A way of sharing all those thoughts running through your head as you spend hour after hour laying in bed. A way to feel like you're contributing something even as illness makes you feel so damn useless and burdensome.
So, blogging hardly feels superfluous. It certainly provides a necessary function in my life. Yet, despite it's value, I've been made painfully aware this week that it can't take the place of human contact. Friends in Canada or Florida or England or California are unable to be here when I'm too sick to type.
Which means that on days like today when I can finally type again, you all are all the more precious to me.
As are those good people at Loaves and Fishes who came and woke me up with a Styrofoam package of sausage, mashed potatoes, spinach, cottage cheese and peaches, a dinner roll and Nilla wafers.
Damn those 90-day limits on tourist visits.
As those of you who read this blog regularly have probably noticed (and there are a handful of you who check in at least daily) it's been a bit quiet the last couple of weeks. My immune system has been overwhelmed with a variety of infections: a staph infection in my right index finger, an ambivalent respiratory virus, two separate UTIs, and the ever-present yeast infections that accompany 5 weeks of antibiotics. It's all left me so weak that even moving my fingers across a keyboard has seemed like a gargantuan task. And since other trivial activities like bathing or cutting up a few vegetables for soup have also turned into gargantuan tasks, blogging has been relegated to the superfluous.
However, when you spend most of your time without actual human contact, blogging becomes a way of feeling like you do have some sort of connection to the outside world. A way of sharing all those thoughts running through your head as you spend hour after hour laying in bed. A way to feel like you're contributing something even as illness makes you feel so damn useless and burdensome.
So, blogging hardly feels superfluous. It certainly provides a necessary function in my life. Yet, despite it's value, I've been made painfully aware this week that it can't take the place of human contact. Friends in Canada or Florida or England or California are unable to be here when I'm too sick to type.
Which means that on days like today when I can finally type again, you all are all the more precious to me.
As are those good people at Loaves and Fishes who came and woke me up with a Styrofoam package of sausage, mashed potatoes, spinach, cottage cheese and peaches, a dinner roll and Nilla wafers.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Another thing to add to the list
I got spanked with a leek the other night. Yup. Really.
I was laying on my side in bed watching TV because I was sick and A. came out to ask me a question. Noticing that the leek in his hand was slightly whippy, he smacked me with it a few times on the bottom.
"Owch," I said. My pain threshold is crap these days. And it did have a bit of a thud. He grinned and ordered me to lay on my tummy. "But I'm sick," I pouted. Though I was secretly a bit excited to do something not illness related. So I turned over. And he gave me a few more whacks.
So, now I can add a leek to the list of things I've been spanked with.
And yes, he did wash that leek before putting it in the soup.
I was laying on my side in bed watching TV because I was sick and A. came out to ask me a question. Noticing that the leek in his hand was slightly whippy, he smacked me with it a few times on the bottom.
"Owch," I said. My pain threshold is crap these days. And it did have a bit of a thud. He grinned and ordered me to lay on my tummy. "But I'm sick," I pouted. Though I was secretly a bit excited to do something not illness related. So I turned over. And he gave me a few more whacks.
So, now I can add a leek to the list of things I've been spanked with.
And yes, he did wash that leek before putting it in the soup.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Stripedy like a zebra horse
Oh my - two posts in one day! (A. has been out for the afternoon -- he he he.)
One of the cool things about not being able to use use my computer as much has been that I've been reading more. You know, books.
Like, The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingslover. A brilliant book about about a family of Baptist missionaries from Georgia who go to bring the Word of God (whatever that is) to the Congo in 1960 as told through the wife and four daughters of the misogynist, racist, clueless minister. And being a Free Will Baptist minister (indeed I remember hearing once that Conservative Baptists were found to be the most frequent users of corporal punishment), he is liberal with his use of the rod so there are frequent spanking references. My favorite is from five-year old Ruth May:
"That razor strop burns so bad, after you go to bed your legs still feel stripedy like a zebra horse."
One of the cool things about not being able to use use my computer as much has been that I've been reading more. You know, books.
Like, The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingslover. A brilliant book about about a family of Baptist missionaries from Georgia who go to bring the Word of God (whatever that is) to the Congo in 1960 as told through the wife and four daughters of the misogynist, racist, clueless minister. And being a Free Will Baptist minister (indeed I remember hearing once that Conservative Baptists were found to be the most frequent users of corporal punishment), he is liberal with his use of the rod so there are frequent spanking references. My favorite is from five-year old Ruth May:
"That razor strop burns so bad, after you go to bed your legs still feel stripedy like a zebra horse."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
