So, I finally became smart and uploaded a blog to my webspace. Yay me! I'll be writing there from now on...

Frogburrow

My own rundown of Spankfest isn't as fun as kaya's is, but for a first toe-dip after 4+ years, I was pretty pleased.

No matter I acted like a complete asshat when I finally got to meet her. *ignores*

I bought a chainmail leash because Darrin liked it (and it's shiiiiiiiny), and it was so nice wearing something -heavy- like that again. I've always have a fetish for metal restraints...seriously, if someone slapped tiny little plastic cuffs on me, I'd have the sads. Give me steel that there is no way I will get out of. Ever.

So, I was a whore for the leash most of the weekend. I didn't "dress" up at all - hell, I went to one of the evening events in my pyjamas. But I was rockin the leash, ya'll. Holla.

The biggest thing for me was actually being able to get into a cage. Cages do such wonderful things for me...to me. It's very easy for me to get to a primal, reactive state in a cage, and the only reason I can think of is that I know that I'm in the one place I'm supposed to be in, and there's not too much you can fuck up while you're in a cage. It's comforting, and it makes room in my head for the whore to come out and howl.

So, I broke out the Hello Kitty coloring book and colored to my heart's content. =)

Not really a whore moment, but I think I'm just working my way up. Gotta start somewhere.

I saw a LOT of beautiful people there. I saw a girl that reminded me of my wife, and I saw a girl (I didn't get her name, but she was in the outdoor showers at the same time I was) who had the most amazing body with gorgeous, REAL curves. A few people inspired dirty thoughts in my head, and a few even inspired me enough to share them with Darrin, who was gleefully (can a Moose be gleeful? I dunno. But he was.) enjoying every moment.

I definitely came away with some crushes. =)

I just sat and looked through the past few entries I made here...and I think what I was feeling as far as my submission goes was a really bad disconnect that Moose and I had going. We got so caught up in life that this stuff seemed to take a back burner, and I was definitely missing it.

Turns out, he was too. Funny how that works.

I think we re-connected this weekend. I was getting so nervous that by Wednesday, I nearly had a complete meltdown. I left work midday and was going to meet Moose at a restaurant for lunch before hitting up Wal-Mart for some last minute supplies.

*hits pause as cat lays on arm*

So I have someone drop me off at the restaurant, instead of dropping me off at my car (where my phone was) so I could drive to the restaurant. It was raining, of course, and due to some horrible miscommunication on my part and the idiocy of not having my phone, I ended up standing outside for an hour waiting for him, while he had fallen asleep in his car waiting for me a block down.

I finally got through to him (the ass-y restaurant people wouldn't let me use their phone) and I just broke down. Since then, I've been so clingy...and then to be camping with him, it just made it moreso. There was a moment this weekend where we went to a little Cocktail event but he had forgotten his badge and I offered to wait while he went back to get it...bad idea. I ended up crying, in front of all those people while I sat in a corner like a little lost dog. He came back to a mess, and was utterly and understandably confused because I couldn't tell him or even try to explain what was going on. From then on, he was careful not to leave me alone...and it made me feel so safe.

I loved where we ended up setting up camp - it was at the top of "Cherry Hill", so it was isolated enough to give us space when we needed time to ourselves, but we could easily walk to where the fun was. It was beautiful up there, and even though it was cold and rained, we still had fun. We had fun getting frustrated over the tent, we had fun when we woke up with a flat tire on my car the morning we were going to leave, we had fun eating hot dogs for breakfast.

I saw a lot of things over the weekend that made me smile, a lot of things that reaffirmed things I want or don't want to try, and I did new things. I peed outside. I took a shower completely naked in the sunshine. I met people I admire, desparately wanting them to like me as some sort of selfish affirmation that even as I am, I'm okay.

Well, I was feeling good up until that last line, which sort of sucked the sails right outta me.

I cried when we left, and we're already planning for next year.

How many times can I say OMG without being annoying?

Probably not that many...but really. Oh. Em. Gee.

Seriously - greatest vacation EVER. I'll babble more about it later, but I just had to say...it was fucking awesome. Everything about it was awesome.

Except the rain. The rain kinda blew, but it didn't even matter because everything else was OMGAWESOMEWTF!!!!!

AND.

I got to be in a cage.

I got to COLOR. IN A CAGE.

