Fragment Finale

Usually, I end February Fragments with a drool-worthy picture of some gorgeous location to which I dream of escaping. (And to which you're all invited!)

This is still an escape but this time, we’re already there, settled in and enjoying the view.

Can’t you just feel the tension draining away…?

Calliope in Horn-Rimmed Glasses

Since geeks are poised to take over the world at any moment, I thought I’d help you out with a little lesson on how to understand Geek Speak. You know some already if you've ever heard of a dot-com. Plus, if you use social media, you’re undoubtedly familiar with “hashtag”... but that’s all just the tip of the iceberg.

Geeks have a whole lot of other names for things you already thought you knew. Today we’re going to look at punctuation marks and symbols. Here is a partial list of symbols, their common names, and a few of their geek equivalents. (Because you cannot expect geeks to agree on everything!)

And lest you think that nobody could really speak that way, not only are those words used, you can even write poetry with them! 

The Waka Waka Poem

Transliteration:

Waka waka bang splat tick tick hash,

Caret at back-tick dollar dollar dash,

Bang splat tick splosh under-score,

Mod splat waka waka number four,

Ampersand bracket bracket dot dot slash,

Pipe dirk curly-bracket squiggle squiggle CRASH

(There are several versions of this floating around out there. This bones for this one originally came from a site that’s gone 404, but I’ll admit, I switched it up a bit - for a smoother flow, don’cha know…)

Goals, #691

Because It's Monday

I’m feeling like this:

However, I do know this:

So I decided to share this:

I hope it helped you all as much as it did me!

Spock and The Text Book Illustration

“Perfect! Hold that look!”

The Saturday Plan

Because I Like It

It’s Baryshnikov (in tight clothing),

 it’s Twyla Tharp…

It’s the look on their faces,

a fun quote.

It’s dancing on a Friday...

It's almost my parents foxtrotting around the kitchen together.

I just like it.

*le sigh*

Being Number One to someone has always been my dream - and because I’m an idiot, I’d always figured I would eventually stumble upon someone who would put me at the top of his personal pantheon. But that simply hasn’t happened. (Recall Dad’s “Life rarely works the way you think it will” statement, Jz…) So these past few years, I’ve been focusing on acceptance of my lone wolf status. (Success both partial and variable, but progress has been made.)

The problem is that at the same time that I’m trying to come to grips with a life unshared, I keep slamming into the consequences of my “actions delayed by hope”. By clinging to the belief of a possible eventuality, I have ended up woefully ill-prepared for the future. I remembered the “Hope for the best” opening, but forgot the “prepare for the worst” closing caveat.

Basically, I’ve built my raft out of cotton candy and now the waters are rising. So I’m having to take a long, sobering look at myself and my life - and frankly? What I see recalls another one of Dad’s observations: “If I had it to do over again, I’d change every single thing I did with you, in hopes you’d turn out different.”

(Yep - line forms over here, Dad...)

WRW - From Leviathans to Dragons

The long weekend was supposed to have found me tackling this month’s book club assignment, but I had FINALLY finished plowing my way through “Leviathan Wakes” (which I had promised Kraken I would read - and did, nevermind that it took me a full 18 months, thankyouverymuch) and I simply couldn’t face yet another “book that I don’t really feel like reading but must” right away. 

Instead, I picked up a light paranormal romance with which to soothe the stressed edges of my reading soul… and proceeded to laugh myself silly.

“… you were discussing your man’s testicles, which I assume are pleasant to behold because he is a handsome man, although one doesn’t necessarily follow the other. I had a lover once who was quite comely in the face and figure, and yet he had the most repulsive stones I’d ever seen on a man. Imagine, if you will, a withered plum that has sat on the edge of a frog pond”

-Katie MacAlister - Dragon Soul

In Which I Shudder a Bit

So, I didn’t even realize that Barbie movies were a thing..., but it seems that they are.

Which is surprising enough in and of itself, but apparently, they’re now actually planning to film a “live action” Barbie movie. (Starring Margot Robbie... whoever she is.) 

I’m afraid this revelation caused me to spend a lot of time wondering, “Why…?”

Followed closely by, “How on earth would it feel to see yourself described as “perfect for the Barbie movie”?”

Personally, I'm over here with Team “Appalled”.

But again, this is only one woman's opinion...

