I was going to blog
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Posted:Sep 5, 2017 7:22 am
Last Updated:Sep 6, 2017 8:31 am
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But before I even tried to post what I had written it was lost. I opened another tab to fact check myself and the post disappeared.
And I'm really not at liberty to re write the damn post now.
Maybe later.
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Meddle Not in the Affairs of Dragons....
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Posted:Sep 1, 2017 11:27 am
Last Updated:Sep 10, 2017 6:53 pm
5088 Views
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....for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.
Finally Friday. Man this week has been forever long.
Diet report: Down seven pounds. God, if only I could lose weight as fast as I gain it.
So, does everyone have big plans for this lovely three day weekend?
I intend to get out and go do something, I'm just not real sure what that something will be yet. Lots to choose from, but I'm not much for crowds, I'm still sneezing and coughing and snotting....but I'm going to get out and about in the world.
I wish there were more burlesque shows to be honest. Strippers are fun, but I like women who aren't bleached and perfect and filled with silicone more often than not. Plus there is an actual show in burlesque, with singing and dancing and comedy. It's just good clean...sorta...fun! I'm not a lesbian, but there is just something about a nice set of tits and long, long legs that go all the way up to a lovely round bubble ass that you can't help but admire. There is an artistry that cannot be denied in naked bodies, even the less than perfect ones.
I wish I didn't have so many hang ups about my own.
Perhaps it's good that I do, if I were comfortable with my body I'd never leave the house and I'd never wear clothes.
I'm a little twitchy today, not stark, raving mad with it, but still a little twitchy. If it weren't for the Wubbie, the mailman might have to ring more than twice...ring the bell...ring it!
Not really, he is a whole heap younger than me, and I just don't much care for younger men. I like my men to be aged like a good bourbon, the kind that leaves a lingering sweetness on the lips and a warm glow in the belly. The kind that like to indulge me in a lot of long, sensuous foreplay and teasing. The ones who aren't so impatient to get their little carrots wet that they forget to prime the well, the ones who are turned on by the act of turning me on.....
Okay, moving on. If I keep up this line of thinking, that little mailboy might be in trouble.
Well what are you waiting for? Get out there and carpe the living crap out of this weekend!
Love and Peace✌🏼️
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Wipe Out
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Posted:Aug 30, 2017 8:54 am
Last Updated:Sep 1, 2017 9:07 am
4947 Views
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Happy Hump Day!
And may you find a good hump for the day, if that is your pleasure.
So....
.....
.......
..........
My mind is a blank slate today. I mean, I am coming up with nothing to blog about.
I got me some morning lovin' this morning, but pretty sure that at least thirty million other people did too, so that's not so blog worthy. I mean it was awesome, but then it always is.
I've spent the better part of the morning trying to convince the Wubbie that the smell coming from the kitchen is not cookies, it's the wax warmer.
She is not buying it and about every ten minutes she climbs out of her toy mountain she is building in the living room floor to ask me if she can have a cookie.
Curse you hazelnut latte scent. You are supposed to just smell good, not force me to have deep philosophical conversations with a three year old about why the kitchen smells like cookies when there are no cookies.
My nose has decided to become a water fountain, a sore, red water fountain. If it were a bit closer to Halloween, all I would need is some white face paint and I'd be a shoe-in as Emmett Kelly.
On a serious note, my thoughts are with the people on the gulf coast. I wish I had a way to go down there and help. The images coming out of there are so reminiscent of Katrina, policemen and other rescue workers sleeping sitting up in wet clothes, exhausted, people in shelters trying to make the most out of an awful situation, animal rescuers trying to save the creatures that were left behind. I really wish I could do more than throw some money towards relief efforts and pray. Just before Harvey hit, there was a video of a middle aged man and his family who had nowhere to go and no money to leave with even if he had a place to go. I can't get that video off my mind.
Well, that's about it.
Like I said, the gray matter is uninspired at the moment, maybe later I'll find a muse.
Love and Peace ✌🏼️
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The Release it Brings (#34 Pain)
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Posted:Aug 29, 2017 12:02 pm
Last Updated:Oct 12, 2017 9:32 am
7733 Views
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Image by me.