And I peed outside for the first time ever. And I showered outside! Completely naked! In front of people!

*goes to digest memories*

Sooooo...I'll never admit this in public, but I'm scared.

I used to think nothing of getting naked in front of people. It was easy-peasy-lemonsqueesy to get a beating in front of a crowd, to have people mill about and comment on things...

Gah. Maybe that's why I've been having these weird attacks.

I'm scared that we won't do -anything-. For so long, it's just been us...and we really haven't physically done much for a long time. I've told him it's his choice (obviously), but...it will almost feel like I was at a memorial for my own submission if we didn't do anything.

I'm sure I'll get over it.

I'm scared that...ugh, that I'm ugly. U-G-L-Y, you ain't got no al-i-by, you ugly, hey hey, you ugly...WOO!

Soooooooo.

I have steadily been collecting all things camping. I even bought Camp Soap, as opposite to Other Soap, because I am awesome.

I really want to get beaten while we're away. I had a dream about having bruises and the ache that went with them, and I woke up hungry for them.

I think this trip will be interesting...I hope Darrin can relax some and have fun. I hope he doesn't get hung up on being perfect, mostly because I know it was me that was causing that for so long. I really just want him to hurt me his way. Like Burger King!

I've been thinking a lot about motivation lately. Mostly about my lack thereof, especially in the exercising arena.

I think it's because I feel guilty because of what is really motivating me.

Whenever you hear about weight loss stuff, you always hear that you have to want it for yourself - that you have to want to be healthy and be around for your family and blahblahblah. Okay, those reasons are great and all, and I totally support them. But what's really motivating me is the urge for other people to think I'm pretty.

There. I said it.

I want other people to want me. I want Darrin to be proud to show me off. I want to walk along and be admired.

You know what? It's shallow, I know. But this is how the majority of people are wired, and I'm one of them. I want to be pretty! I want to be flirted with and hit on, instead of being the fat "funny" friend.

I want to be seen. And I know that people would only see the outside of me, but that's fine. That's all I freaking WANT them to see. I don't care if they know the real me, I just don't want them to be passing negative judgement on me with a single glance.

I'm SO EXCITED because Moose and I are going to Spankfest.

Not to mention, I'm totally geeking out over the whole camping thing. OMG. I'm even printing out CAMPFIRE RECIPES because I'm so not cool.

I am so Coleman's bitch right now, and I could just squee.

*squee!*

Personality Test

ISFJ-The Protector
You scored 9% I to E, 63% N to S, 38% F to T, and 26% J to P!

The protector type is called such because you feel your life is best used to protect those you love from the pitfalls of life, to see to their safety and security. You belong to the larger group called guardians. You find great satisfaction in assisting the downtrodden. You are not talkative with strangers, but you can chat tirelessly with those you trust. You have a good solid work ethic. You are thorough and very likely frugal. You do not like to be in a place of authority, and will delegate poorly if forced into a lead position. You share your type with 10% of the population.
As a romantic partner, you are generous and gentle. Occasionally you may be taken for granted because of this fact. You are tireless in providing acts of service for your loved ones. You run the risk of always being exhausted because you won't say no to your partner. You are sensitive to criticism and will withdraw rather than fight back. You wish to be appreciated for your loyalty and whole hearted nuturing. Your values must be respected and you thrive on consideration and kindness.
Your group summary: Guardians (SJ)
Your Type Summary: ISFJ

I have to say that at this moment, I am particularly enjoying the entrance (re-entrance?) of a past friend into my life again. It's so...soothing, really - to be able to speak about everything from religion to high school to poly relationships to D/s to mental breakdowns and not have to explain yourself and have such a positve response at the same time.

So yeah - yay you. =)

I love me some Facebook. I love that I can interact (or not) with people, and I can play games and chat and take quizzes all on the same browser. I like seeing what people that I spent the formative years of my life are doing, especially when their lives are so different than mine.

However...when people find me, I cringe. I'm ashamed of the way I look, and I don't want people...even people not on Facebook, people out in the world in general, to look at me and think...bad things. I want people to look at me and have a positive reaction - not just OMGshe'shot, but...wow, she looks nice, or gee, she's aged well, or maybe just a hmm, that looks like a nice person.

People see one thing when they look at me, and I don't want them to see it.

