Life at a thrift store, like anywhere else, can be a bit stressful. There are days when I come home a bit wound up, frazzled, tired, or jumpy, but Chuck says he doesn't worry unless work starts creeping into my dreams.
Well boy did it! And in one of those dreams that makes him joke about putting a psychiatrist on speed dial.
As some of you know, I sort and price housewares, which means pulling open boxes and bags of dishes, vases, stuff like that, all day long. In my dream they put several large black trashbags on the table in front of me. Inside there were tangles of floggers, paddles, iron spreader bars and corsets snarled around each other. Over in the furniture section, the truck drivers were rolling in a St. Andrew's cross.
Now I'll admit the scenario is far fetched, but not as much as you might think. A few weeks ago I did find-- and purchase-- an item that is obviously a purpose made paddle, and a little while before that there was a quirt/whip that came through. Fortunately it was coiled up with a little toy saddle, some gaudy ribbon and a leather tag saying "Mexico" so no one else really noticed what it was. A few years back I bought a large oak paddle in another thrift shop in the area, too, so occasionally such things do come through.
I doubt we'll get anything that blatant. At least I think I hope not. But it does make me wonder just what I would do if such a thing did happen...
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Temptation
Does anyone else see the "ouchless" hairbrushes at the store and suddenly get the most evil urge to see if you can prove them wrong? >:)
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Friday, October 31, 2008
The Dream
I wake again in the middle of the night with my heart racing and my skin drenched is sweat. Despite the frigid wind blowing in from the open window I peel off my flannel gown and pace the room. Goosebumps raise on my flesh and the breeze cools the fever burning through me. I run both hands through my long dark hair and try to shake the echo of the dream.
The dream comes every October, as the the days grow short and the nights grow cold. Every year, every night as the moon grows dark the dream plays out the same.
I stand in the circle of light while some dark animal prowls around the edges. I hear it's growl, feel it's hot musky breath as it paces just beyond the border. It wants me to step out of the light, to come offer myself to the dark. I freeze with my eyes closed, praying it will go away. It doesn't go away. It lingers there, just out of reach of the light; a beastly shadow waiting to claim me if I make one wrong step.
I have seen the beast in other places, in a frame of film, a flicker of movement in the corner of my eye, sometimes in the eyes of a potential lover. He is not a beast then, but a man. In this form he seduces me. He calls to places deep within my soul that cannot help but answer. I can feel his hands on my waist, taste his skin on my lips, hear his hot raged breath against my ear as he whispers his promises.
Every year he dons another mask, looks out at me from behind a different pair of eyes. He hides in every dark place, calling me, pleading with me. Patiently he waits as the autumn days slip by, waiting for the thirty-first, waiting for midnight, waiting for me to fly across the night into his arms.
He lays himself bare as an offering. He stretches up his neck and begs for me to take him, to sink teeth into flesh and claim him as my own. He whimpers as his flesh trembles in need of my touch. Take me! his eyes scream, and he knows I know that though I take him, in return he takes me and we lose ourselves in each other.
These are the visions he plants in my mind when he takes the form of a man, when he reaches for me in this world, flesh and blood and stone; in this world where I am queen and he cannot harm me.
But the dream of the forest is his world. There he is the beast. There he longs to take me as his own. There he waits for me to step over the edge of the light and fall as if off a cliff into the sea of darkness...
Happy Halloween
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
The race is on
So I finally got re-registered to vote the other day. I hadn't been registered for some years due to some very personal reasons, but thankfully they no longer apply so I will be adding my voice to the general insanity next month.
With all apologies to our dear candidates, it wasn't our historical presidential race that got me out there, but a series of initiatives I've found troubling and worries over our local district attorney's race that finally prompted me to use part of my precious lunch hour to wait in line to fill out the paperwork.
As some of you know, I work for a thrift shop run by a non profit charity and we had people out front from the political arm of our cause that day to get people registered in hopes of gaining support for a much needed measure to aid the disabled, so I felt comfortable enough registering through them. Although the fact that I would be wary of registering through just anybody is probably a blog in itself. It's definitely related to the theme of the day.
As I stood in line I could not help noticing that as each person leaned over to sign his or her card the lady taking the registrations asked who they were leaning towards in the presidential race. All down the line the reaction was exactly the same; the look of surprise at the question, the furtive glances around and the shaky mutter that they were still undecided. Really? Every single person in line? I started to wonder.
When my turn came she asked me as well. I looked her in the eye and said honestly "Ma'am, with all due respect to our candidates, I"m more worried about who's going to be our next district attorney," and walked away.
Later though, as I stopped to think about it I realized just how intimidating it felt to be standing there and to have the person whom I was trusting with my right to vote ask me to publicly declare my allegiance to one candidate or another. It felt wrong some how, as if the secrecy of the ballot box was being compromised. Yes it was just a poll, but I did not feel safe giving an answer. And from the reactions of those in line ahead of me I was not the only one.
The odd thing was I could not even explain what prompted me to feel that uncomfortable, I just did. I still don't know, but I definitely did not like the feeling.
Ms. Betty
With all apologies to our dear candidates, it wasn't our historical presidential race that got me out there, but a series of initiatives I've found troubling and worries over our local district attorney's race that finally prompted me to use part of my precious lunch hour to wait in line to fill out the paperwork.
As some of you know, I work for a thrift shop run by a non profit charity and we had people out front from the political arm of our cause that day to get people registered in hopes of gaining support for a much needed measure to aid the disabled, so I felt comfortable enough registering through them. Although the fact that I would be wary of registering through just anybody is probably a blog in itself. It's definitely related to the theme of the day.
As I stood in line I could not help noticing that as each person leaned over to sign his or her card the lady taking the registrations asked who they were leaning towards in the presidential race. All down the line the reaction was exactly the same; the look of surprise at the question, the furtive glances around and the shaky mutter that they were still undecided. Really? Every single person in line? I started to wonder.
When my turn came she asked me as well. I looked her in the eye and said honestly "Ma'am, with all due respect to our candidates, I"m more worried about who's going to be our next district attorney," and walked away.
Later though, as I stopped to think about it I realized just how intimidating it felt to be standing there and to have the person whom I was trusting with my right to vote ask me to publicly declare my allegiance to one candidate or another. It felt wrong some how, as if the secrecy of the ballot box was being compromised. Yes it was just a poll, but I did not feel safe giving an answer. And from the reactions of those in line ahead of me I was not the only one.
The odd thing was I could not even explain what prompted me to feel that uncomfortable, I just did. I still don't know, but I definitely did not like the feeling.
Ms. Betty
Monday, October 20, 2008
where I've been and what's happening now
Hello everyone,
I realize it's been some time since anyone has really heard from me. Life does tend to get away from us at times and I'm no exception. I thought it was time I updated everyone on assorted happenings.
Some of you may remember that I took a part time job at a local thrift shop because it supports a cause that has long been important to me. Well, part time did not stay part time long. We have unfortunately had several waves of turn over and part time quickly became full time and sometimes a bit more as I ran around plugging as many holes as I could.
For several weeks my schedule was very erratic and I could not say exactly when I would have a few hours off. Needless to say this left little time for much of anything, including spanking naughty boys.
Well just about the time that settled down we lost folks in production and they moved me off the register into the back of the shop. Those of you who shop in thrift stores may have wondered from time to time just how all that stuff gets from your donation pick ups to being out on the sales floor, so I thought I'd explain a little of what goes on back there.
Donations come in in great big crates well over 6 feet tall called "melons" because they are the same boxes melons and other produce arrives in at your local grocery store. Melons are carted to a big long table that runs almost the entire length of the building. One person cuts open the box and then begins sorting what is in there. Books, shoes, belts, etc get packed into big yellow carts to be given to their various departments. Clothes get passed down the line, sorted by type (men's, women's, kid's) and household goods get put in big baskets and put on the table for me.
I am a pricer. What the pricers do mostly is decide what to charge for the items that come across our tables, but there is more to it than that. We sort the trash from treasure, clean up what needs to be cleaned up, sort it by what type of item it is, bag things that may get spilled, tape up boxes and sort every day goods from season specific items. For example, right now we are putting Christmas related items out on the floor, but stuff for easter or valintine's day is being packed in boxes to go to the warehouse where we will store it until we need it.
We also recycle as much as possible. Metal and hard plastics that are in unusable conditions get bagged up for special pick up to keep them out of the landfill and soft toys that are torn or dirty are shipped out to be cleaned, repaired and given away in 3rd world countries. The same happens with our shoes. A part of each day goes to sorting and packaging these things for shipping.
So that's what's going on behind the magic curtain where you can't see it.
As I said, I price housewares; which happens to be a deparatment that takes up 1/3 of the store. I have a partner for my deparment thankfully, and we have a lady who helps us stock the floor, but it's still a big job. Children's toys, pictures, office supplies, wicker baskets, silk flowers, dishes, kitchen untensils, pots and pans...all of it's ours, not to mention vases, clocks and assorted knick knacks.
We price 1,200 items a day in our department, 5 days a week, that's 6,000 new items each week and with 4 weeks of stock out on the floor at a time that's 24,000 items in our department at any given time.
And we are responsible for every single piece. It is up to each pricer to choose her stock, lay out the floor plan for her department and organize each item. As I said, I have help, but I didn't at first and even with extra hands and good minds to work with it's been a big job.
When I took over it was all a mess. The manager put me there because it was the only deparment in the store losing money. She asked me to turn it around and mostly I have. We're still struggling a bit but we are making great strides.
So that's most of what I've been up to.
It's finally settling down and now my schedule is regular as clockwork so I'm hoping to be back to the kinky side of living soon.
In the meantime the job has turned out to come with a very unexpected perk. As my department includes the office and kitchen goods as well as all the assorted bric-a-brac, it means that about 90% of any and all pervertables that come in go through me. So if you are looking for something to get kinky with at a local Denver thrift store and find pickings a bit slim, you do have my apologies. I even got a real working whip the other day.
Yes it means I'm mostly out to my co-workers, but that's quite alright. Most of them are thorougly kinky as well. I'm in very good company.
Ms. Betty
I realize it's been some time since anyone has really heard from me. Life does tend to get away from us at times and I'm no exception. I thought it was time I updated everyone on assorted happenings.
Some of you may remember that I took a part time job at a local thrift shop because it supports a cause that has long been important to me. Well, part time did not stay part time long. We have unfortunately had several waves of turn over and part time quickly became full time and sometimes a bit more as I ran around plugging as many holes as I could.
For several weeks my schedule was very erratic and I could not say exactly when I would have a few hours off. Needless to say this left little time for much of anything, including spanking naughty boys.
Well just about the time that settled down we lost folks in production and they moved me off the register into the back of the shop. Those of you who shop in thrift stores may have wondered from time to time just how all that stuff gets from your donation pick ups to being out on the sales floor, so I thought I'd explain a little of what goes on back there.
Donations come in in great big crates well over 6 feet tall called "melons" because they are the same boxes melons and other produce arrives in at your local grocery store. Melons are carted to a big long table that runs almost the entire length of the building. One person cuts open the box and then begins sorting what is in there. Books, shoes, belts, etc get packed into big yellow carts to be given to their various departments. Clothes get passed down the line, sorted by type (men's, women's, kid's) and household goods get put in big baskets and put on the table for me.
I am a pricer. What the pricers do mostly is decide what to charge for the items that come across our tables, but there is more to it than that. We sort the trash from treasure, clean up what needs to be cleaned up, sort it by what type of item it is, bag things that may get spilled, tape up boxes and sort every day goods from season specific items. For example, right now we are putting Christmas related items out on the floor, but stuff for easter or valintine's day is being packed in boxes to go to the warehouse where we will store it until we need it.