Pain. There is so much of it in this world that it is, at times for me, physically tangible.
There are some kinds of pain that I can easily cope with. The pain in my hips, back, and knees, the pain (in my ass) of these lingering allergies, the pain of watching this world I love being willfully destroyed by greed. These are pains that I have no alternative but to accept. Each must run their course, each will come to whatever end they will. I do what is within my capacity to do about each, but beyond that I have no choice but to accept the pain.
These are what, to my mind, constitutes acceptable pains.
The pain I will address in this blog, however, is the pain that I sometimes deliberately seek.
I've never really talked in any depth about my dabbling in BDSM, mainly because it isn't the totality of who I am and trying to explain what I get from a good session to people who don't truly understand emotional damage and the aftermath it causes feel that this is unhealthy, that I should seek counseling, even that I should be locked up for a time.....for my own protection.
Perhaps they are right, but in over twenty years of seeking this release, it's never been anything other than the Balm of Gilead for my spirit. It is much akin to our modern cutters, a physical release of internal pain. Religious flagellants practice self mortification as a demonstration of piety. This form of physical release is as old as time itself, and I don't think that understanding this release means that I'm a danger to myself or anyone else.
I'm not a very gifted wordsmith like so many others, but I'm going to attempt to explain my masochistic streak.
Firstly, this is not something I routinely seek, it is not a part of my day to day life. Think of it as a short term type of therapy that has roots in my early childhood.
My father was an alcoholic, and due to the abuses he suffered as a , he was a self centered sadist. The beatings I received from him as a would land someone in prison these days. The beatings I witnessed my mother receive left scars on my psyche that no pill or therapy will ever erase. But far worse than the physical abuse was the verbal abuse that he mainly directed at me. From the age of six or seven, I was told I was unwanted, unloved, that my mother tricked him into having me, that if my mother had died trying to have me, he would have buried me in a shallow grave in the cornfield to be free of the burden of me....it never ended. I was fat, lazy, a , good for nothing....the list of shit he said is still there in my mind. And for the first thirty years of my life it controlled me. In every relationship I sought men who were just like my father, controlling, abusive, alcoholics. I think it was my feeble minds attempt to try to rectify all the pain of my past, to tame the beast that haunted my thoughts and thereby prove my father wrong.
My third husband introduced me to BDSM, our forays into that type of play were simple bondage and sensory deprivation, that grew into mutual paddling.
Pretty mundane, but it left a seed in my mind that in later years grew into a full blown exploration of the lifestyle.
After my last and final divorce, I was filled with so much pain and fear that I was on the verge of a total collapse. I fell into the darkest depression of my entire life. I spent an entire month in bed at a friends house, barely eating, only bathing when I was forced, and sleeping. I simply could not function as a human being. Everything I read, everything I saw, any music I heard only felt like a barb in my heart, reminding me that I really was the failure my father always told me I would be. Depression does that, it turns the world into a cold gray place void of any comfort or love. After that month of giving into it, I realized that I couldn't continue this path or I would die. Plus my friend was starting to suggest that perhaps I needed to commit myself to a program. I know me, a caged life would be of no help and I'm not the sort to take something to turn off my emotions so I turned all my energies into finding freedom. A job and a place to live were the only things I would allow myself to give any thought to, a busy mind doesn't have time to dwell on such things as heartbreak. It helped, and the struggle kept me grounded well enough to survive alone.
After some months of my fledgling freedom, I decided that I really missed sex. Not so much the gratuitous kind of sex I had been used to, but the kind of sex that left a person sweaty, breathless, and satiated and came from desire verses a sense of duty and obligation to a spouse. So I put up profiles on every swingers site I could find, and it was there that I met a dominant.
To say I owe this man a debt of gratitude is an understatement. I may well owe him my life.
We didn't meet right away, we talked. Long hours spent chatting, talking on the phone...it took him three months just to get me to open up about the fact that I was an abused , and another three to discuss it in any descriptive way. He was patient, he never tired any of the 'online domination' bullshit with me. He listened, and then he told me his real feelings on the matters we discussed. He knew that before I could become involved in the lifestyle I needed to understand the drive behind it, that I needed to know what I was truly seeking.