Okay, frog - so make it go away! Stop complaining about it and get off the pot.

Last night, just before I fell asleep, I was watching a show on TLC about women who don't know that they are pregnant. (Allow me to return to this particular topic in a moment) Anyway...they don't show symptoms, they don't get the belly, they just...I don't know, sneeze and a baby pops out one day.

So of course, I dream about this.

I'm in some sort of medical facility, and they aren't really talking to me, but are just kind of doing maternity ward type things - putting in a weird chair-like thing, specifically, which in my dream was utterly normal. O.o I'm wearing a hospital gown, and somehow I know I'm in a horrendous amount of pain but I don't really feel it. And I know I should be freaking out about having a baby without realizing I was pregnant, but I'm kind of...not, in a weird, kind of druggy-zen way.

And then, the moment comes...and I give birth to a puppy.

Not just any puppy. This puppy springs forth from my womb completely goo-free AND with a snappy little haircut, because this puppy is a little schnauzer puppy.

And then, in my dream it's the day after I've given birth to my puppybaby, and I give birth to ANOTHER puppy - this one looking more like a rottweiler with the black and brown markings, but with longer fur.

I almost wrote that it was the weirdest dream ever, but I'm pretty sure the beavers with feathers dream rocks that particular honor.

Beyond that....

I have a lot of stuff going on in my head. A lot of stuff that, even if people cared to ask (which they don't), I'm not sure I would share. It's funny sometimes how I will have a free moment here or there and these thoughts will pop into my head, and I'll still be doing my normal things...balancing payroll, listening to complaint after complaint, cleaning the house, joking with people at work.

I guess if they only knew and some stuff.

A guy a work pulled my hair today. Not like a little tug, either...he grabbed a fistful and pulled. Now, please remember that my workplace is a little different than most. We were actually fighting over the copier, and I had just socked him in the shoulder when he grabbed my hair. It was all in fun, we were laughing the whole time and afterwards, but...it made something deep inside me cry.

Chloe wrote something recently about some women able to achieve this state of submission by virtue of culture. How it seems an inate state of mind, something that doesn't need supported by anything else, i.e. someone else's dominance.

There is no one on this planet who knows how submissive I am. There is no one who could even guess at the depths of my thoughts, no one who can see me the way I truly feel. Sometimes I feel like the women Chloe was talking about, but...instead of being proud, it makes me sad. Lonely.

As much as I'd like for it to be, I really don't think there's anyone who could accurately describe the real me.

Last night, I was watching tv and I saw a commercial for Laughing Cow cheese. Now, I love me some Laughing Cow cheese, but what struck me about the commercial was that they showed a snack plate with apples, grapes and crackers with the cheese on it...and it looked really good. Like, I started craving the apples and grapes and cheese & crackers.

This has a point.

This morning, I woke up as normal and started getting ready. I got on the scale and....280. Now...that was the magical number that I secretly told myself "at least I'm not at that number". Even yesterday, when it read 279, I told myself that. But now...I AM that number. And it's not going to go anywhere but up unless I DO something.

I admit - this morning I was tempted to panic. When I saw that number flash up at me, my knees wobbled. I quickly clamped it all back and got ready in a sort of daze. My thoughts were going a mile a minute - if I could do this, this and this then I wouldn't be that number anymore. But of course, they were things that haven't worked before and that I know aren't safe.

I remembered the log book that my friend gave me. I remembered the running plan that I've been wanting to start. And I remembered Sparkpeople, to help me track things.

My goal is to loose 40 pounds by January 1st. That equals to 1.5 pounds per week, which I believe is a safe and steady rate. I've entered in my stats at Sparkpeople, which says that I should be eating around 2000 calories a day - as long as I make sure that I'm not eating 2000 calories of pasta a day, I think that is a doable goal. I have to start exercising - so tomorrow I'll be doing the bike in the morning for 30 minutes (or some time during the day) until Monday, when I WILL start the running program.

I always read about people having this big flash-of-light, OMGmoment where they somehow find the strength to start doing whatever they need to do. I don't feel strong...but I feel cornered. And maybe feeling cornered is what I need to fight back. Maybe I'm finally ready, and that moment I had with the Laughing Cow commercial was my body telling me that it's okay, that this is what it wants.

I have to stop thinking about it, and start doing it.