We also recycle as much as possible. Metal and hard plastics that are in unusable conditions get bagged up for special pick up to keep them out of the landfill and soft toys that are torn or dirty are shipped out to be cleaned, repaired and given away in 3rd world countries. The same happens with our shoes. A part of each day goes to sorting and packaging these things for shipping.
So that's what's going on behind the magic curtain where you can't see it.
As I said, I price housewares; which happens to be a deparatment that takes up 1/3 of the store. I have a partner for my deparment thankfully, and we have a lady who helps us stock the floor, but it's still a big job. Children's toys, pictures, office supplies, wicker baskets, silk flowers, dishes, kitchen untensils, pots and pans...all of it's ours, not to mention vases, clocks and assorted knick knacks.
We price 1,200 items a day in our department, 5 days a week, that's 6,000 new items each week and with 4 weeks of stock out on the floor at a time that's 24,000 items in our department at any given time.
And we are responsible for every single piece. It is up to each pricer to choose her stock, lay out the floor plan for her department and organize each item. As I said, I have help, but I didn't at first and even with extra hands and good minds to work with it's been a big job.
When I took over it was all a mess. The manager put me there because it was the only deparment in the store losing money. She asked me to turn it around and mostly I have. We're still struggling a bit but we are making great strides.
So that's most of what I've been up to.
It's finally settling down and now my schedule is regular as clockwork so I'm hoping to be back to the kinky side of living soon.
In the meantime the job has turned out to come with a very unexpected perk. As my department includes the office and kitchen goods as well as all the assorted bric-a-brac, it means that about 90% of any and all pervertables that come in go through me. So if you are looking for something to get kinky with at a local Denver thrift store and find pickings a bit slim, you do have my apologies. I even got a real working whip the other day.
Yes it means I'm mostly out to my co-workers, but that's quite alright. Most of them are thorougly kinky as well. I'm in very good company.
Ms. Betty
Monday, September 15, 2008
Kinky Candy
Blame my husband. He's the one who brought me home a Big Hunk bar. For some reason it sent my mind straight into kink overdrive.
Though I don't think anyone can blame me...well not the kind of people who read this blog, anyway.
Let's start with the little yellow triangle in the corner that says what can look at first glance like "smack attack", especially when the wrapper is wrinkled. And then immediately under that is says "see backside", not see back, backside...and we all know that word doesn't get much use outside of spanking talk.
Then when you turn the label over it says to take the big hunk firmly in one hand and smack it against a hard surface. Now what am I supposed to say about that? Especially if with a little kinky editing your mind reads "take big hunk firmly in one hand and smack with a hard surface"...like a hairbrush, or a paddle.
Then there are those the awkward moments a candy like this makes possible in conversation. "Hang on a minute, I need to smack my Big Hunk."
Is it any wonder I was reduced to a fit of giggling?
And don't even get my started on the Birch Beer he brought me to go with the candy...
Though I don't think anyone can blame me...well not the kind of people who read this blog, anyway.
Let's start with the little yellow triangle in the corner that says what can look at first glance like "smack attack", especially when the wrapper is wrinkled. And then immediately under that is says "see backside", not see back, backside...and we all know that word doesn't get much use outside of spanking talk.
Then when you turn the label over it says to take the big hunk firmly in one hand and smack it against a hard surface. Now what am I supposed to say about that? Especially if with a little kinky editing your mind reads "take big hunk firmly in one hand and smack with a hard surface"...like a hairbrush, or a paddle.
Then there are those the awkward moments a candy like this makes possible in conversation. "Hang on a minute, I need to smack my Big Hunk."
Is it any wonder I was reduced to a fit of giggling?
And don't even get my started on the Birch Beer he brought me to go with the candy...
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
A Grey Day
The seasons are changing up here in the Rockies. Today the high should be near 80 and the sky is one big field of blue, but yesterday it was a very different story.
When I left the house in the morning a cold damp mist covered the ground, leaving a film of water over every surface. The was a solid wall of grey, no clouds, just one big haze. The temperature started around 50 and never got higher than about 58. My hands ached from the cold as I walked to the bus stop. It didn't really rain, but there was so much water in the air that occasionally some drops fell on the windshield of the bus as we drove along.
All day I kept looking out at the weather, but I wasn't seeing the parking lot or the sky; I was seeing the Cumberland Plateau rising up in the distance. In my mind, I was walking down a small town street in a misty rain. I was thinking of a little bookshop and a pair of green shamrock earrings. I thought of sitting down with a bowl of potato and mushroom soup and mexican corn bread and wiping snow crab soup out of the beard of the man sitting across the table. And of course, of knowing just how tender the bottom he was sitting on was.
As you regular readers may have been able to tell by the lack of posts here, my life has been incredibly busy lately, and I haven't had as much time for some things as I would like, but some things are still incredibly dear to me, like a magical week in March, and the person I shared it with. Even if his bottom is getting a bit neglected.
I love you very much, little bunny.
Mistress
When I left the house in the morning a cold damp mist covered the ground, leaving a film of water over every surface. The was a solid wall of grey, no clouds, just one big haze. The temperature started around 50 and never got higher than about 58. My hands ached from the cold as I walked to the bus stop. It didn't really rain, but there was so much water in the air that occasionally some drops fell on the windshield of the bus as we drove along.
All day I kept looking out at the weather, but I wasn't seeing the parking lot or the sky; I was seeing the Cumberland Plateau rising up in the distance. In my mind, I was walking down a small town street in a misty rain. I was thinking of a little bookshop and a pair of green shamrock earrings. I thought of sitting down with a bowl of potato and mushroom soup and mexican corn bread and wiping snow crab soup out of the beard of the man sitting across the table. And of course, of knowing just how tender the bottom he was sitting on was.
As you regular readers may have been able to tell by the lack of posts here, my life has been incredibly busy lately, and I haven't had as much time for some things as I would like, but some things are still incredibly dear to me, like a magical week in March, and the person I shared it with. Even if his bottom is getting a bit neglected.
I love you very much, little bunny.
Mistress
Friday, September 5, 2008
Ms. Betty's Blood Pressure
Just went through the roof.
Did anyone else see today's Ask Margo ???
(second letter)
Gee, you like to call one guy daddy and another your pet and you, at a young and energetic age tend to think about sex a lot. Yeah, honey, you need a doctor...something has to be wrong.
Thanks for nothing, Margo.
Ms. Betty
Did anyone else see today's Ask Margo ???
(second letter)
Gee, you like to call one guy daddy and another your pet and you, at a young and energetic age tend to think about sex a lot. Yeah, honey, you need a doctor...something has to be wrong.
Thanks for nothing, Margo.
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Where I've Been...
Hello folks,
I realize it's been a bit quiet here. Everything is alright, I've just been terribly busy.
Work, of course, and the ruined carpet drama, new furniture that had to be bought and ongoing contacts with the police, medical tests for my husband and now a lost wallet.
And something else, too.
I've been painting the last week or so. I don't really paint often, but sometimes something comes along that can only be expressed by putting a brush to canvas. Something in the dynamic between two of our managers at the shop reminded me of an old Celtic myth and the more I tried to explain it the more I realized I could see it, but I could not say it. It needed to be communicated from that place in the mind that functions without words; the part of the brain that originally gave birth to art.
For those of you who may never have come across this information; our brains are divided into two halves. In the simplest terms, the left half of our brain controls logical thought and language while the right half interprets images and symbols and some researchers believe it may process most of our emotion. (Mind you I am talking about the physical make up of the brain here, not Freud's theory of the different levels of consciousness.) Some also believe creativity is mostly the product of the right hemisphere, however some creative endeavors, such as writing a short story or a blog do take co-operation between both halves.
Personally, I find that when I have a painting in progress it's very hard to channel creative energy away from that and into the written word, so when I paint I don't write much and when I'm writing heavily I rarely paint. I find the two mediums enhance each other, giving me a break from each in turn and giving me time to renew myself so neither gets stale, but they really don't co-exist well.
People often ask why I don't share the other half of my life/creativity, the painting, here on the blog, after all it says right at the top that I intend for this page to incorporate all of me. It's a fair point. The trouble is I am completely useless when it comes to digital photography. I can take 30 pictures of the same thing and not have one of them come out usable. Well, we can all only be good at a limited number of things, right?
But if I ever manage any level of competence with a digital camera I may just see about sharing some of my artwork here. (Sorry folks, it's not usually kinky...)
Ms. Betty
I realize it's been a bit quiet here. Everything is alright, I've just been terribly busy.
Work, of course, and the ruined carpet drama, new furniture that had to be bought and ongoing contacts with the police, medical tests for my husband and now a lost wallet.
And something else, too.
I've been painting the last week or so. I don't really paint often, but sometimes something comes along that can only be expressed by putting a brush to canvas. Something in the dynamic between two of our managers at the shop reminded me of an old Celtic myth and the more I tried to explain it the more I realized I could see it, but I could not say it. It needed to be communicated from that place in the mind that functions without words; the part of the brain that originally gave birth to art.
For those of you who may never have come across this information; our brains are divided into two halves. In the simplest terms, the left half of our brain controls logical thought and language while the right half interprets images and symbols and some researchers believe it may process most of our emotion. (Mind you I am talking about the physical make up of the brain here, not Freud's theory of the different levels of consciousness.) Some also believe creativity is mostly the product of the right hemisphere, however some creative endeavors, such as writing a short story or a blog do take co-operation between both halves.
Personally, I find that when I have a painting in progress it's very hard to channel creative energy away from that and into the written word, so when I paint I don't write much and when I'm writing heavily I rarely paint. I find the two mediums enhance each other, giving me a break from each in turn and giving me time to renew myself so neither gets stale, but they really don't co-exist well.
People often ask why I don't share the other half of my life/creativity, the painting, here on the blog, after all it says right at the top that I intend for this page to incorporate all of me. It's a fair point. The trouble is I am completely useless when it comes to digital photography. I can take 30 pictures of the same thing and not have one of them come out usable. Well, we can all only be good at a limited number of things, right?
But if I ever manage any level of competence with a digital camera I may just see about sharing some of my artwork here. (Sorry folks, it's not usually kinky...)
Ms. Betty
Friday, August 22, 2008
Paddling becomes Olympic Sport
You gotta love the news :
Gee, I thought spanking already had a pretty big audience. ;)
Some women paddlers gave a nod of approval this week to suggestions from a senior governing body official to wear skirts during matches to make their game more stylish in an attempt to pull in the crowds.
Gee, I thought spanking already had a pretty big audience. ;)
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Quiet
Gee...it's quiet over here.
Too quiet.
Little bunnies everywhere look around apprehensively and furtively cover their bottoms with their little hands...
Friday, August 8, 2008
"Penalties" for nursing students...
I was looking for pictures of nurses when I came across the following excerpt on the site Nursing History Digitalization Project
Hm...now what might those penalties have been?
Students in the hospital nursing programs were required to live in residence while enrolled in the nursing school, as well as follow a strict set of rules and regulations which applied to all facets of the student’s life. These rules applied to everything from their behaviour to their dress and if the rules were not followed the students were disciplined. Most dismissals from the program due to a lack of discipline often occurred early on in the student's training. Due to the surplus pool of labour that existed, students who quit or were expelled could easily be replaced. Senior students however, were a valuable skilled labour force and were not quite as easy to replace. Therefore as long as the student was willing to accept a penalty and appeared to repent they would not be expelled from the program.
Hm...now what might those penalties have been?
Thursday, August 7, 2008
100 years ago today...
I loved her the first time I ever saw her.
Picture the scene:
There in the dark auditorium on my first day of Art History class the slide projector clicks and suddenly the giant screen at the front of the room is filled with the image of a vibrant orange figure, every lovely curve shown in explicit detail.
My heart reacted long before my mind. She was beautiful, graceful even in all of her plump awkwardness.; heavy breasts hanging low, hips wide, belly bulging, mostly likely with late pregnancy.