I am an emotional bottler. I never learned to express negative emotions because giving vent to such things in my childhood meant that I would get another beating. I learned not to cry, not to feel anger or fear or hate. Just lock it inside a room in my heart. But locking these feelings inside of myself just allowed them to fester like a wound, to grow into a blight in my soul. I was a very bitter woman filled with darkness, a person who could easily hate with a passion, whose only kindness and compassion were for her and her dogs. And of all the things I hated, the hate I had for myself was the darkest of all. If I had a penny for every time I sat and sincerely thought about just ending it all? I would have enough money to buy a presidency today. I made two real attempts during my second marriage, but after the second attempt and some therapy I learned to control my urges, I learned to redirect myself.
But in turn, I kept bottling all those feelings.
A modern day Elsa, conceal, don't feel.
A little under a year after I began my conversation with my dominant friend, we met. We had dinner and we went for a long walk on a river path and he told me what he wanted to do. We discussed safe words, limits, personal desires. He explained his sadistic desires, explained to me what his interests were. (And in retrospect, his sadistic side really doesn't seem so sadistic now. It was though this dark angel came to give me a release from something I never even knew was there.) We made a play date for the following week.
Trepidation and anticipation are strange bedfellows, but the entire week leading up to that day were filled with both.
The day arrived, and I spent most of it talking myself into going through with the date. By the time he arrived to pick me up I was internally twisted into knots, nervous to the point of nearly jumping out of my skin at the least sound or movement.
We got to his place, and I had already gone monosyllabic, yes, no, maybe, I don't know....fear exerted itself. So, when we went inside he made me tea and we sat in the living room and talked more. He told me a little fear was delightful but even he found no pleasure in terror and that if anything worthwhile was to come for our playing I needed to trust that he would never inflict something I was unwilling to experience on me. After a while, I calmed down and we proceeded to his playroom. He handed me a hair tie and asked me to put my hair up into a ponytail and take off all my clothes.
The ponytail was simple...being completely naked in front of him...not so much. Weight gain and loss, bearing, age....coupled with various times of being told how hideous I looked by others had given me hang ups about my body. I balked.
He tore my clothes off, grabbed my ponytail and bent me over his lap and barehanded spanked my ass and told me that this was no longer a matter of my choice, this was his time and my nonsense was not going to be tolerated. Fear returned, but with it came anger.
How dare he!
Oh yeah, I asked for it.
I bottled my anger.
He saw that.
A St. Andrew's Cross sat against the wall and he led me to it, placing me facing the wall, I was cuffed to it, his hands strong but oddly loving as he tightened the cuffs around my ankles and wrists. My heart was hammering in my chest when he slipped the ball gag in my mouth.
He ran his hands across my back and across my stinging ass, laughing when my legs and arms trembled. He started spanking me again, I bowed my head silently vowing that no matter what, I would bear this in silence. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing me tap out, so to speak.
His hand grew tired, the ball gag had teeth marks, but beyond trembling and a soft moan or twelve, my stoicism was still there.
We moved up to a paddle. The first bite of that thing brought a fury from me that I didn't even realize was there. I literally growled at him.
He stopped to have a sincere laugh at my expense, which pissed me off even more. I stuffed that anger in with all the rest, bowed my head and waited for him to resume.
And like a master plying his craft, he turned my ass into a throbbing mess. I could feel the heat rising up my back, I was cringing at every sound I heard, but I never gave voice to my pain.
He stopped. He walked up beside me, grabbed my hair and pulled my head back and called me a stubborn bitch. I just glared at him, much the same way I would glare at my father after he had beaten me.
He walked out of the room, and when he returned, I heard him swinging something, I turned and saw that he had a bamboo cane.
Fear. Unrelenting fear. I strained against the cuffs, twisted as much as I could....he stroked my cheek with the end of it.
"Sandusky?" (The safe word he had given me.)
And while my brain was saying "Sandusky! Sandusky!" I refused.
Somewhere in my haze of pain, I can only assume that I had let go of reality, I was an eight year old girl again, whose father was standing over her with a willow switch screaming, "Cry, damn it, show me you are sorry." And I was that defiant little girl who refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
The first blow of that cane felt like being struck by lightning. Pain, deep red and rolling, washed over me and I nearly fainted. My ears rung, my body flushed hot then cold. The second caused me to sag in the cuffs.