YMMV

SP wondered a while ago if the reason I don’t talk as much about sexay stuff these days is because I’m catering to my newer readers - the people who found me when I was in my post-breakup sex-avoidant stage of a couple of years ago…

I can see why he’d ask, certainly. It’s undeniable that I simply don’t talk about sex and kink as frequently these days as I once did. But if you go back, I’d only been blogging for three months when I introduced my love of sumo and my heartfelt desire to be Mike Rowe’s love slave. (OK, maybe that last sort of fits - if you squint…) From that point on though, vanilla life made fairly regular appearances here. So the fact that I’ve accrued more vanilla readers can’t really be blamed as a reason for change. (Plus, there’s also the fact that they’ve all commented on kinky posts without turning a hair.)

I have a neat little list of rationales for why I mix things up so much:

- There’s the fact that one of the driving factors for me starting this blog was to give a voice to the more “moderate” submissive. At the time, the majority of the submissive blogs out there focused on the extreme, with practically nothing that accurately represented what I’d found in submission. I wasn’t bothered by what BG & I were doing together, but could easily see being alarmed or put off by what was generally presented as expected behavior. D/s covers a very wide range and my hope was to give a broader and more balanced view - which also means sharing life outside the dungeon… (disclaimer: we don't have one of those)

- Additionally, I hate being one-dimensional. There’s oodles of interesting things going on out there in the world - and I hate to limit myself. (And you!)

- Plus, there’s really only but so much you can say about sex and submission before you start getting redundant. I’m not going impose some kind of “kinky” quota on my posts "just because". If I don’t have something interesting or amusing to say on the sex/kink front, I’m not going to force it - because that's the surest way there is to dull the writing.

- Which leads directly to what is actually the biggest reason why the blog’s so much more mixed these days:

               I am easily bored.

{Blah blah pinch, blah blah hands, blah blah rope, blah blah wet, blah blah oof, blah blah *scream!*}… I get tired of reading it, much less writing it.

Sex - The Doing is a magnificent thing.

Sex - The Retelling frequently falls far short of the mark. 

At least, in one woman’s opinion…

The Red Roses Worked...

Self-Identifying

A Dance of One

Nor do I appear to be alone in that…

Of course, I’m not so good that people stop to video me on the street, while random passersby softly exclaim, “Muy bonito!” - but a girl can dream!

(This woman is definitely my new dance guru!)

Love Among the Gerbils

I figured Valentine’s Day was as a good time as any to turn the mike over to those overactive gerbils, so here we go…

BG & I have been together (on and off) for 10 years. 

Ten years of caring, intimacy, lust, and - periodically - missing each other. 

Ten years in which neither of us has ever uttered the word “love”. 

Which is okay, because love is not a reliable word, is it? People use it both casually and inaccurately, as a shorthand for, “I don’t want to be alone” or, “This'll get me laid…” 

You really cannot trust the word “love”.

BG & I, then, do our dance in the opposite side of the spectrum. We dodge the issues of emotion, altho’ I’m reasonably certain he loves me, even if pigs will soar over the vast tundra of an icy hell before he uses the word. I’m also pretty confident that I love him as well, but I’m equally unlikely to ever say so - mostly, I tell myself, because he doesn’t want to hear it.

Which sounds like I’m foisting the responsibility for my silence onto BG - that I would be willing to rock this boat if only it were up to me. Really, however, the truth is that I’m no more sure that I want to utter the words than I am that he wants to hear them.

Because it’s a whole lot safer  to remain silent, isn’t it? … Not only do you avoid hurt and embarrassment that way, but it’s also a very handy “get out of jail free” card. It's a little bit of a security blanket that you can use to cover the rest of your exposed nakedness if needed.

(Denial, of course, but the mind buys into weaker arguments...)

So, I won't argue that my silence is born partly of fear and self-protection...

... because love is a pretty scary thing.

The gerbils have also been wondering, however, if my silence might not also be proof of emotional stuntedness on my part. Whether I might actually be inept at love, as opposed to merely a scaredy-cat?

After all, I’ve already acknowledged that I’m not really good with the “feely” stuff - and love is one of the most powerful emotions there is. Powerful…, and confusing. What other emotion has such quantitative and qualitative expectations built into it? No one ever boasts of being successful at sorrow, or happiness, or anger - but love? Love is judged. We somehow expect - and are expected - to get it right... and I have a long, checkered history of failed love.

Love is seemingly something I’m not good at - yet I’m judged by my ability to succeed at it.

Which basically makes love the arithmetic of emotions. (*blergh*)

And, and, and…! 