--------------------------------

I wrote the above this morning. I did well during the day, but binged at supper time. Somehow, I stayed within my calorie limit, so at least there is that.

I feel...good, which is surprising. I think I'm expecting to feel bad, like I'm already anticipating the failure. And I can definitely taste fear in the back of my throat...but I'm trying not to think. No think, just do. I have to channel my inner-Yoda.

There is no try, only do.

I wanted to add a few pictures from our day down by the river (without a van). We were talking, and all of a sudden we both looked up to see a parade of geese floating by.




We watched for awhile as they floated by, swimming towards a small sandy area.



It was neat, because we realized that all the adults were situating themselves very protectively around the 15-20 babies. There was one up on the ground, standing between the babies and everything else, and the others were in the water in a perimeter.

Sometimes, even when you've had a horrible day and it's not looking any better for the next week, all you need is a little guardbunny greeting you when you pull in the driveway to make everything alright.

It's 8:32am on Sunday. Clothes are in the laundry, the house is clean, I had pop-tarts for breakfast and I went to sleep exactly 12 hours ago.

I heart Sundays, except for the fact that they have to end. And I'm really not looking forward to the next few weeks.

I do not respond well to upheaval, and my life at work has been all sorts of upheaved. I have to remember that this is a good time for me to practice my courtesy and patience skills, because normally...I has none.

Yesterday was a really good day. Darrin helped me clean up the house, and then we went into the Cities to do half of our anniversary celebratin - we picked up some Checkers and went down to the River Walk where we spent the first night we met together. (aw) We found the same picnic table where we sat seven years ago and talked until the sun came up. We didn't stay that long this time - but it was good. Then we came home and had the most awesomest sex I've had in a long time. Gah. Hence the going to bed at 8:30. *L*

Why Owls are skery

Owls freak me right the hell out. There is something about them that just...gah. I give proof:



This was posted on CuteOverload.com, and I'm sorry...there just ain't nothin cute about that damn thing.

Owls are the one animal that make me want to cower on my knees, begging for my life. I remember one day when I lived with my parents, my dad brought out the binoculars so I could see an owl sitting in a neighbor's tree. I brought the binoculars up, and focused on the owl, and nearly dropped the damn things because I had the most powerful sensation of...needing to show some sort of submission to it. Make it understand that I wasn't a threat or something.

This completely random post is brought to you by the fact that I did something really huge today and I'm pretty much braindead beyond that.

Why is it that I can't get away from stupid on Monday mornings? Why is it, when I am trying to get these freakin people PAID on Monday mornings, that I am suddenly overwhelmed with stupid questions?

It never freakin fails. Never. I can count on getting at LEAST 3 stupid questions while I'm up to my ass in payroll - questions about attendance points (when everyone KNOWS that their general foremen can look that up just the same as me), and random benefits questions ("What would I have to tell them so that I could get my girlfriend on my insurance?") and whatever freaking else happens to pop in their tiny little brains that convinces them it's SO IMPORTANT that they have to interupt me while I'm trying to GET THEM MONEY because they can't wait OMGWTF and if I try to ignore them they STAND THERE and STARE AT ME.

Seriously, why is writing in caps so theraputic? hee.

CAPS LOCK IS TEH AWESOMES.

Moving on.

I gave this blog to someone I know. It was surprisingly nerve-wracking for me, waiting until I heard from this person to make sure they still liked me. How silly is that? I was worried that the things in my life would freak them out - but I actually got a compliment instead of a freakout. So, yay for you.

I talked with fish today about something that was a little...I'm not sure of what word to use yet. She told me that she was watching TLC this weekend, and they played the "Half-Ton Mom/Dad/Teen" series - basically shows about people who are morbidly obese. She mentioned that the shows made her mad, because she figured that once people got to a certain point, they should have done something about the weight. I told her that I wasn't allowed to watch those shows (edict from Moose) because I too often see myself in them.

I see the fear in those people, the same fear that I have, and that I'm starting to realize how much I have. I have had fleeting glimpses of that fear, so I can imagine what living an entire life based on it would be like, and so I can too easily put my face on those bodies and just....freak right the fuck out. It's my greatest fear, becoming like that, and yet, that fear only paralyzes me in a state that only exacerbates that same fear. I'm afraid because I'm fat, and I'm fat because I'm afraid.