The third brought the tears.
"Sandusky."
He didn't say a word, he laid down the cane and released the cuffs.
I was sobbing. Tears fell in buckets as he wrapped me in a blanket and led me to a small cot in the corner of the room. I curled into a fetal position and he sat on the end of the cot with my head in his lap, stroking my hair. He spoke soft words that I've tried to recall many times over the years, with no luck. I cried not because of the pain, I cried because I was finally able to release some of what I had been keeping bottled inside of me, I cried for the childhood I was denied, I cried for all the pain I had forced myself to endure. I cried like a who can't stop. And he simply sat there, stroking my hair and speaking in that soft tone. I cried myself to sleep, like I had done as a .
I slept a dreamless sleep for what felt like a century, but was truthfully only a couple of hours.
My first reality upon waking was pain. I had rolled over onto my back while I was asleep, and the pain of that rough canvas against my tender bruised ass was an alarm clock like no other.
I yelped and I heard him rise from the chair he was sitting in across the room. He came to stand beside the cot and he held his hand down to me and helped me to sit up. He handed me a bottle of water and asked me if I was hungry. I shook my head no, refusing to look at him.
He took my chin in his hand and turned my face towards him. He stared into my eyes questioningly, then he said something that has stayed with me for all the years that have followed.
"Did you find the answer you were looking for?"
At the time, and for several days afterwards I had no clue what he was even talking about.
I shrugged and said, " I guess " I didn't realize there was a question.
He smiled and asked me to follow him to the bathroom, he showed me where all the bathing goods were and he gave me a salve to rub on my sore ass and he presented me with a new outfit to replace the one he destroyed.
I dressed and walked into the kitchen where he told me he would be waiting. He had already brewed me another cup of tea and he motioned for me to sit down, so gingerly I sat down.
He smiled at me and asked me if I was alright, and I said other than my ass being sore I felt right as the rain. He asked me if I had any questions or any observations I'd care to discuss and I answered honestly that I was still trying to understand what had just happened to me. He nodded and said that was actually a good and healthy thing given my particular set of circumstances. And then he told me it was getting late and that we needed to get me back home. So I gathered my things and we headed to his garage to get in his car. He held the door open for me and helped me in.
Most of the car ride home we spoke only of mundane trivial things, movies, music, books. When he pulled into my driveway, he put the car in park and I reached for the door, and he took me by the arm and told me to wait.
" I realize that there is a lot for you to process, and in the coming days you are going to question everything that happened. But I want to tell you something, you are not who you see yourself as. This is not a deviant aberration that you need to fear or feel shamed by. You were looking for a release from pain and I gave it to you." At the time all I could do was manage a little smile and nod. If it was a release from pain, why was my ass on fire?
He walked me to the door and gave me a deep kiss. He thanked me for a beautiful afternoon. He told me that he was going to wait until I contacted him, but under no circumstances was I to take that to mean he didn't want to hear from me again. He said he looked forward to hearing from me when I was ready to talk again.
I thanked him, smiled, and stepped into my house.
That night I was still drained, so I went to bed. I slept the sleep of the dead. Deep, dreamless, sound sleep.
For the next couple of days, I kept going back to the question, did I find my answers.
Answers to what? Answers to just how high my pain tolerance levels were? How crazy am I?
Every time I sat down I was reminded of that afternoon. My ass was an angry shade of dark purple and red for the first three days and every time I caught sight of it that question would ring in my ears like an endless litany.
I woke up the fourth and I realized that the pain was fading from my ass.
I thought back over everything, more than the actions, I thought of my reactions. I thought about my motivations for pursuing such a thing.
And I realized what the question was that I needed to answer, the one he helped me answer.
There is no shame in acknowledging pain. There is no shame in feeling negative emotions.
That it is alright to cry and feel the entire spectrum of my emotions.
And that I was just a who didn't deserve the cards fate had dealt, and that I shouldn't be ashamed of what had happened to me when I was young. It was not my fault.