The instructor explained that they called her "Venus", but he did not agree with that name as she was carved long before the civilizations of Greece rose. He called her "fertility icon", dutifully I put that down in my notes. The name didn't fit for me, though. To me she looked like a mother, the mother of the world, and that's what I called her.
In Art History her only significance was the honor of being the oldest female figure found. The instructor spent less than 5 minutes on her. And then clicked on.
It would still be more than a year before I learned more about her; eighteen months before I discovered what she meant in archaeological circles, that she was the icon of a newly forming movement, a whole new school being born among anthropologists. It would be through her that I would come to know and understand the true power a woman can wield, but that day in late August all I knew was my imagination had been completely captured by a four inch statue I could not get out of my head.
And to day is her birthday. Well of sorts. 100 years ago today she was unearthed near the village of Willendorf, Austria. On August 7, 1908, she once again came into light after thousands of years buried in the earth.
And she's still every bit as beautiful.
Ms. Betty
Picture the scene:
There in the dark auditorium on my first day of Art History class the slide projector clicks and suddenly the giant screen at the front of the room is filled with the image of a vibrant orange figure, every lovely curve shown in explicit detail.
The instructor explained that they called her "Venus", but he did not agree with that name as she was carved long before the civilizations of Greece rose. He called her "fertility icon", dutifully I put that down in my notes. The name didn't fit for me, though. To me she looked like a mother, the mother of the world, and that's what I called her.
In Art History her only significance was the honor of being the oldest female figure found. The instructor spent less than 5 minutes on her. And then clicked on.
It would still be more than a year before I learned more about her; eighteen months before I discovered what she meant in archaeological circles, that she was the icon of a newly forming movement, a whole new school being born among anthropologists. It would be through her that I would come to know and understand the true power a woman can wield, but that day in late August all I knew was my imagination had been completely captured by a four inch statue I could not get out of my head.
And to day is her birthday. Well of sorts. 100 years ago today she was unearthed near the village of Willendorf, Austria. On August 7, 1908, she once again came into light after thousands of years buried in the earth.
And she's still every bit as beautiful.
Ms. Betty
Friday, August 1, 2008
Puzzle Fun!
Wow, Friday already! This week has gone by in a blur.
Sit back and relax, everybody. Take a break and have some fun.
Happy Friday!
Puzzle courtesy of Jigzone.com
Sit back and relax, everybody. Take a break and have some fun.
Happy Friday!
Puzzle courtesy of Jigzone.com
Thursday, July 31, 2008
I want my living room back!!!
It's been a week since the water heater burst upstairs.
The carpet pads are still wet. It's starting to smell, and we still can't put anything back in our one and only storage closet.
The good news is I spoke with our apartment manager yesterday, and we should have new carpet today.
If not...I'm going after somebody with a whip.
Ms. Betty
The carpet pads are still wet. It's starting to smell, and we still can't put anything back in our one and only storage closet.
The good news is I spoke with our apartment manager yesterday, and we should have new carpet today.
If not...I'm going after somebody with a whip.
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
A Man's Belt
lI've talked to many people over the years about my love of men's belts, but I'm not sure if I've mentioned it here before.
In the shortest terms, I agree, as many spankos do, that a belt is the ultimate symbol of masculinity. The smell of the leather, the weight, the jingle of the buckle; all of these things say "man" in a way nothing else quite does.
To me, there is nothing quite so powerful as making a man surrender that symbol to me. I make a ritual of making him take it off, hand it over, bare his bottom and place himself in position for punishment. Sometimes I will take it off and take it from him, just as sometimes I will bare a man's bottom myself. (It makes them feel so helpless to be undressed that way), but my favorite is to go through the ritual of surrender.
Using a man's own belt to spank him with is actually an idea I picked up from an old sit-com. (No, I'm not kidding.) I used to watch old re-runs of What's Happening, and every time Rog was in trouble, mom told him to hand over that belt.
Then when I started spanking it was just plan practical. I wore (and still wear) lots of skirts, so I didn't really wear belts. The guys did, though. I soon realized that if he always wore a belt and I always carried my hairbrush at any given time I had 2 implements plus my hand ready for on the spot spankings.
I do have a belt of my own, a long, thick heavy strip of brown leather hanging on a special hook in the closet. When I certain problem child came along he didn't wear belts and during the year it took to con him into getting one , er get him to understand the subtle delights of wearing a constant reminder of his status around his waist, I had to have something that would do the job. Sometimes only a belt will teach the lesson that needs to be taught.
I never wear it, though. I do own belts that I wear, but women's belts never seem to be suitable for spanking. They are either too light, or entirely too decorated. Most aren't even leather.
The other day the buckle on my black belt broke. I was getting ready for work so I didn't have time to go buy another one. I ended up borrowing one of my husband's for the day. It was black, thick and wide with that basketweave pattern on police belts and holsters. I've coveted this belt for years and would love to have it in my toy collection, but it's his and he's keeping it. I liked wearing it, though. Strike that, I loved wearing it. There was something very nice, and very em, stimulating about having a man's belt on. I kept fingering the tail of leather that stuck out past the buckle and wondering what it would be like to be watching the expression on a man's face as I whipped it off and told him to bend over...
It's funny, because I never thought I'd like wearing a man's belt, but I really do. So now I'm thinking, since I need a new belt anyway, and I really hate women's belts, I may see about buying a mens' belt instead.
Bottoms up, boys.
Ms. Betty
In the shortest terms, I agree, as many spankos do, that a belt is the ultimate symbol of masculinity. The smell of the leather, the weight, the jingle of the buckle; all of these things say "man" in a way nothing else quite does.
To me, there is nothing quite so powerful as making a man surrender that symbol to me. I make a ritual of making him take it off, hand it over, bare his bottom and place himself in position for punishment. Sometimes I will take it off and take it from him, just as sometimes I will bare a man's bottom myself. (It makes them feel so helpless to be undressed that way), but my favorite is to go through the ritual of surrender.
Using a man's own belt to spank him with is actually an idea I picked up from an old sit-com. (No, I'm not kidding.) I used to watch old re-runs of What's Happening, and every time Rog was in trouble, mom told him to hand over that belt.
Then when I started spanking it was just plan practical. I wore (and still wear) lots of skirts, so I didn't really wear belts. The guys did, though. I soon realized that if he always wore a belt and I always carried my hairbrush at any given time I had 2 implements plus my hand ready for on the spot spankings.
I do have a belt of my own, a long, thick heavy strip of brown leather hanging on a special hook in the closet. When I certain problem child came along he didn't wear belts and during the year it took to con him into getting one , er get him to understand the subtle delights of wearing a constant reminder of his status around his waist, I had to have something that would do the job. Sometimes only a belt will teach the lesson that needs to be taught.
I never wear it, though. I do own belts that I wear, but women's belts never seem to be suitable for spanking. They are either too light, or entirely too decorated. Most aren't even leather.
The other day the buckle on my black belt broke. I was getting ready for work so I didn't have time to go buy another one. I ended up borrowing one of my husband's for the day. It was black, thick and wide with that basketweave pattern on police belts and holsters. I've coveted this belt for years and would love to have it in my toy collection, but it's his and he's keeping it. I liked wearing it, though. Strike that, I loved wearing it. There was something very nice, and very em, stimulating about having a man's belt on. I kept fingering the tail of leather that stuck out past the buckle and wondering what it would be like to be watching the expression on a man's face as I whipped it off and told him to bend over...
It's funny, because I never thought I'd like wearing a man's belt, but I really do. So now I'm thinking, since I need a new belt anyway, and I really hate women's belts, I may see about buying a mens' belt instead.
Bottoms up, boys.
Ms. Betty
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Do I Really Need Yet Another Hairbrush?
I ask myself that every time I wander down the hair care aisle. I stand there, weighing plastic and wood, looking at shapes, feeling weights and surface textures. It seems to me these days that most hairbrushes are pretty much junk, so I almost always pass. Every now and then, though, something great or different surfaces and I know it's a must for my ever growing collection.
This time it was the Edge brush by Goody. I found it at Wal-Mart. It's a wooden brush, about a 1/4 inch thick with a rat-tail handle. What's so unqiue about it is that the brush is only about 1/2 an inch wide. Imagine a toothbrush with a head about 4 inches long and you'll have the idea. It's not has heavy as some of the worst brushes out there, but it is a bit heavy for it's size. It produces a sharp, biting sting and might actually make some welts on a tender bottom. It isn't really an all over bottom blisterer, but I'm thinking it is going to be quite effective in the crease between someone's bottom cheeks and thighs, along the sides of the crack, and in other sensitive places.
Not bad for $2.
Ms. Betty
This time it was the Edge brush by Goody. I found it at Wal-Mart. It's a wooden brush, about a 1/4 inch thick with a rat-tail handle. What's so unqiue about it is that the brush is only about 1/2 an inch wide. Imagine a toothbrush with a head about 4 inches long and you'll have the idea. It's not has heavy as some of the worst brushes out there, but it is a bit heavy for it's size. It produces a sharp, biting sting and might actually make some welts on a tender bottom. It isn't really an all over bottom blisterer, but I'm thinking it is going to be quite effective in the crease between someone's bottom cheeks and thighs, along the sides of the crack, and in other sensitive places.
Not bad for $2.
Ms. Betty
Monday, July 28, 2008
It was supposed to be my day off!!!
Friday.
Payday.
Who wouldn't love to have the whole day stretching out in front of them with nothing to do and maybe a few fun errands to fill it?
But nooooo, not for Ms. Betty
At 9 AM the apartment manager showed up to inspect the apartment. As we still have everything piled all over the house because of our still wet carpet, I was not happy about having someone poking around, not at 9 o'clock in the morning. Not on my day off. I wanted a long lazy cup of coffee and a chance to shuffle around in my robe for a bit before a shower and a day out on the town.
Thankfully the inspection went quickly. The management was apologetic about what the broken water heater upstairs had put us through and they understood just how we felt. A few questions and it was all over.
I started to head towards the bathroom for my shower, but there was a knock on the door. The drywall guy was here to finish the walls and ceiling. The ruined hallway happens to be the hallway leading to our bathroom, so the shower was going to have to wait.
Good workmanship takes awhile. Not that I'm complaining, he did a beautiful job, but we were sitting and waiting while he did it. Then, of course, the painter had to come in. I was really impressed. They did a fantastic job. Really above and beyond. They fixed the moldings that had been loose, put plastic down over every inch of anything that might even come close to getting messy and when they were done they cleaned everything spot by spot with a sponge. Wow, wow, and wow.
No sooner did they leave than the carpet guy showed up...
The good news: the giant fans are gone. The bad news, the carpet padding is still wet. In the carpet cleaners' professional opinion, there is nothing more to be done. The disinfectant may prevent mold from forming, but we still need the carpet replaced because water is going to keep seeping up from the pad. So that's the next battle.
But by this point, it was almost 2 o'clock in the afternoon and I still had to shower, change, go by work and get to the bank. Far from my slow relaxing day, I was suddenly in a frantic rush.
So much for my day off.
Ms. Betty
Payday.
Who wouldn't love to have the whole day stretching out in front of them with nothing to do and maybe a few fun errands to fill it?
But nooooo, not for Ms. Betty
At 9 AM the apartment manager showed up to inspect the apartment. As we still have everything piled all over the house because of our still wet carpet, I was not happy about having someone poking around, not at 9 o'clock in the morning. Not on my day off. I wanted a long lazy cup of coffee and a chance to shuffle around in my robe for a bit before a shower and a day out on the town.
Thankfully the inspection went quickly. The management was apologetic about what the broken water heater upstairs had put us through and they understood just how we felt. A few questions and it was all over.
I started to head towards the bathroom for my shower, but there was a knock on the door. The drywall guy was here to finish the walls and ceiling. The ruined hallway happens to be the hallway leading to our bathroom, so the shower was going to have to wait.