I haven't found a fear...or a want...that is stronger than the fear I already have, so instead of being motivated, I just...am.

I was tagged by Chloe!

Rules:
1. Link to your original tagger and list these rules in your post
2. Share 7 facts about yourself in the post
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post, leave their names & links to their blogs
4. Let them know they’ve been tagged

Okiedokie. Except I'm not sure that I know 7 seven people to tag.

1. Although I don't subscribe to any organized religion, I get giddy over what I call "science of Jesus" stuff. Books and tv shows about factual biblical things just make me happy, I have no idea why. Best TV Show ever? Mysteries of the Bible. Holla.

2. Instead of a headboard, we have pillows that sit against the wall and the pillows we sleep on. Sometimes, one of my cats will sleep on that pillow right above my head. She has the magical (and most likely entirely in my head) ability to make headaches go away by putting her paw on my forehead while she's laying up there.

3. I am 31 years old, and I sleep with a stuffed frog.

4. My sister (the Goon) is the funniest person I know. Together, we have created the car-ride-Muppet-dance, the Asshole dance (which has a complete backstory about flinging assholes over one's shoulder after cutting them out at a slaughterhouse), PimpdaddySnuggles, and the Evil Easter Bunny.

5. In order to get to the point where I had a BA in computer network administration, I went through 7 years, 4 colleges (University of Northern Iowa, University of Iowa, Marycrest International University, and St. Ambrose University), and 4 majors (history, anthropology, graphic communications, and cna).

6. Sometimes, there is nothing in this world that I hate more than myself.

7. My favorite memories of college involve a dance troupe I was in. It was a folk dance troupe that did traditional dances from all over the world. I could sing in Romanian, did dances from Greece, Hungary, Egypt, waltzes and polkas and even a line dance or two. I miss that very much.

I don't know seven people to tag...but I'll tag fish.

Sometimes, I can't even come up with a word that describes some of the asshats I work with.

Asshat seems to work fine for now.

Today was payday. Today, we also had 50 pizzas delivered for lunch. Imagine 127 hungry asshat boys, and 1 female office manager. Guess who got to do all the work?

Hi.

I don't mind about the work - I really don't. I don't mind that I had to pick up 50 pizzas and bring them into the plant and set up the room.

We hand out checks during lunch. Of course, I was running around like a crazy person during and after lunch, so I didn't get back to my desk until about 1:30. My boys delight in tattling on each other, so in a very short amount of time, I hear about a particular one of my boys who was whining in another office about his hours.

He was short his normal hours because he'd gone to an orientation class, and was only paid for the time the class lasted. He apparently told everyone in hearing range that if he'd have known that, he would have sat his happy ass in that office for an extra 45 minutes so he could get a full days pay.

Which wouldn't have worked anyway. But moving on.

Why is this boy an asshat?

Because this is what he does. If he has a complaint against me (which he's always WRONG ABOUT), he never comes to ME about it. I hear his bitching from other employees who gleefully come in and give me all the details. To my face, he never has the balls to confront me.

So I confronted him about it today. See, I'd known this would happen when this boy saw his check, I even warned his supervisor about it yesterday. Because he's an ASSHAT. *ahem*

So I waited until he came into the office, and I cheerfully asked if he had anything he wanted to discuss with me. He said no.

Sometimes...there just aren't words.

Sometimes I open up a page to write, because I can feel words bubbling to the surface...but the bubbles never pop. Or...they do, but they burn like boiling water, and I snatch my hand away and scowl at the page.

I'm not sure which it is right now. I feel like I have so much to say, but...maybe there's just too much, and like a crowded elevator, everyone's trying to get off at once and it creates a bottleneck.

I have a lot of fear in me about a lot of different subjects, I think. I've always had to tiptoe around fear and sort of approach it in smaller and smaller circles. Maybe I just haven't reached the smallest circle yet.

Something my girl wrote for me

I'm trying to convince myself that I should start a running program.

Because I rely heavily on logic, I shall indulge this quirk o' mine and list out the facts.

1. I am currently at least 95 pounds overweight. I have been hovering around 275, and my goal weight is 180. I realize that for my height (5'9"), the ideal weight is more between 130 and 160 - however, I've always thought that I would look sickly at that weight.