Let’s not forget the behavioral expectations that come with the word, as well. (Not just can you love, but “if you really love…, then you’ll…”) The L word is fraught with further danger because once you say it, people’s expectations of both you and your relationship change. (You might think they won’t but somehow, that’s never how it works.) Once you own up to love, it takes very little time for those, “if you …”s to start being bandied about. You can sit down and discuss the shape and nature of your relationship until you’re blue in the face - and still end up somehow holding the wrong end of the stick.

Because love is a word that comes with its own set of matching luggage.

So, yes, I keep the word banned from my vocabulary, even if that's a bit uncomfortable. 

I might be willing to tackle the emotion but those expectations are killers.

(After all, look what a mess they've made of the poor gerbils...)

Read More!

Because adventures are to be found in the library…

The Inelasticity of Vulnerability

(An offering from the archives)

It leaves you all stripped and exposed, a breakup does.

That vulnerability you worked so hard to open for the other is not a very elastic thing. It doesn’t snap back into its safe niche again once that person is gone. Instead, it hangs around, as timid and uncertain and annoyingly underfoot as a fearful child.

Fearful that the gaping hole left by having opened up will never close. That the hollow ringing of emptiness will deafen you. That you’ll rush to plug the hole with any little thing you can lay your hands on and accidentally choose something toxic. Or worse, that with defenses down, you will become something toxic, poisoning yourself and all those around you.  

The fear narrows your focus and subsumes you into a constant battle against the vacuum-abhorring forces of nature, with you struggling to keep all manner of flotsam and jetsam from being pulled in… all while being drained of emotional reserves.

Messing About With Love.

It’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for sure.

Dare Ya!

That operator has to dread going to work...

February Public Service Announcement

Ladies, Valentines Day is coming soon, and the men without dates are getting desperate.

Please, remain vigilant in guarding against spurious persuasion. 

Stay Alert, Stay Safe...

And Be Careful Out There!

The Belt

(Don’t get excited - this is fashion, not kink.)

First, I need to start with a couple of facts about me:

1- I’m pudgy 

2- I have the stereotypical white-chick butt - flat, wide, and not really all that eye-catching.

I may have other compensating features but those realities are inescapable. 

Inescapable and a difficult combination... because putting those two together creates a complete disconnect between my body and the the fashions of the day - in particular, stylish jeans. It’s not so much that I cannot find anything to wear other than mom jeans (altho’ the struggle is real) but that even when I do, after about 20 minutes of wear, the slide begins. With nothing to support the back half, the jeans slip lower and lower down my butt, while remaining firmly upheld by the mound of tummy in front. This results in a maddening cycle of tug o’ war with the back waistband. (Honestly, how do gangstas stand it?)

“Wear a belt!”, I hear you say... Which is an excellent idea, except for the part where the buckle digs into the tender flesh of my abdomen whenever I sit - which is what I do for at least 10 hours of my day - making that not my first choice. (And yes, I also hear you saying, “Lose weight!”, but I’m ignoring you. Go stand over there in the corner, with my doctor…) 

Instead, I’ve chosen to just tug and deal… until now. Because finally, in 2019, there is an answer. (Or maybe it's been around for a while and I'm only just seeing it, who knows?) The point is... somebody has finally created the Belt of My Dreams.

Seriously - check this baby out:

Who Knew?!?

Adjustable

Buckle-free 

(tho’ a bonus non-stabby one is included in the package)

Fun, Funky

Affordable

And you don’t have to undo it to take your pants off! 

(Bathroom visits just got 25% quicker!)

I expect to be ordering more in other colors soon...

A Word...

I’ve always liked Scrabble, altho’ as a kid growing up, none of my friends were word-types, so it was play against myself or don’t play at all. At college, we played like fiends, but that died away again after graduation. Since then, it's been a Scrabble merry-go-round.

Lately, I’m back to having no one to play with. I tried Words With Friends for a bit, thinking that would scratch my Scrabble itch - but I discovered something while playing with all those people I didn’t know in real life: it’s just not as much fun if you’re not sitting down with friends. I’m not a particularly competitive person to start with - I’d rather enjoy the play than score a win - so online play with strangers left me feeling fairly flat. I found myself passing on games and eventually took the app right off my iPad. That's gone, my Scrabble board is back in the cupboard again... and I don't really mind right now.

Still, there’s something pleasing about seeing those tiles all lined up in a row, isn’t there? 

Happy Friday!

Sentimental Devil

For Tom

What'cha Readin' Wednesday?