Good workmanship takes awhile. Not that I'm complaining, he did a beautiful job, but we were sitting and waiting while he did it. Then, of course, the painter had to come in. I was really impressed. They did a fantastic job. Really above and beyond. They fixed the moldings that had been loose, put plastic down over every inch of anything that might even come close to getting messy and when they were done they cleaned everything spot by spot with a sponge. Wow, wow, and wow.
No sooner did they leave than the carpet guy showed up...
The good news: the giant fans are gone. The bad news, the carpet padding is still wet. In the carpet cleaners' professional opinion, there is nothing more to be done. The disinfectant may prevent mold from forming, but we still need the carpet replaced because water is going to keep seeping up from the pad. So that's the next battle.
But by this point, it was almost 2 o'clock in the afternoon and I still had to shower, change, go by work and get to the bank. Far from my slow relaxing day, I was suddenly in a frantic rush.
So much for my day off.
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Yes, guys, there is a boogey man
All apologies to the Spank Boss and Abel,
But there is a boogey man. Probably more than one, but one is all I can think of right now. He's about 5 ft 10, medium build, will balding brown hair and a missing tooth.
He got on my bus after work one night last week and after I got off he grabbed me. There at the fully lighted bus stop, in front of at least 5 or 6 other people. He babbled in broken English as he demanded I go with him and forced my hand onto his crotch. I struggled, but he would not let go. Part of me panicked while the rest of me thought of any and everything I could say to convince him to let go.
By this point others waiting for the bus began to notice something was wrong and started our way, the man let go, grabbed my breast, and then ran off, saying something about coming to see me at work.
The next day, he actually did show up where I worked.
I do not know this man. I had never seen him before that night. But he is still out there somewhere. He tried to approach me again Saturday evening. We don't know who he is, we don't know where he is, and we don't know if he's going to try again.
For those of you who may be concerned at this point, yes, police have been called, I've spent hours talking to police and victim advocates. I related the whole sordid mess to my bosses, who being they great people they are stood by me, paid me for the lost time spent talking to the police and demanded assistance from our security company so we could turn over the footage of him in the store to police. They no longer leave me alone at the front of the store.
I no longer leave the house alone after dark. Even during the day, if I go out I go armed (pepper spray)
I'm trying to be okay, and for the most part I'm succeeding, except for the occasional urge to dive under my desk and never come out again.
I've already decided that the odds of catching an unknown stranger roaming the streets (even if he has apparently been watching where I work) is very unlikely so while I am continuing to cooperate with investigators, my plan at this point is just to get back to living.
Which would be a lot easier if I didn't keep getting nagging little reminders that this whole mess is far from over.
I got a call from the victim advocate at the police department yesterday morning. Oh hi, there is water pouring out of my ceiling, my carpet is a swamp, the cats are protesting loudly, and I'm trying to get ready for work...and you want to drag me through everything that happened last week and dredge up the memories I've careful managed to seal off in the back of my mind. Gee, thanks. But she was trying to help. Did I have questions? Had the detective talked to me yet?
Detective? What detective? (I'd convinced myself my police report was in the bottom of a drawer somewhere gathering dust, never to been seen or acted on again...) I don't want to talk to a detective. I want the whole blasted thing to never have happened, or barring that I want to forget it ever did. Can we please not have to do this?
But of course I will have to, when I don't know. It's just hanging out there somewhere and will swoop down on me one day out of the blue...Hi, can I sit down with you and drag you through the whole thing one more time? Sorry it's taken so long, we had to make sure you weren't crazy or just seeking attention first.
Then, of course there is the whole question of whether or not they ever catch him, and what happens then.
I'll post updates if/when the case progresses, but in the meantime I intend to go back to living, loving and spanking.
Ms. Betty
But there is a boogey man. Probably more than one, but one is all I can think of right now. He's about 5 ft 10, medium build, will balding brown hair and a missing tooth.
He got on my bus after work one night last week and after I got off he grabbed me. There at the fully lighted bus stop, in front of at least 5 or 6 other people. He babbled in broken English as he demanded I go with him and forced my hand onto his crotch. I struggled, but he would not let go. Part of me panicked while the rest of me thought of any and everything I could say to convince him to let go.
By this point others waiting for the bus began to notice something was wrong and started our way, the man let go, grabbed my breast, and then ran off, saying something about coming to see me at work.
The next day, he actually did show up where I worked.
I do not know this man. I had never seen him before that night. But he is still out there somewhere. He tried to approach me again Saturday evening. We don't know who he is, we don't know where he is, and we don't know if he's going to try again.
For those of you who may be concerned at this point, yes, police have been called, I've spent hours talking to police and victim advocates. I related the whole sordid mess to my bosses, who being they great people they are stood by me, paid me for the lost time spent talking to the police and demanded assistance from our security company so we could turn over the footage of him in the store to police. They no longer leave me alone at the front of the store.
I no longer leave the house alone after dark. Even during the day, if I go out I go armed (pepper spray)
I'm trying to be okay, and for the most part I'm succeeding, except for the occasional urge to dive under my desk and never come out again.
I've already decided that the odds of catching an unknown stranger roaming the streets (even if he has apparently been watching where I work) is very unlikely so while I am continuing to cooperate with investigators, my plan at this point is just to get back to living.
Which would be a lot easier if I didn't keep getting nagging little reminders that this whole mess is far from over.
I got a call from the victim advocate at the police department yesterday morning. Oh hi, there is water pouring out of my ceiling, my carpet is a swamp, the cats are protesting loudly, and I'm trying to get ready for work...and you want to drag me through everything that happened last week and dredge up the memories I've careful managed to seal off in the back of my mind. Gee, thanks. But she was trying to help. Did I have questions? Had the detective talked to me yet?
Detective? What detective? (I'd convinced myself my police report was in the bottom of a drawer somewhere gathering dust, never to been seen or acted on again...) I don't want to talk to a detective. I want the whole blasted thing to never have happened, or barring that I want to forget it ever did. Can we please not have to do this?
But of course I will have to, when I don't know. It's just hanging out there somewhere and will swoop down on me one day out of the blue...Hi, can I sit down with you and drag you through the whole thing one more time? Sorry it's taken so long, we had to make sure you weren't crazy or just seeking attention first.
Then, of course there is the whole question of whether or not they ever catch him, and what happens then.
I'll post updates if/when the case progresses, but in the meantime I intend to go back to living, loving and spanking.
Ms. Betty
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
She's Back...
Well, not exactly.
It's been an odd week or so and I'd like to tell everyone all about it, but right now there is water from the water heater in the upstairs apartment leaking through the newly rust-colored ceiling and walking on the carpet in my hallway is a bit like walking through a swamp.
Apparently at some point today they are going to have to come cut my ceiling open, drain the rest of the water, dry things out in the crawl space, and then come deal with the carpet.
So I'm sitting here watching the clock, hoping this all gets done before I have to go shower change for work.
But I promise there are juicy tidbits to come, so say tuned!
Ms. Betty
It's been an odd week or so and I'd like to tell everyone all about it, but right now there is water from the water heater in the upstairs apartment leaking through the newly rust-colored ceiling and walking on the carpet in my hallway is a bit like walking through a swamp.
Apparently at some point today they are going to have to come cut my ceiling open, drain the rest of the water, dry things out in the crawl space, and then come deal with the carpet.
So I'm sitting here watching the clock, hoping this all gets done before I have to go shower change for work.
But I promise there are juicy tidbits to come, so say tuned!
Ms. Betty
Monday, July 14, 2008
Time Out!
Blogging temporarily on hold while I have vanilla company in the house. I should be back Wednesday.
Ms. Betty
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Do Chicken Tacos Cause Traffic Accidents?
Just because I read a comment on a blog this weekend that really, really, really pissed me off and I'm still mad 3 days later.
So one last time, just for the record.
There is NO evidence out there anywhere that conclusively proves that all spanking fetishes, or even a majority of them are caused by being spanked as children.
It has happened, I know of one case where the person involved is sure it did. However, I also know of cases where being spanked has completely turned someone off the idea as an erotic activity. I also know several people who never once had a hand laid on them who still as adults crave nothing more than a nice warm bottom. How do we explain them?
Reactions to spanking are as varied as the human race itself. Some will be aroused, some will be traumatized, some will be both, some will not react at all.
Yes every now and then we see yet another study claiming that a higher percentage of people who got spanked are kinky, however let me point out the key fact they teach you on the first day of even the most basic stats, science, or social science class.
So one last time, just for the record.
There is NO evidence out there anywhere that conclusively proves that all spanking fetishes, or even a majority of them are caused by being spanked as children.
It has happened, I know of one case where the person involved is sure it did. However, I also know of cases where being spanked has completely turned someone off the idea as an erotic activity. I also know several people who never once had a hand laid on them who still as adults crave nothing more than a nice warm bottom. How do we explain them?
Reactions to spanking are as varied as the human race itself. Some will be aroused, some will be traumatized, some will be both, some will not react at all.
Yes every now and then we see yet another study claiming that a higher percentage of people who got spanked are kinky, however let me point out the key fact they teach you on the first day of even the most basic stats, science, or social science class.
Correlation is NOT causation
Even if there does appear to be a link between to events, it DOES NOT NECESSARILY MEAN ONE CAUSES THE OTHER. Anyone still having trouble understanding this very simple concept please write it out on the blackboard 1000 times.
The more tenuous a link is, the less likely it is to be a cause. If 95 people out of 100 who ate chicken tacos at the same place on the same day got sick and none or maybe 1 out of another 100 who ate the beef tacos did then it's likely that the chicken made them all sick. If 59% of people who had a chicken taco get into a car accident in the next 30 days, compared with 53% who had the beef tacos, it does not mean, nor is it even likely that chicken tacos cause traffic accidents.
Furthermore, for something to truly be the cause of something else, they both must always be present, and one must always precede the other, or you have to find another contributing factor that cancels out the first. Going back to our chicken example, 96 people out of 200 got sick. (95 chicken eaters, 1 beef eater) why didn't the last 5 get sick, why did just one who ate the beef? In order to prove the chicken the culprit we'd have to go back and prove a) that something in that beef taco came into contact with the contaminated chicken, and b) that something about those 5 people made them more resistant to the food borne illness in the chicken or that they did not eat the same chicken as the people who got sick. Unless we can prove both of these things, we CANNOT conclusively prove the chicken was the cause of the illness. We have a very high correlation, but no causation. We have to keep looking for other causes.
For those of you paying attention to the news, this is what is happening with the FDA's investigation of tomatoes right now. They cannot conclusively prove all the cases came from tomatoes, so they are now having to look at other fresh produce.
Is everyone still with me? Good. There will be a quiz at the end of the period.
Now boys and girls, lets talk about manners and basic human respect. We all know it is wrong to impose stereotypes on others, especially negative stereotypes.
It is wrong when certain groups teach their children that people have dark skin because they carry the mark of sin.
It is wrong when people claim Jewish people sacrifice Christian babies.
It is wrong when someone claims all Muslims are terrorists.
It is wrong when someone says all women are emotional and hysterical.
It is wrong when someone says all men have to be physically strong, athletic and aggressive.
It is wrong when someone says a man is homosexual because he played with dolls as a child or that a woman is homosexual because she was a tomboy.
It is also wrong to walk up to someone or to comment on their blog and declare that obviously their desire to be spanked must have come from some for of childhood abuse. It is doubly wrong to do so as an excuse to post links to anti-CP pages or groups, no matter how vital to saving the world you think your particular cause is. Posting unwanted, un-related, links on someone else's blog is spamming them. That's wrong, too.
I do not approve of spanking children. I do not approve of anyone hitting anyone else against his or her will. Consent is the very center of everything we do.
However, I do not approve of one small, or even large, group presuming to tell any other group how they must live or how they "should be", especially when such pronouncements are based on ignorance and false assumptions.