I sent him a message. In the message I thanked him. From the bottom of my heart I thanked him for what he had given me.
For some of us, physical pain opens a doorway for the emotional pain we cannot express to leave our hearts.
I saw him several more times, we played many different ways, he gave me wings to soar with.
He passed away several years ago, a massive heart attack. And even though we had both moved on to different people and places, we stayed in touch. I cried when I found out he was gone. He was a very true and honest friend to me.
I seldom feel an urge to play with my masochist these days. I'm quite adept now at ridding myself of emotional poisons, I don't bottle anything negative.
But once in a while, there is enough ennui to make that defiant girl need a strong hand to guide her to where she needs to go.
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High Priestess of the Waffle
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Posted:Aug 27, 2017 10:02 am
Last Updated:Aug 30, 2017 9:18 am
4449 Views
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Goood morning!
I was up bright and early this morning to make a run to the other side of the city to see a former coworker and return some photos I had of her for a drawing I'm working on.
She is the Waffle Princess, always worked the morning shift, and she was the one who trained me when I started working at the Casa de Waffle.
Let me tell ya, keeping up with her was a hell of a deal. She moved at the speed of light.
Still does.
But as we were talking about what new and exciting waffle events were happening there, she told me that the third shift was running on a skeleton crew. I told her that I would come back if I thought I'd clear enough in tips to make it worth my while, work just on the weekends, because honestly I am too needed by my minions right now to quit on them.
So now I'm debating if I should take up my headdress and once more become a high priestess of the waffle, patron saint of road weary drivers and red-eye fliers.
Friday and Saturday are generally decent tips for graveyard. You get all kinds of people and then there is the ever present closing of the bar crowd who are normally sloppy drunk and happy to tip you whatever they pull out of their wallets, be it a buck or a twenty, just so long as you keep the grease and coffee flowing.
I'm not sure if I am physically capable of spending ten hours a night running full tilt, even if it is only two nights a week.
But man, I'd be lying if I said I don't miss being there sometimes. I've never laughed so hard at any other job I've ever had. Watching drunk people is actually great entertainment most of the time. I've watched people pass out in their food, watched a woman strip half naked in the parking lot, watched fights, watched cops ending fights.
And flirting.
Omg, how I love to flirt.
And it would help with exercise. Because once you cross that line that divides the customer counter from the grill, you are running. When the customer slump hits, there is floor scrubbing, equipment breakdown, shoring up stocks, prep work, dishes to wash and then the breakfast crowd headed to work starts beating down the doors.
Decisions decisions.
I have met so many amazing people while I was working. The hotels that surround the place are filled with people from everywhere on the globe, and late at night people are either completely silent or they want to talk. Either case makes life entertaining. The silent ones give room for the imagination to run, and the ones that want to talk usually have a good tale or joke to share.
But the arthritis...man, ten hours on a cement floor is going to write a check that my hobbling ass may not be able to cash. Or, maybe, if I buy good orthopedic shoes and don't try to act like I'm still 15 with the heavy lifting, the exercise might actually help.
If the tips pan out, the money would be a definite boon.
This is definitely something for me to ponder on this week.
There's a storm rolling in, today's a good day to curl up on the couch, grab a book and think rationally about the future and this prospective adventure.
Peace and Love. ✌🏼
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Should I Stay or Should I Go?
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Posted:Aug 26, 2017 11:00 am
Last Updated:Aug 27, 2017 2:57 pm
4033 Views
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Well, I'm a bit better today, I can actually lay off the benedryl coma. But man I feel like Ali's punching bag. I'm so sore from coughing that I feel bruised.
I. Have. To. Quit. Smoking. Plain hard fact is that I'm this sick over a minor illness because I can't quit smoking.
So my little 30 year old gal pal/ adopted kiddo, (mother of the minion horde) has invited me over to have dinner, do facials, and binge watch Game of Thrones.
Which on a normal day I'd be down for it in a minute. I've only recently started watching the series and I'm quite in love with the show. And a facial is always a good thing. 😈
But I'm sitting here, shallow breathing, nose-blowing, and fighting the urge to take a long nap. And thinking that the idea of having the wee minion climbing all over me, the middle minion showing me every single thing she owns, and the eldest minion trying to eavesdrop on conversations that she doesn't really need to eavesdrop on....well...that part doesn't sound like anything my sick ass wants to go do at the moment.