Thelma has taken to sending me highlighted passages out of the books she’s reading and recently, she sent me one that ranks very high in my list of the “Best Lines Read - 2018”

“Not one to seek complications, I kept the attraction on the back burner of a stovetop in another dimension. I wasn’t in love with him; I only needed to avoid accidentally falling onto his penis.” 

- From “Tenemental: Adventures of A Reluctant Landlady” by Vikki Warner, which is the story of a woman who bought a 3-family house and entered a whole new world. (I have since read the entire book - and enjoyed it very much.)

Such a glorious quotation required an equally wonderful offering in return, so I sent her the first mini-story in “Heating & Cooling : 52 micro-memoirs” by Beth Ann Fennelly. (A wonderful book - please read it!)

“In every book my husband’s written, a character named Colin suffers a horrible death. This is because my boyfriend before I met my husband was named Colin. In addition to being named Colin, he was Scottish, and an architect. So you understand my husband’s feelings of inadequacy. My husband cannot build a tall building of many stories. He can only build a story, then push Colin out of it.”

(And really, who can blame the husband?) 

I give both books 2 thumbs up.

(With an additional Thelma-thumb on Tenemental, too!)

Bathroom Goals

In an attempt to reinvigorate the momentum of my (stalled) bathroom renovation, I’ve been collecting pictures of inspiring bathroom designs.

Here’s what I have so far:

Gorgeous, if impractical for New England winters...

Fussy, but I like the vibe...

OK, I'd skip the tentacles... but the tub is great!

Aaaahhhh, serenity...

Four taps - hot and cold running seawater, anyone?

Realistically, I'm way off base, of course...
But, oh, the dreams!

In Which I Disappoint Myself

I had just received another extremely irksome email from The Expat, in which he related his further adventures in cutting a swathe through the under-20 population of his new homeland. (n.b. - He does keep them legal, however.)

Some days his stories just amuse me but this time, they launched a number of simultaneous rants in my head - which went basically like this: “You’re 65, For God’s Sake!”; “Grow Up!”; “There is Nothing Wrong With Women Your Own Age!”;  “Stop Being an Entitled Jerk”; and, most loudly of all, “Please Don’t Make Me Have to Call You a Pedophile!”

After calming down a little, I thought somewhat smugly of my own ability to appreciate and enjoy age-appropriate males and basked for a moment in virtuous satisfaction.

Then, I got web crawling and followed a link that smacked me face-first into my own hypocrisy. I was shown a nude photo of an older woman - and my first thought was…, well, let’s just say I did not react charitably. I immediately scolded myself and looked again, hoping that kind intent would improve my perception... but I couldn't do it. I could not rise above my first reaction.

I can sit here and try to make myself feel better by thinking about all the times I have NOT had that reaction to the bodies of people of similar age; by pointing out that she was of a type that I don't find attractive even when young and nubile... but it doesn’t help. I feel like I failed that woman every bit as badly as The Expat - and with far less excuse.

I need these for my brain, too.

No Argument Here

No problem.

I’m already in the bedroom with the rope, anyhow…

(Head) Board Games?

THIS:

made me laugh pretty hard.

(Altho’ should he be saying that in the imperative, I’ll be changing my name, grabbing the rope, and scampering to the bedroom quicker’n’ you can yell “CLUE!”)

February Fragment Friday Night Dance Party!!

I wanted to start off February Fragments with something fun, so tonight we’re taking the Friday Night Dance Party to Greece for a little hasapiko. (Or maybe it’s Melbourne… or Astoria… wherever we are, those are Greek guys dancing, by gum!) 

I know there's a whole, “That’s Greek. No, it’s Turkish!” debate about this dance but I'm not interested in controversy. This is a dance with roots in the Byzantine Empire and shoots that spread far and wide. It’s a shared culture, so share the dance!

I do have to admit, however, that in my mind, it's always performed by Greeks..., because I used to have a Greek beau who expressed joy through the dance. We’d go to a Greek Festival - he’d do the hasapiko. We’d go out to dinner - he’d do the hasapiko. We’d be hanging out in his living room - he’d do the hasapiko. About the only time I didn’t see him do the hasapiko was when I took him to hear the sounds of my people, at the Finnish Festival. There, he just looked around and said there were too many blondes, it made him uncomfortable… (*eyeroll*)

Still, in the big picture, the hasapiko reminds me of good times.  

So, enjoy! (And get ready for a month of fragments!)