I spoke to a friend on the phone yesterday, and he said something very wise. He pointed out that regardless of how any of us got here, we still need what we need to be happy and whole as human beings. When someone forces their world view on us instead of understanding us for who we are they deny us that. Railing against political issues in the wrong venue is not helping us, nor is it helping the cause this person is working towards.
Too bad, really. It is a good cause, but I do think they need a little more thought put into their arguments and tactics.
Ms. Betty
The more tenuous a link is, the less likely it is to be a cause. If 95 people out of 100 who ate chicken tacos at the same place on the same day got sick and none or maybe 1 out of another 100 who ate the beef tacos did then it's likely that the chicken made them all sick. If 59% of people who had a chicken taco get into a car accident in the next 30 days, compared with 53% who had the beef tacos, it does not mean, nor is it even likely that chicken tacos cause traffic accidents.
Furthermore, for something to truly be the cause of something else, they both must always be present, and one must always precede the other, or you have to find another contributing factor that cancels out the first. Going back to our chicken example, 96 people out of 200 got sick. (95 chicken eaters, 1 beef eater) why didn't the last 5 get sick, why did just one who ate the beef? In order to prove the chicken the culprit we'd have to go back and prove a) that something in that beef taco came into contact with the contaminated chicken, and b) that something about those 5 people made them more resistant to the food borne illness in the chicken or that they did not eat the same chicken as the people who got sick. Unless we can prove both of these things, we CANNOT conclusively prove the chicken was the cause of the illness. We have a very high correlation, but no causation. We have to keep looking for other causes.
For those of you paying attention to the news, this is what is happening with the FDA's investigation of tomatoes right now. They cannot conclusively prove all the cases came from tomatoes, so they are now having to look at other fresh produce.
Is everyone still with me? Good. There will be a quiz at the end of the period.
Now boys and girls, lets talk about manners and basic human respect. We all know it is wrong to impose stereotypes on others, especially negative stereotypes.
It is wrong when certain groups teach their children that people have dark skin because they carry the mark of sin.
It is wrong when people claim Jewish people sacrifice Christian babies.
It is wrong when someone claims all Muslims are terrorists.
It is wrong when someone says all women are emotional and hysterical.
It is wrong when someone says all men have to be physically strong, athletic and aggressive.
It is wrong when someone says a man is homosexual because he played with dolls as a child or that a woman is homosexual because she was a tomboy.
It is also wrong to walk up to someone or to comment on their blog and declare that obviously their desire to be spanked must have come from some for of childhood abuse. It is doubly wrong to do so as an excuse to post links to anti-CP pages or groups, no matter how vital to saving the world you think your particular cause is. Posting unwanted, un-related, links on someone else's blog is spamming them. That's wrong, too.
I do not approve of spanking children. I do not approve of anyone hitting anyone else against his or her will. Consent is the very center of everything we do.
However, I do not approve of one small, or even large, group presuming to tell any other group how they must live or how they "should be", especially when such pronouncements are based on ignorance and false assumptions.
I spoke to a friend on the phone yesterday, and he said something very wise. He pointed out that regardless of how any of us got here, we still need what we need to be happy and whole as human beings. When someone forces their world view on us instead of understanding us for who we are they deny us that. Railing against political issues in the wrong venue is not helping us, nor is it helping the cause this person is working towards.
Too bad, really. It is a good cause, but I do think they need a little more thought put into their arguments and tactics.
Ms. Betty
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Just what are they getting at?
So I am browsing kitchenware online when I come across this picture of this sweet looking spoon kept in a vase.
As well as a larger version of the same spoon:
The accompanying description reads:
Can any spanko out there read that without reading sooo much more into it?
And don't heart shapes look just a little like turned up bottoms?
And isn't spanking a labor of love?
Just what are they trying to imply?
Ms. Betty
P.S. When you go take a look, don't forget to look over the following, too:
The giant wooden spoons
The dough cutter
The egg spoon
and
The pasta and salad page
A wooden sweetheart spoon is a good spoon to set in a special place. Many people give them as wedding, anniversary, or birthday gifts. Although some people keep them for their very own.
Can any spanko out there read that without reading sooo much more into it?
And don't heart shapes look just a little like turned up bottoms?
And isn't spanking a labor of love?
Just what are they trying to imply?
Ms. Betty
P.S. When you go take a look, don't forget to look over the following, too:
The giant wooden spoons
The dough cutter
The egg spoon
and
The pasta and salad page
Monday, July 7, 2008
The Old is New Again
When Chuck and I first met I was working 12 hours a day 5 days a week as an operator at a little tiny business. We were so short staffed our 'lunch break' was taking 30 seconds to rip open a package and nuke something. Whether or not we actually got to eat it was an entirely different matter.
Chuck wasn't working because he was going to school full time. Two of his classes were online though so he had plenty of free time. Before I knew it he was rescuing me by running those little errands I didn't have time for, helping out around my apartment and walking over hot meals when I was there far too late at night. One day the manager gave him a key. If I hadn't so blasted busy I probably would have been alarmed at how fast things were moving. When his lease was up it was only natural that he gave up his place and moved in with me.
We got married, we moved up to Denver and things changed. Suddenly he was working the more hours so I took over the domestic side of things. This did not go well. At 3 months I was bored out of my mind and at 6 months if I hadn't discovered the internet I would have gone completely crazy. I still kept up with the housework, but I needed more to keep me going.
Now things have changed again. My part time job has suddenly become full time and Chuck is once again taking over in the domestic sphere. The new routine is only about two weeks old, but I can't help but be pleasantly surprised about how much better things are working. Chuck thrives in the house-husband role. He actually enjoys the meal planning, cleaning and organizing, taking care of the laundry, laying out my clothes for the morning, all the things I considered tedious chores. He even likes doing the shopping.
There is no DD or D/s element involved in this, just the normal divisions of labor that take place in any household. We're back where we started, back in our niche, and after 2 long years things seem once more right with the world.
Let's hope it stays that way.
Ms. Betty
Chuck wasn't working because he was going to school full time. Two of his classes were online though so he had plenty of free time. Before I knew it he was rescuing me by running those little errands I didn't have time for, helping out around my apartment and walking over hot meals when I was there far too late at night. One day the manager gave him a key. If I hadn't so blasted busy I probably would have been alarmed at how fast things were moving. When his lease was up it was only natural that he gave up his place and moved in with me.
We got married, we moved up to Denver and things changed. Suddenly he was working the more hours so I took over the domestic side of things. This did not go well. At 3 months I was bored out of my mind and at 6 months if I hadn't discovered the internet I would have gone completely crazy. I still kept up with the housework, but I needed more to keep me going.
Now things have changed again. My part time job has suddenly become full time and Chuck is once again taking over in the domestic sphere. The new routine is only about two weeks old, but I can't help but be pleasantly surprised about how much better things are working. Chuck thrives in the house-husband role. He actually enjoys the meal planning, cleaning and organizing, taking care of the laundry, laying out my clothes for the morning, all the things I considered tedious chores. He even likes doing the shopping.
There is no DD or D/s element involved in this, just the normal divisions of labor that take place in any household. We're back where we started, back in our niche, and after 2 long years things seem once more right with the world.
Let's hope it stays that way.
Ms. Betty
Friday, July 4, 2008
The man in the white hat
It was a baseball cap with an abstract grey and blue pattern across it. He dressed well, but casually. A brilliant white smile lit up his ebony face. His watch showed the time in 3 countries, one of which made emotion run thick in his voice when he said it's name.
He brought four carts full of clothes up to my register, asking that they be rung up a certain way. I did my best to accomodate him. As I ran the register he dispatched one child with him to hang up the hangers that came off the clothes. He set the other to folding and bagging as we discussed the author of a fascinating book he just bought.
Halfway through the third cart another man wandered up to my register. He was a regular customer, a favorite to see. Today he was looking for a wallet. This second man happens to be visually impaired. Not completely blind, but he does have significant trouble. Usually, we have an employee or volunteer to help him shop. Unfortunately, for the last several days our regular floor walker has been out due to serious health issues. We only had 2 employees to handle the entire crush of the holiday sale. Neither of us could leave a register to help him shop.
By now I'm sure you can guess what happened next. Our man in the white hat turned the rest of his transaction over to his wife, took the customer who needed help by the hand and helped him shop for his wallet. When they returned to my register the man in the white hat paid for the wallet, wishing the other customer a happy birthday.
I was touched, but not quite surprised. The identification the man in the white hat showed me when he gave me his credit card named him as a member of the United States Air Force.
We give alot of attention to our solidiers out on the battlefield. This is as it should be, as Heinlein once put it "the most noble fate a man can endure is to place his own mortal body between his loved home and the war's desolation." However, let us not forget the every day difference they make while interacting with the world. We see a lot of press about the occasional negative behavior of our service men and women off duty. We tend to ignore the code of ethics they uphold, the example they set for the rest of us, the self-discipline that makes them who they are.
They don't have to be on the battlefield to be heroes.
Happy Fourth of July, everyone.
Ms. Betty
He brought four carts full of clothes up to my register, asking that they be rung up a certain way. I did my best to accomodate him. As I ran the register he dispatched one child with him to hang up the hangers that came off the clothes. He set the other to folding and bagging as we discussed the author of a fascinating book he just bought.
Halfway through the third cart another man wandered up to my register. He was a regular customer, a favorite to see. Today he was looking for a wallet. This second man happens to be visually impaired. Not completely blind, but he does have significant trouble. Usually, we have an employee or volunteer to help him shop. Unfortunately, for the last several days our regular floor walker has been out due to serious health issues. We only had 2 employees to handle the entire crush of the holiday sale. Neither of us could leave a register to help him shop.
By now I'm sure you can guess what happened next. Our man in the white hat turned the rest of his transaction over to his wife, took the customer who needed help by the hand and helped him shop for his wallet. When they returned to my register the man in the white hat paid for the wallet, wishing the other customer a happy birthday.
I was touched, but not quite surprised. The identification the man in the white hat showed me when he gave me his credit card named him as a member of the United States Air Force.
We give alot of attention to our solidiers out on the battlefield. This is as it should be, as Heinlein once put it "the most noble fate a man can endure is to place his own mortal body between his loved home and the war's desolation." However, let us not forget the every day difference they make while interacting with the world. We see a lot of press about the occasional negative behavior of our service men and women off duty. We tend to ignore the code of ethics they uphold, the example they set for the rest of us, the self-discipline that makes them who they are.
They don't have to be on the battlefield to be heroes.
Happy Fourth of July, everyone.
Ms. Betty
Hey, where's the spanking?
I can't believe it's Friday and I've gone the whole week without posting about anything kinky.
To be honest, work has been on my mind so much and I've been so exhausted I haven't even really thought about spanking and the only close to bear bottom I've seen was when a co-worker bent over and his pants accidentally slipped. However, I don't think I can count that. I seem to have permanently repressed the memory of what it looked like.
(before anyone asks, yes it really was an accident. I thought the poor guy was going to die of humiliation)
I'm not living a completely spank free life, I spanked someone last week, I just haven't blogged about it. There will be a spanking next week, too, but it's not one I'm looking forward to giving. It's a punishment for a repeat offense for someone, and a major backslide for the person in question so I'm very disappointed, all the more so because it's a health related issue. I'm sorry to say this will end up being the harshest punishment I've given anyone in a very long time. That being the case, I can't really get excited about giving it. Still it has to be done.
Here's looking forward to happier spanking days to come.
Ms. Betty
To be honest, work has been on my mind so much and I've been so exhausted I haven't even really thought about spanking and the only close to bear bottom I've seen was when a co-worker bent over and his pants accidentally slipped. However, I don't think I can count that. I seem to have permanently repressed the memory of what it looked like.