I have an idea that the nap is probably going to win.
If it does I might have to write a 3am blog post. Sunday morning tv is dismal unless you like obscure sitcoms from the 60s and 70s, infomercials, or political newscasts.
Yep, the nap is going to win.
Update: Changed my mind, going to hang out. I've gotten too used to sitting still, that needs to change.
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Allergies
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Posted:Aug 25, 2017 5:36 pm
Last Updated:Aug 27, 2017 8:29 am
4704 Views
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OMG...what the fuck kind of super ragweed pollen is out there?
Personally, I think this is some kind of revenge for managing to duck any allergy issues this past Spring. I have coughed until my sides hurt.
But on a bright note, this soup and broth diet is really helping the diet along.
So, how's tricks with you cool cats today?
For all you folks in Coastal Texas, stay safe! I've been watching this on webcams all day. This one looks wicked mean.
Trumps message to Texas?
Good luck!
Really? No words of concern, no reassuring statement that FEMA might actually do their jobs correctly.
Just "Good Luck".
Wow, what a Statesman. He's almost as proficient at public speaking off the cuff as he is at business management, eh?
Even though I'm sick as fuck, my hormones are still being all hormone-y.
Tick Tock, toy store, tick tock.
I've done jack-all today but lay in bed in a benedryl haze, reading and watching the news and
Napping. Napping. Napping.
I'm not entirely sure this is just allergies, I've had a low grade fever along with the coughing, sneezing, watery eyes.
The minion horde were shipped off to relatives houses, so the mutts have taken full advantage and have laid on the bed with me most of the day, except when that dastardly mailman showed up again.
You'd have thought he would have gotten the message by now.
Well, leave me a comment and tell me how you've spent this Friday.
I'm sick, please entertain me!
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Twitchy
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Posted:Aug 23, 2017 8:13 am
Last Updated:Aug 25, 2017 9:20 am
4725 Views
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For the last two days I've been utterly horny. I mean, 'horny like I was at twenty' horny.
So, I went toy shopping this morning. Hopefully I won't explode and the shower head will hold out until they arrive.
One things for certain, I'm going to be one squeaky clean bitch.
Thank you shower massage.
I'm almost a little scared over this. I haven't been this twitchy since I was a young woman with no , and while I've dealt with hormone surges before, they have never been as ...urgent? as this is.
And there is no timing whatsoever with these feelings. Nothing extraordinary to set them off. I was fine this morning, I was sitting here drinking my coffee and playing a game listening to fucking Mickey Mouse of all things, and all of a sudden.... boom! I want to fuck and I can feel myself getting wet. To say the least, this is inconveniently timed.
So...I went toy shopping.
And now we wait. And we hope that this is not just a momentary event.
While I was going through my depression, I simply didn't want to have sex. Nothing brought on any arousal, the Sahara desert had more moisture. If forced to choose between having sex and washing dishes, I would have chosen the dishes.
And I hate doing dishes, it's the most boring chore in existence.
I missed having sex, in my rational mind. I missed feeling sexy and desirable, missed the physical connection . But my body just stopped working. Zero ability to feel passion.
Want to talk about what a morbid, depressing feeling that is?
I'd rather go through childbirth again. A passionless life is a boring life. Maybe when I'm eighty I'll be happy to give up sexual passion, but today is not that day.
So...I'm going to go do my workout with the Wubbie, patiently wait until nap time, and then I'm going to take a long hot shower.
And think about sunshine, buttercups, and rainbows....
Heh, sure I am.
😈
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Peekaboo!
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Posted:Aug 22, 2017 12:56 pm
Last Updated:Aug 25, 2017 5:01 pm
4620 Views
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There's not much I my mind to write about today, my allergies are starting to act up and allergy medicine turns my already spongy brain into mush.
So I'll share some of my eclipse photos from yesterday. I managed to sneak a few shots between downpours.
It was amazing to see, even if the view was mostly obstructed.
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The Turning of the Wheel.