2. I have done the work regarding my eating habits. Well, mostly. There are still a lot of issues that I continually work on, but at the very least I have acknowledged them and have a chat with them now and then. I eat much better now than I have, without starving myself. I believe that on a normal day, I probably eat around 2200 calories.

3. I have issues with exercising. My issue is manifested in laziness and excuses. I continually attempt to create a habit of working out, but I am never able to follow through for more than a few weeks.

4. I am terrified of what is beneath my fat. This is not a logical fact in any way, shape, or form, and that adds to my terror. I believe that part of my issue with exercising is not only being afraid of failing once again, but also being afraid of actually DOING it. I am afraid that beneath the layers of...ick...that there's nothing under there. There's nothing in me except the fat.

5. I am the only one who can change this.

I bought running clothes. I have sports bras and a stopwatch, and have downloaded a beginner's runnning program.

But somehow...I just can't step out the door.

Why this bisexual blogger supports Miss California

My blog isn't read often, so this probably won't get seen much...but I had to voice my opinion about this whole Miss California / Perez Hilton thing. After all...I'm entitled to my opinion, aren't I?

Personally, I don't consider myself bisexual. I live with my boyfriend of nearly 7 years. I just happen to also have a woman in my life that I fell in love with. I'm not normally attracted to women enough to consider myself bisexual, but maybe just the fact that I love a woman makes me one. Who knows - it's all semantics to me. I have always been a supporter of gay rights, and I do support gay marriage.

I support gay marriage for the simple legalities. I believe that "marriage" has become a catch-all phrase for a ceremony that includes not only religious meaning, but legal meaning. I believe that those two things should never be combined. I believe that the "lawmakers" (whomever they might have been forever-ago) shouldn't have used the religious marriage ceremony as a basis for legal rights - however, I also understand that they probably didn't have much else to go on, and that religious diversity was not an issue at that point in time as it is now. I believe that the religious meaning of marriage should be defined by religions, and that the legal state of marriage should be defined by the law (at either state or federal level).

Religion is, and always has been, a deeply personal experience. For the record, I also do not affiliate myself with any organized religion, though I do consider myself to be personally spiritual. However, I would never have the arrogance to tell someone what they should believe in, just as I expect no one to tell me what I should believe in. As long as those religious beliefs do not hurt anyone (physically, not emotionally), then I believe that people should be able to believe what they wish.

I didn't watch the telecast of the Miss USA contest. I have read transcripts of the question posed by Perez Hilton and the answer given by Miss California on various news websites, including MSNBC, FOXnews, and ABC.

I have to wonder...did Perez know that his question would be answered by Miss California?

I have no problem with the question itself - I question the appropriateness of it simply because of it's ties to religious beliefs. What if Perez had asked if she supported terrorist movements against the US, and she happened to be a member of the Taliban? (I know, I know...so many things wrong with that picture, but go with the analogy)

Basically...no matter how she answered, she was going to be booed by someone.

On top of that, Perez had to go and call her out on his website (which I completely admit to visiting on more than one occasion), calling her names. Let's see...who came out looking like a better person there? Sorry Perez...I'm personally boycotting your site now. The hate that came out of your mouth after being given an honest answer to a question of opinion was nothing better than the hatred against gays. Hatred is hatred...it doesn't know sexual orientation, skin color, or religious beliefs.

So, why do I support her? Because she was honest. She gave an honest, opinionated answer to a question about her opinion.

Do I agree with her? Of course not. But you bet your ass I support her opinion.

For a long time, Moose and I struggled with our D/s relationship. What we finally realized was that we needed to concentrate on aspects of our "base" relationship so that the D/s part could be possible. We both had issues with past relationships that we needed to resolve.

We forgot about the D/s stuff for awhile...we came close to breaking up (which was totally and admittedly my fault)...and then it turned around, and we've been better than ever. Except for all the stuff I blew up about a few posts back.

And I've been struggling with that, with the thought process of a woman versus the thought process of a slave. The slave in me wonders why I'm not happy. The slave in me boggles at my need to be recognized by him. Why is all of this so important to me? Why can't I just let it go? The woman in me wonders why the slave even asks those questions. I feel like...inside my head, the woman and the slave are staring at each other in the uncomfortable silence of two people who speak different languages.

It would have been easier when I could separate being a woman and a slave. Now that the two are so joined for me, I'm struggling.