(before anyone asks, yes it really was an accident. I thought the poor guy was going to die of humiliation)
I'm not living a completely spank free life, I spanked someone last week, I just haven't blogged about it. There will be a spanking next week, too, but it's not one I'm looking forward to giving. It's a punishment for a repeat offense for someone, and a major backslide for the person in question so I'm very disappointed, all the more so because it's a health related issue. I'm sorry to say this will end up being the harshest punishment I've given anyone in a very long time. That being the case, I can't really get excited about giving it. Still it has to be done.
Here's looking forward to happier spanking days to come.
Ms. Betty
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Ms. Betty's day off
Yep, I finally got one.
I've slept a bit late and I refuse to do anything productive with my day.
Well that last isn't quite true. I intend to go shoe shopping later. No, not blowing the budget on all of this season's latest pumps shoe shopping, work shoe shopping. It seems I've put a few too many miles on the poor old sneakers I've been wearing to work. The heels are completely gone.
So I'm off to find a pair of the super industrial work shoes I used to wear for restaurant work, and enjoy a beautiful Colorado summer day.
Be good everyone.
I've slept a bit late and I refuse to do anything productive with my day.
Well that last isn't quite true. I intend to go shoe shopping later. No, not blowing the budget on all of this season's latest pumps shoe shopping, work shoe shopping. It seems I've put a few too many miles on the poor old sneakers I've been wearing to work. The heels are completely gone.
So I'm off to find a pair of the super industrial work shoes I used to wear for restaurant work, and enjoy a beautiful Colorado summer day.
Be good everyone.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
This modern world
I was on the way to work yesterday when a young lady boarded the bus wearing what was very clearly a collar with a little brass tag in the front. Looking closely, I saw it was indeed an very narrow black nylon dog collar. The tag bore an long engraved number.
I was surprised but not shocked at the boldness of it. It was quite a brave thing for her to be doing, I think.
As I got off the bus I complemented her on the collar and wished her the best of luck. She blushed, but she smiled, too.
I think she's very happy.
Ms. Betty
I was surprised but not shocked at the boldness of it. It was quite a brave thing for her to be doing, I think.
As I got off the bus I complemented her on the collar and wished her the best of luck. She blushed, but she smiled, too.
I think she's very happy.
Ms. Betty
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Dawn has rosy fingers after all...
Back when I was very, very young (barely 18) and very impressionable. I took 18 months worth of writing workshops all with the same professor. These workshops consisted of us all tearing apart a different victim's work while the professor went on and on about how:
1) There was absolutely nothing new any of us could do, everything had already been done and been done better than we could ever do it
and
2) Every word we wrote was wrong. The words were not perfect, only perfect words would do and if they weren't perfect we had to keep working them until they were. This was futile because they never could be perfect but we had to keep trying anyway.
We all wrote crap. None of us was any good and we never would be. Needless to say these workshops did not help me develop my voice as a writer. What they did was leave me with huge knots of anxiety. Even after I quit the classes the imprint of them stayed with me. With time I actually developed a paralyzing fear of writing. I couldn't even write an email without second guessing and revising it 15 times. Write my resume? Forget it. Communicating in words at all became so awkward I couldn't even talk without stuttering, stammering and tripping over everything I said. The words weren't good enough. What business did I have using them?
During the months of these torture sessions, when the teacher found a bit of writing particularly distasteful he would roll his eyes and sneeringly refer to "dawn's rosy finger", a phrase apparently used by some poor student some years before that was, to the professor, an example of the worst thing anyone ever brought into his class. Dawn's rosy finger was a phrase that surpassed "dark and stormy night" in terms of awful. It was, apparently, even worse than the Vogons.
I never got the 'rosy finger' distinction. He was too busy complaining about the rhythm of my words. Apparently, I had/have a bad habit of writing things that have an accidental meter to them. "Poetic" he'd say with a sneer. Apparently this was not good. This was not me carrying on the traditions of the epics of Ancient Greece, or possibly me tapping into the cultural memory of the Irish bards; it was a bad habit I needed to fix. How I didn't know, but according to everyone he was THE writing teacher. No one knew better. If he said it, it was law. He was never wrong.
So I didn't dare argue. Of course my way was wrong, it wasn't THE way...his way. I didn't dare say I liked the phrase "dawn's rosy finger." I loved watching sunrises, still do, (something he apparently avoided at all costs) and to me it seemed like the most natural phrase in the world, the perfect description of those first hooks of pink light that come over the horizon. I just kept it to myself, and worked very very hard to make a non-poetic, non-lyrical paragraph a perfect 5 sentences long without using a single "to be" verb. All while trying to avoid the dreaded "dawn's rosy finger."
Force the words, but don't let them sound forced. Cut it down to a bare minimum, but flesh it out completely. Don't use dialog, but don't write all in narrative. Keep one point of view, but let us get inside every character. Avoid cliches, but match the reader's expectations. Don't try to have new ideas, but don't use old ones either. If you can't hack it, tough. Millions of people think they can write and they're all wrong. What's so different about you?
Good question. Apparently what was so different about me is best explained by Robert Heinlein. Some people just have to write. You can't stop us. No matter how ugly, how painful the process, we have to put words on paper, or on screen, or scribbled on the back of matchbook covers. The disease is incurable. All you can do is make the patient comfortable and patiently bear the creative fits. So I had to write, and had to write they words came to me. I could not do otherwise. I was a very disappointing failure.
Fine if I was to be a failure, so be it. I would write my way, for the sake of the stories, and be happily mediocre. Right for him was not right for me, and it was my pen.
But it's funny how things work out sometimes. I came across a reference to Eos, the Greek goddess of dawn the other day. Greek mythology is a hobby of mine and I know most of the major deities fairly well, but this was the first time I'd heard of Eos.
I looked her up briefly, and found this on
Wikipedia.
So dawn really does have rosy fingers. This unknown novice writer, more than a decade ago now, had stumbled onto the classic description of dawn; the imprint of the culture that shaped the western world. And the petty self-appointed god of the written word was wrong.
Ms. Betty
1) There was absolutely nothing new any of us could do, everything had already been done and been done better than we could ever do it
and
2) Every word we wrote was wrong. The words were not perfect, only perfect words would do and if they weren't perfect we had to keep working them until they were. This was futile because they never could be perfect but we had to keep trying anyway.
We all wrote crap. None of us was any good and we never would be. Needless to say these workshops did not help me develop my voice as a writer. What they did was leave me with huge knots of anxiety. Even after I quit the classes the imprint of them stayed with me. With time I actually developed a paralyzing fear of writing. I couldn't even write an email without second guessing and revising it 15 times. Write my resume? Forget it. Communicating in words at all became so awkward I couldn't even talk without stuttering, stammering and tripping over everything I said. The words weren't good enough. What business did I have using them?
During the months of these torture sessions, when the teacher found a bit of writing particularly distasteful he would roll his eyes and sneeringly refer to "dawn's rosy finger", a phrase apparently used by some poor student some years before that was, to the professor, an example of the worst thing anyone ever brought into his class. Dawn's rosy finger was a phrase that surpassed "dark and stormy night" in terms of awful. It was, apparently, even worse than the Vogons.
I never got the 'rosy finger' distinction. He was too busy complaining about the rhythm of my words. Apparently, I had/have a bad habit of writing things that have an accidental meter to them. "Poetic" he'd say with a sneer. Apparently this was not good. This was not me carrying on the traditions of the epics of Ancient Greece, or possibly me tapping into the cultural memory of the Irish bards; it was a bad habit I needed to fix. How I didn't know, but according to everyone he was THE writing teacher. No one knew better. If he said it, it was law. He was never wrong.
So I didn't dare argue. Of course my way was wrong, it wasn't THE way...his way. I didn't dare say I liked the phrase "dawn's rosy finger." I loved watching sunrises, still do, (something he apparently avoided at all costs) and to me it seemed like the most natural phrase in the world, the perfect description of those first hooks of pink light that come over the horizon. I just kept it to myself, and worked very very hard to make a non-poetic, non-lyrical paragraph a perfect 5 sentences long without using a single "to be" verb. All while trying to avoid the dreaded "dawn's rosy finger."
Force the words, but don't let them sound forced. Cut it down to a bare minimum, but flesh it out completely. Don't use dialog, but don't write all in narrative. Keep one point of view, but let us get inside every character. Avoid cliches, but match the reader's expectations. Don't try to have new ideas, but don't use old ones either. If you can't hack it, tough. Millions of people think they can write and they're all wrong. What's so different about you?
Good question. Apparently what was so different about me is best explained by Robert Heinlein. Some people just have to write. You can't stop us. No matter how ugly, how painful the process, we have to put words on paper, or on screen, or scribbled on the back of matchbook covers. The disease is incurable. All you can do is make the patient comfortable and patiently bear the creative fits. So I had to write, and had to write they words came to me. I could not do otherwise. I was a very disappointing failure.
Fine if I was to be a failure, so be it. I would write my way, for the sake of the stories, and be happily mediocre. Right for him was not right for me, and it was my pen.
But it's funny how things work out sometimes. I came across a reference to Eos, the Greek goddess of dawn the other day. Greek mythology is a hobby of mine and I know most of the major deities fairly well, but this was the first time I'd heard of Eos.
I looked her up briefly, and found this on
Wikipedia.
As the dawn goddess, Eos with "rosy fingers" opened the gates of heaven[2] so that Helios could ride his chariot across the sky every day. In Homer (Iliad viii.1; xxiv.695), her saffron-colored robe is embroidered or woven with flowers (Odyssey vi:48 etc); rosy-fingered and with golden arms, she is pictured on Attic vases as a supernaturally beautiful woman, crowned with a tiara or diadem and with the large white-feathered wings of a bird.
So dawn really does have rosy fingers. This unknown novice writer, more than a decade ago now, had stumbled onto the classic description of dawn; the imprint of the culture that shaped the western world. And the petty self-appointed god of the written word was wrong.
Ms. Betty
Monday, June 30, 2008
Weekend? What's a weekend?
I don't talk about work on this blog as a general rule. The reason for that is that it's very hard to describe what goes on in that den of chaos (said affectionately) without being more specific than I'd like about the location. But today I'm going to try, since the place seems to have swallowed my life for now.
Staff turn-over is a normal part of any business. It's sad seeing people you've come to know and feel close to leave, but usually the business chugs along as new people blend in and pick up where someone else left off. Sometimes though, that isn't so easy to do. I'm not sure what would be a "normal" rate of turn-over, but when you have about 25 employees and you lose 5 of them in two weeks, you can't help feeling mortally, or at least seriously, wounded. There are holes to plug everywhere and everyone is scrambling frantically to try and fill the gaps.
In my case it isn't all bad, the gaps have lead to a promotion for me, but it also means I'm doing something entirely different than I was doing before which is taking some getting used to. It also means that since we are still very short handed I'm working more than twice as many hours and filling in not one, but two spots until further notice.
Again, none of this is meant as complaint. I love where I work. I love the people, I love the company, I love the cause we work for. I go in in the morning giddy with excitement and leave at the end of the day physically exhausted, but full of that warm glow of good work well done.
I know our struggles are temporary. Things will be back to normal in a few weeks, so I'm not too worried. But right now it's very hard to think of anything but work. There won't be much spanking going on for awhile, I'm afraid.
Fear not, dear readers. I haven't lost the spanking bug. In fact I have one specific male co-worker I threaten to put over my knee at least weekly. (A lot of spanking banter abounds in our little shop so I can do this fairly safely. There are even a few smacks exchanged here and there. I have some very kinky co-workers, it seems.) I'm just short on time to tan bottoms. Even little bunny's getting a bit neglected.
I'm not sure I'll have much to talk about. I'm only home and awake about 4 or 5 hours a day currently, so I don't even have much time to read the news, but I'm going to try to keep posting. If it gets a bit quiet over here though, you know where I am.