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Posted:Aug 18, 2017 3:17 pm
Last Updated:Aug 25, 2017 5:44 pm
4514 Views
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Hello there!
Sorry about being AWOL, but for the past 48 hours I've been too pissy to be fitting company, my blog would have likely reflected that mood. Mama said if you can't say something nice, keep your pie hole shut. So I did.
I'm such a dutiful 😇.
See, I thought I had lost every photo I had taken since 2014 off an external hard drive.
I was heartsick. There are at least 70,000 moments of my life wrapped up in those pictures and when I thought my files had been deleted?
Holy shit you guys, I cried for two solid hours.
Today...well...I found out that my worst fear has come true.
I've read so much shit on Facebook I've turned stupid.
Mrs. was getting ready to take it in to a repair shop to see if the photos could be recovered, and I thought, what the hell, I'll plug it in one more time and see if perhaps there was an issue with the port instead of the drive.
Plugged it in after rebooting the computer, checked my folder....still no photos.
Tears streaming, I thought I might as well check the music folder that was on this book as well, to see if she needed to have them recover those files as well, because I really, really didn't want to have to go through burning all that back onto a new drive. There is about 300 hours of music on there.
When I opened the file.....there were my photos.
I have no idea under heaven how the hell they got there, I was trying to upload photos to Facebook when it happened.
I screamed out loud, did a happy dance, and thanked God.
All the trips I have taken since 2014, my nieces wedding, my mother's first meeting of my daughters , and all the photos I've taken of the minion horde and my grandkids....
They might not mean much to some folks, but to me they are priceless.
I've been in a hella good mood since.
Then I logged into Facebook and read that Steve Bannon is leaving the White House, and that the entire arts counsel has quit in protest. That is just the cherry on top of the sundae.
Headed off to learn about Flow Painting and spray paint art tonight. Something new to stimulate my creativity.
You guys have an amazing weekend!
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So A Telemarketer...
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Posted:Aug 16, 2017 10:08 am
Last Updated:Aug 18, 2017 3:20 pm
4915 Views
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Just called me a bitch for telling him I have zero, not one single solitary credit card.
Well isn't that just special. He also tried to tell me his name was Danny Turetto (phonetic spelling) Hmm, that seems an odd name for a boy with such a heavy Indian accent, and isn't Dom Turetto a character from The Fast and the Furious?
You don't think he was lying to me, do you?
Today was the return to school. Had an argument first thing this morning with the Diva over taking her phone to school (i.e. Not gonna happen). First one out the door, pissed off and scowling.
Mission accomplished?
My princess started kindergarten today. I got misty eyed watching her being swallowed up by that big yellow bus. It feels like just a few months ago she was toddling along behind our black lab and "helping" me clean house. Now she's off to school to learn about all the things I've tried to shield her from for the last 3.5 years.
Wubbie and I got our dance on after they left. I'm gonna need a tranquilizer and antidepressants when she starts school, I've kept her since she was six weeks old.
In two more years I'll be back in the job market. Not looking forward to seeing that day arrive, really. As much as they drive me crazy, I love these girls with all my heart.
My diet is going well, I've added dancing to my workout routines, gonna start adding some hand weights to the dancing. Hope to be back in the gym in a few months, but I've got to build up a bit of stamina first. My clothes are already fitting better though, I can't wait until they're too big.
Make up has been squared away too, fuck trying to hide my wrinkles. They are nothing more than my life's patina. But the skincare is a must, and the stuff I got (Philosophy) has visibly made a huge difference already.
All in all, life is good, plans are working, and the sun is still rising and setting on schedule.
Love and Peace!
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Happy Days Are Here Again
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Posted:Aug 15, 2017 11:16 am
Last Updated:Aug 16, 2017 4:30 am
4332 Views
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Because thank God, school starts tomorrow!
That leaves only the smallest minion. Crowd control is a whole heap easier with one.
Not much on my mind to write about, no big plans coming up, not much has changed. Still dieting, still working on finding my muchness again. Pretty boring crap to try to turn into blog fodder really.
And I'm avoiding Facebook, if this nation is going to burn down, I don't want to watch it. I check in there, share a few funny/ cutesy things and then get the hell off before I get sucked into the madness.