Ms. Betty
Staff turn-over is a normal part of any business. It's sad seeing people you've come to know and feel close to leave, but usually the business chugs along as new people blend in and pick up where someone else left off. Sometimes though, that isn't so easy to do. I'm not sure what would be a "normal" rate of turn-over, but when you have about 25 employees and you lose 5 of them in two weeks, you can't help feeling mortally, or at least seriously, wounded. There are holes to plug everywhere and everyone is scrambling frantically to try and fill the gaps.
In my case it isn't all bad, the gaps have lead to a promotion for me, but it also means I'm doing something entirely different than I was doing before which is taking some getting used to. It also means that since we are still very short handed I'm working more than twice as many hours and filling in not one, but two spots until further notice.
Again, none of this is meant as complaint. I love where I work. I love the people, I love the company, I love the cause we work for. I go in in the morning giddy with excitement and leave at the end of the day physically exhausted, but full of that warm glow of good work well done.
I know our struggles are temporary. Things will be back to normal in a few weeks, so I'm not too worried. But right now it's very hard to think of anything but work. There won't be much spanking going on for awhile, I'm afraid.
Fear not, dear readers. I haven't lost the spanking bug. In fact I have one specific male co-worker I threaten to put over my knee at least weekly. (A lot of spanking banter abounds in our little shop so I can do this fairly safely. There are even a few smacks exchanged here and there. I have some very kinky co-workers, it seems.) I'm just short on time to tan bottoms. Even little bunny's getting a bit neglected.
I'm not sure I'll have much to talk about. I'm only home and awake about 4 or 5 hours a day currently, so I don't even have much time to read the news, but I'm going to try to keep posting. If it gets a bit quiet over here though, you know where I am.
Ms. Betty
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Oh Mr Mayor...
I am starting to think our beloved mayor needs a spanking.
Lately he is spending quite a bit of time gallivanting around the country trying to raise funds for this monstrous convention that will be inflicted on Denver come August. I'm not sure how much time he is spending here in town, but I really don't think it's enough. Shouldn't he have higher priorities here at home, like coming up with a better street management plan for bad weather this winter? (Extra credit for anyone who can guess what "solar powered snow removal" means.)
Then, last week, he tried to get himself hit by a train while goofing around in front of the Performing Arts Center. Surely a man of his age should know better than to play on train tracks. He should also be grateful when someone with more sense gets him out of the way rather than being snippy about it.
Now it seems he feels the need to make questionable jokes about "alternative" plans for the Federal grant money we are supposed to receive to help cover some of the security costs of this convention. By his own admission making the joke was questionable in judgment. Yet he did it anyway.
I think the stress of preparing for this convention is getting to him. I suggest a nice long trip over someone's knee for a hairbrush added massage. That should clear up the tension nicely. And he can get that nice sore feeling of being sunburned without the hassle of making that trip to Puerto Vallarta.
Ms. Betty
Lately he is spending quite a bit of time gallivanting around the country trying to raise funds for this monstrous convention that will be inflicted on Denver come August. I'm not sure how much time he is spending here in town, but I really don't think it's enough. Shouldn't he have higher priorities here at home, like coming up with a better street management plan for bad weather this winter? (Extra credit for anyone who can guess what "solar powered snow removal" means.)
Then, last week, he tried to get himself hit by a train while goofing around in front of the Performing Arts Center. Surely a man of his age should know better than to play on train tracks. He should also be grateful when someone with more sense gets him out of the way rather than being snippy about it.
Now it seems he feels the need to make questionable jokes about "alternative" plans for the Federal grant money we are supposed to receive to help cover some of the security costs of this convention. By his own admission making the joke was questionable in judgment. Yet he did it anyway.
I think the stress of preparing for this convention is getting to him. I suggest a nice long trip over someone's knee for a hairbrush added massage. That should clear up the tension nicely. And he can get that nice sore feeling of being sunburned without the hassle of making that trip to Puerto Vallarta.
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Who Handcuffed
Dr. Who got me drooling again. Last time it was the books; this time it was the handcuffs. But what cuffs!
Aren't those something?
When we were watching the episode (Forest of the Dead, for non-Who fanatics) and I saw those, "Wow!" was all I could say. Chuck thought I was simply wowing over David Tennant in handcuffs. "Never mind David Tennant, did you see those cuffs?"
"There's just handcuffs."
"Nooo. Those are not your average cuffs."
So we had to rewind. "Well, they're hinged," says Chuck. He then starts to explain what hinged handcuffs are. Something about the look on my face stopped him. Suddenly he realized I'd probably seen hinged cuffs before. "They pivot," he said. "Most cuffs don't do that."
"Honey, look at those cuffs!" So we freeze frame the above shot while I point out the chunky design, the highly unusual hinge, etc, etc. By this time I am fascinated, I am obsessed. These cuffs are the best bondage toy I have ever seen, and I want them...badly!
Unfortunately we came to the conclusion that they were probably the creation of the Doctor's magical prop department rather than real handcuffs available for purchase somewhere. (He's a bit reluctant to ask the Dr. Who forum, so we don't know for sure.)
Eventually we watched the rest of the episode, I think I remember the plot, mostly, but my mind was still on those cuffs... and Professor River Song's answer when the Doctor asks why she has them. ["Spoilers," she says with a wicked smile. >:) ]
Thank you, Steven Moffat! He always writes my favorite Who episodes. I suppose that should nto be surprising, after all we are talking about the man who brought us Lesbian Spank Inferno. ;)
Ms. Betty
Aren't those something?
When we were watching the episode (Forest of the Dead, for non-Who fanatics) and I saw those, "Wow!" was all I could say. Chuck thought I was simply wowing over David Tennant in handcuffs. "Never mind David Tennant, did you see those cuffs?"
"There's just handcuffs."
"Nooo. Those are not your average cuffs."
So we had to rewind. "Well, they're hinged," says Chuck. He then starts to explain what hinged handcuffs are. Something about the look on my face stopped him. Suddenly he realized I'd probably seen hinged cuffs before. "They pivot," he said. "Most cuffs don't do that."
"Honey, look at those cuffs!" So we freeze frame the above shot while I point out the chunky design, the highly unusual hinge, etc, etc. By this time I am fascinated, I am obsessed. These cuffs are the best bondage toy I have ever seen, and I want them...badly!
Unfortunately we came to the conclusion that they were probably the creation of the Doctor's magical prop department rather than real handcuffs available for purchase somewhere. (He's a bit reluctant to ask the Dr. Who forum, so we don't know for sure.)
Eventually we watched the rest of the episode, I think I remember the plot, mostly, but my mind was still on those cuffs... and Professor River Song's answer when the Doctor asks why she has them. ["Spoilers," she says with a wicked smile. >:) ]
Thank you, Steven Moffat! He always writes my favorite Who episodes. I suppose that should nto be surprising, after all we are talking about the man who brought us Lesbian Spank Inferno. ;)
Ms. Betty
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Surely this should be a thrashing offense!
It is 9:30 here in Denver. I should, by all rights, be at work, but I'm not.
Why not?
Because when I walked out of my apartment to catch my bus this morning I found we were completely blocked off. They are repaving the parking lot here and at least from where my building is, there is no way out to the street.
So here I sit, stewing, late, and very unhappy.
Not unhappy with the paving crew, they are merely doing their jobs. What I am unhappy about is that we were given not one word of warning or advanced notice by the management of our complex. That simply will not do.
It just so happens I have a very special package arriving today that the office will be signing for. When I pick it up later, I am tempted to open it on the spot and give the office staff a lesson in common courtesy.
Ms. Betty
Why not?
Because when I walked out of my apartment to catch my bus this morning I found we were completely blocked off. They are repaving the parking lot here and at least from where my building is, there is no way out to the street.
So here I sit, stewing, late, and very unhappy.
Not unhappy with the paving crew, they are merely doing their jobs. What I am unhappy about is that we were given not one word of warning or advanced notice by the management of our complex. That simply will not do.
It just so happens I have a very special package arriving today that the office will be signing for. When I pick it up later, I am tempted to open it on the spot and give the office staff a lesson in common courtesy.
Ms. Betty
Ritual and Emotion
I am sitting here once again struck by the deep similarities in Pagan ritual and BDSM ritual. I am reading an article * on the subject of passion and power and once again I am seeing easy line after line that could just as easily apply to a spanking scene as they could to a ritual scene.
The author begins by discussing passion as a vital element for directing the ritual. Not passion as in sexual desire, but the passion of the writer or the artist, namely strong emotion coming from the very core of you.
For those of you who may not know, "magic" (spell it with a "k" if you must!) in this case is defined, roughly, as causing a change in the physical world to make it correspond to your will. In simpler terms, it means changing the world to your liking.
Keeping that fact in mind, we could easily rewrite the above for spanking purposes:
In order to do this, the author recommends relying on the techniques used by actors to bring up such emotions. I spent two years in the drama club at my high school. I can tell you from experience that these techniques do work very well, regardless of the reason you need to call up and harness emotion.
One of the best she recommends is "being in the moment":
Or, again, rewritten for spanking:
When I do this, the rest of the world tends to vanish. It has been joked that they could hold the Rose Parade, the Super Bowl and the Second Coming in my living room simultaneously during a scene and I would never notice. When I am in full stride my entire reality narrows down to the other person in my scene and what we are doing. Nothing exists but spot on his bottom where the crop is about to land, the knot I am tying at that second, his panting breath as I lean over to check his position.
For those of you who have wondered, this is why it is usually some time after before I chronicle a session. Done properly, a scene takes place in a type of dream state. You are not unaware, you are hyper aware, but like in dreams, the awareness is coming from the non-lingual part of your brain. It is not until some time after that the logical part takes over and sums it all up nicely into words.
Because so much of what is experienced in scene is so hard to communicate in words, the technique best for kinky purposes is the one word dialog:
(edited for kinky purposes)
The article recommends having a 3rd person to act as a director, but I don't personally see a need for that. This technique is fascinating, and very helpful for understanding the subtleties of communication.
However it is done, the key is still to infuse as much controlled emotion as possible into the scene and to then build that emotion into a climax and release it. This is the very heart of ritual, regardless of the type of ritual performed.
Ms. Betty
* Click at your own risk. If you find the discussion of Pagan beliefs offensive, this is not the article for you.
The author begins by discussing passion as a vital element for directing the ritual. Not passion as in sexual desire, but the passion of the writer or the artist, namely strong emotion coming from the very core of you.
(Passion) is the building up of emotion--it is passion that gives power to magickal workings. Since magick is concerned with the Will directing emotion, it is important for the Witch to get in touch with the emotions that serve as the raw power of her Craft and to be able to focus on those particular emotions that pertain to the Working at hand.
For those of you who may not know, "magic" (spell it with a "k" if you must!) in this case is defined, roughly, as causing a change in the physical world to make it correspond to your will. In simpler terms, it means changing the world to your liking.
Keeping that fact in mind, we could easily rewrite the above for spanking purposes:
(Passion) is the building up of emotion--it is passion that gives power to a scene. Since a strong scene depends on controlling and directing emotion, it is important for both Top and bottom to get in touch with the emotions that serve as the raw power of their scene and to be able to focus on those particular emotions that pertain to the scene at hand.
In order to do this, the author recommends relying on the techniques used by actors to bring up such emotions. I spent two years in the drama club at my high school. I can tell you from experience that these techniques do work very well, regardless of the reason you need to call up and harness emotion.
One of the best she recommends is "being in the moment":
The next acting technique useful to Witches to build power is to be completely in the moment. This means that you have focused your concentration so well on what you are doing that the scene is very, very real to you, and the emotion rises naturally as it would in a mundane setting. This is the best way as it is the truest, but getting to that point of focus requires a great deal of emotional self-trust.
Or, again, rewritten for spanking:
The next acting technique useful for people to build the necessary emotion for a scene is to be completely in the moment. This means that you have focused your concentration so well on what you are doing that the scene is very, very real to you, and the emotion rises naturally as it would in a vanilla setting. This is the best way as it is the truest, but getting to that point of focus requires a great deal of emotional self-trust.