So, what do I write? Political opinions? I have only one. They ALL suck.
Theological debate? I don't do that unless I'm asked.
Fantasies? Hmmm...maybe, someday. Right now my mojo is kind of deflated, so I couldn't do the writing any kind of justice.
Honestly I am bored stiff. This morning I drew for a while, watched an old movie, settled a couple of minor spats between the horde and the rest of the time I've set here, watching a hummingbird outside my window and wishing I could trade places with her.
Wouldn't life be so so simple if all we had to worry about was eating and making babies? To be able to flit away on speedy wings to a place free of strife sounds pretty darned good today.
But alas, I'm merely human.
Maybe tomorrow I'll have a bright idea to share.
Today I have a window to daydream through.
Peace and Love!
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In the Air
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Posted:Aug 14, 2017 6:32 am
Last Updated:Aug 15, 2017 10:13 am
4889 Views
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What a fucked up world we are living in.
I promised myself I would not write about anything political on my blog, but in light of the events in Charlottesville, I need to speak up and speak out. We all do.
There is no unity here in this nation, and in many others. We have either became so enamoured of our own opinions that we refuse to listen to anyone else's, or we are too scared to stand up, fearing that rocking the boat will bring hardship or ridicule into our lives.
The idea that a person is less a human being due to the nation of his birth is ridiculous. I don't understand hate based on anything other than a valid response to an atrocious action. I don't blame citizens of any nation for what their "leaders" say or do. The state of our own country at the moment should prove that the citizens of a nation have only an illusion of choice in what happens in seats of power, and while Donald Trump is a jackass of the highest order, he is not doing a damn thing that most of the rest of them haven't done. His predecessors were just better at diplomatic double speak. The last president we have had that I have any amount of respect for was Eisenhower. And even he wasn't squeaky clean.
This shit, and that is exactly what it is, a steaming pile of shit, should be a wake up call to every single citizen in this nation. If this ball of hate keeps growing and rolling, it is going to crush all of us and leave us living in a state of martial law. If you think that snakes den in DC isn't hoping for this to happen, you are living in an alternative universe, drinking the alternative koolaid. And if you think they are bad now, wait until they put us all under their thumb.
Before I make my next statement, let me preface it with this, Alt right views are born of fear and hate. I do not agree one damn bit with a single solitary bit of their agenda, I don't think my culture and heritage is at risk by the removal of a statue that glorifies a sad war that turned families against one another and has been used by power brokers to keep this nation divided for 156 years.
But the alt left went to this rally to pick a fight. And they were successful. And people are dead now.
Meeting hate with more hate creates yet more hate. If the alt left wanted to make a statement, they would have been better served to simply form a chain around the idiots and kept their backs turned. Shunning that which does not belong in an advanced civilization is a stronger statement than acting just like that which you profess to hate. I understand the need to be there, to stand up against an agenda of hate, but did pissing these already angry and frightened people off serve any purpose? A young woman is dead, two men who were there to protect both sides of the argument are dead.
People are dead. Human beings who had dreams, hopes, aspirations, families, loved ones...dead.
Because of hate.
"An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind."
Mahatma Gandhi
Reach out to others in kindness, be a shining example of what you want to see in this world. Stop listening to what media teaches. There is really no right or left, there is only a species of beings known as human. Right or left is a choice made from what we are told are the only choices we have.
We live in a world made up of individuals. The circumstance of birth is not what defines an individual, what defines anyone is how they choose to conduct themselves, what they choose to value, what they choose to believe. Stop believing that the only choice you have is to hate.
Love people. I'm not saying be in love with people, but love them.
I love people, even strangers I've never spoken a word to. I love the fact that they are here, I love their individual quirks, maybe it's just as simple as loving the way their hair catches light, but it is love and it is a strong and powerful force in times as dark as the ones we find ourselves in.
An I'm going to leave you with this. I don't care about your hate, if you leave it here as a response, I will delete it, block you, and keep on loving. Because I firmly believe that love is what we need and I firmly believe that any response you hope to get by spreading hate will not come to fruition on this blog.
Peace and Love folks.
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To link to this blog (wildnwanton) use [blog wildnwanton] in your messages.
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