When I do this, the rest of the world tends to vanish. It has been joked that they could hold the Rose Parade, the Super Bowl and the Second Coming in my living room simultaneously during a scene and I would never notice. When I am in full stride my entire reality narrows down to the other person in my scene and what we are doing. Nothing exists but spot on his bottom where the crop is about to land, the knot I am tying at that second, his panting breath as I lean over to check his position.
For those of you who have wondered, this is why it is usually some time after before I chronicle a session. Done properly, a scene takes place in a type of dream state. You are not unaware, you are hyper aware, but like in dreams, the awareness is coming from the non-lingual part of your brain. It is not until some time after that the logical part takes over and sums it all up nicely into words.
Because so much of what is experienced in scene is so hard to communicate in words, the technique best for kinky purposes is the one word dialog:
(edited for kinky purposes)
The pair are to use this one word to create a conversation. They sit facing each other and decide who will start.
The individual who is to say the word first, considers the word, and then says only that word in such a way as to convey a specific meaning with it.
The partner listens carefully, trying to ascertain what is being said to him or her, and then answers using the one word to answer. The pair continues in this way using only the word they have been given to communicate with each other.
Once the exercise has been done, they should be take time to talk to each other about the experience. They should talk about what they were thinking they wanted to say and what it was like to be only able to say it with one word.
Also, what was it like to try to understand what the other person said? Were they able to understand? What feelings came up during this? How powerful were those feelings.
This is an extremely taxing exercise and usually only three rounds of it is done in any one session. Taxing as it is, it creates an incredible intensity of communication, and the communication ends up taking a wide range of expression.
The article recommends having a 3rd person to act as a director, but I don't personally see a need for that. This technique is fascinating, and very helpful for understanding the subtleties of communication.
However it is done, the key is still to infuse as much controlled emotion as possible into the scene and to then build that emotion into a climax and release it. This is the very heart of ritual, regardless of the type of ritual performed.
Ms. Betty
* Click at your own risk. If you find the discussion of Pagan beliefs offensive, this is not the article for you.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Porn for Women?
So I was reading this earlier. I have to admit she's got a point...well for the most part anyway.
I have to disagree with her on just one small point:
Well okay, mine might not either...unless he was wearing nothing but a collar and kneepads at the time.
Maybe some crop marks.
Ms. Betty
I have to disagree with her on just one small point:
My porn will never involve a man looking soulful while he scrubs at a stubborn greasy stain on the carpet.
Well okay, mine might not either...unless he was wearing nothing but a collar and kneepads at the time.
Maybe some crop marks.
Ms. Betty
Friday, June 20, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
I've said it before...
I'll say it again.
No amount of PR in the world is going to make this monstrosity appealing.
For those of you fortunate enough not to know, the above is the 32 ft tall fiberglass statue just outside of Denver International Airport. This is people's first glimpse of our town. Of all the first impressions we could make, we went with this. In the year when the entire world will be focused on Denver come August.
I am so anything but proud.
And no, being able to walk up to it and touch it would not help. I don't know anyone who'd want to stand under a 32 ft sculpture that killed the artist who made it. Knowing more about it doesn't help. It just makes the thing more sinister. And those bright red eyes that glow at night so they can be seen for miles around? Noooo. Not helping.
Face it, you guys went through a 10 year ordeal for a dud. Not all art is great, or even good. Just do us a favor and stop pretending it's not hideous. It is. Deal with it.
Ms. Betty
No amount of PR in the world is going to make this monstrosity appealing.
For those of you fortunate enough not to know, the above is the 32 ft tall fiberglass statue just outside of Denver International Airport. This is people's first glimpse of our town. Of all the first impressions we could make, we went with this. In the year when the entire world will be focused on Denver come August.
I am so anything but proud.
And no, being able to walk up to it and touch it would not help. I don't know anyone who'd want to stand under a 32 ft sculpture that killed the artist who made it. Knowing more about it doesn't help. It just makes the thing more sinister. And those bright red eyes that glow at night so they can be seen for miles around? Noooo. Not helping.
Face it, you guys went through a 10 year ordeal for a dud. Not all art is great, or even good. Just do us a favor and stop pretending it's not hideous. It is. Deal with it.
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Happy Birthday!
Yep, folks, Ms. Betty finally made it. Today is my 30th birthday. And yes, I'm happy about it. I understand that this is wrong, very wrong. Turning 30 is supposed to be the end of the world. I am supposed to get depressed, go on a crying jag, start frantically looking for grey hair and wrinkles and panic about all the things I haven't done with my life, but I've decided to skip all that.
The way I see it, every year is gained experience, new relationships, and new memories. Those are things I wouldn't trade for anything. If all it costs is a few lines on my face and a year of my life, so be it. After all, aren't those things what living is for?
The next time you hear someone lamenting getting older ask them if they'd really want to not have all the things that have made up that age. Hopefully they'll see. We aren't losing...we're gaining.
Ms. Betty
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Tell me again why we're not supposed to be worried...
There are helicopters performing tactical exercises over downtown. The police are stocking up on crowd control weapons, and we have a group called Recreate 68 who has been nothing but combative from day one, implied that riots are possibility and threatened to take over the park, but can't understand why anyone thinks they might cause trouble. Oh, and apparently there may be a huge surge in child prostitution in the area.
Streets will/may be closed. They still don't know if they will have to interupt or re-route public transportation, and the mayor tried to get himself hit by a train the other day.
It's going to be a looonnngggg summer.
Ms. Betty
Streets will/may be closed. They still don't know if they will have to interupt or re-route public transportation, and the mayor tried to get himself hit by a train the other day.
It's going to be a looonnngggg summer.
Ms. Betty
Friday, June 13, 2008
Parking Patrol
Based on a real-life, but unfortunately unknown thoughtless clod:
Dear Driver,
We regret to inform you that we have discovered your vehicle parked at a dangerous angle in front of a bus stop. This will not do. Your vehicle is blocking the turning lane, causing drivers to have to make unsafe turns from the center lane. It is also parked at an angle that causes the rear end to cross into the neighboring lane, causing an additional obstacle to drivers. Worst of all your reckless parking has forced the buses to stop in the middle of the street, posing an extra hazard to passengers boarding and de-boarding the bus by forcing them to cross through a traffic lane to reach the curb.
Therefore, your vehicle has been towed. In addition, we must ask you to appear at our Office of Corrections at 8 A.M. tomorrow morning. Your vehicle will be returned to you upon completion of your appointment. Should you not appear, we will be forced to suspend your driver's license and confiscate your vehicle permanently.
As you are obviously incapable of driving or parking a vehicle responsibly, please have someone else bring you to your appointment. You are advised to wear loose clothing and to bring something soft to sit on for the trip home.
Sincerely,
Senior Parking Enforcement Officer 01867
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Hose Debacle
This (link no longer functional) is completely ridiculous. Mind you, I have nothing against hose. I do wear them, or sometimes tights, in winter when I must go out in a skirt on a cold day. However, I think it's a bit petulant and immature to demand things like they be worn under slacks.
Mr. Holt, grow up. If you have to be so childish as to find a back door way to be vindictive towards women who refuse to let you dictate what they wear under their clothing then you do not deserve a management position. If you think pantyhose are bloody important you wear them. Or at least pay for them. Hose are A) ridiculously expensive and B) ridiculously fragile. If you think bare, neatly shaved legs are unprofessional looking, how do you think runs and ladders look? How many pairs of hose do you think a lady should have to go through in a day in the hazards of the work world?
Now ladies, if you in your own persons ever feel you need the professional look of hose or just don't feel comfortable bare legged, but you want something a bit more comfortable, I will share a favorite secret. I wear old fashioned stockings and garters. No I'm not kidding. I have 2 garter belts, one in white, one in black, and several pairs of stockings in various shades of black, tan, and white. Stockings allow me the more formal look of covered legs, and still let my skin breathe. Yes, I know it's a bit "retro" and a generation ago women gladly threw away garter belts and stockings for good reason, but I've found they do have their advantages. If you must have covered legs, give it a try.
Just be warned, most places these days you have to get belts and stockings through mail order, usually from lingerie sites. (Not that I think such a prospect would make anyone brave enough to read this blog blush.) JC Penney has a very nice selection of different stockings. Opt for sheer stockings if you can, they are the most comfortable. And watch out around your guy. You may find a sudden spike in his libido.
Ms. Betty
Mr. Holt, grow up. If you have to be so childish as to find a back door way to be vindictive towards women who refuse to let you dictate what they wear under their clothing then you do not deserve a management position. If you think pantyhose are bloody important you wear them. Or at least pay for them. Hose are A) ridiculously expensive and B) ridiculously fragile. If you think bare, neatly shaved legs are unprofessional looking, how do you think runs and ladders look? How many pairs of hose do you think a lady should have to go through in a day in the hazards of the work world?
Now ladies, if you in your own persons ever feel you need the professional look of hose or just don't feel comfortable bare legged, but you want something a bit more comfortable, I will share a favorite secret. I wear old fashioned stockings and garters. No I'm not kidding. I have 2 garter belts, one in white, one in black, and several pairs of stockings in various shades of black, tan, and white. Stockings allow me the more formal look of covered legs, and still let my skin breathe. Yes, I know it's a bit "retro" and a generation ago women gladly threw away garter belts and stockings for good reason, but I've found they do have their advantages. If you must have covered legs, give it a try.
Just be warned, most places these days you have to get belts and stockings through mail order, usually from lingerie sites. (Not that I think such a prospect would make anyone brave enough to read this blog blush.) JC Penney has a very nice selection of different stockings. Opt for sheer stockings if you can, they are the most comfortable. And watch out around your guy. You may find a sudden spike in his libido.
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Memo to Customer Service Staff
Dear Customer Service Representative,
Please do not annoy or irritate Ms. Betty when she is within easy reach of wooden spoons. She may do something rash.
Please do not annoy or irritate Ms. Betty when she is within easy reach of wooden spoons. She may do something rash.
You have been warned.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
We Think She Thinks She's a Meerkat...
Or maybe a prairie dog.
Maggie is a very strange little cat. Well not so little anymore, but definitely a bit odd.
Cats in general are strange creatures. All of them have their little quirks. Trouble likes to steal rubber bands. My sister once had a cat who liked to suck on her earlobe. The cat I had while growing up "knocked" on the flap of the mail slot when she wanted to come in.
But thinking back on all the cats I've met (and as a 3rd generation cat lady there have been many) from dignified ladies and lazy old toms to kittens who only stayed a few hours, not one of them has been quite as strange as our Maggie.
She does the usual cat things: waking suddenly from a dead sleep and dashing across the room at top speed, stealing packing peanuts and hiding them all over the house, insisting on drinking from a dripping faucet even when there is fresh water in the water bowl. But her oddest by far is the way she reacts to strange noises. When Maggie hears a noise she doesn't like she does not run, or hiss, or arch herself up like cats are famous for. Instead, she stands up on her hind legs and freezes.
Now this is not usually a naturally tenable position for a cat. Most cats can only balance on their hind feet while unsupported for a second or two. Not Maggie. She will stay in that position for several long moments until she decides whether she needs to run or go back to her nap.
I've never seen another cat behave that way. I've only ever seen it in small plains-dwelling animals, like meerkats, or prairie dogs.
But we're going with meerkat. You should have seen the look on her face when we suggested calling her a dog. LOL.
Ms. Betty
Maggie is a very strange little cat. Well not so little anymore, but definitely a bit odd.
Cats in general are strange creatures. All of them have their little quirks. Trouble likes to steal rubber bands. My sister once had a cat who liked to suck on her earlobe. The cat I had while growing up "knocked" on the flap of the mail slot when she wanted to come in.
But thinking back on all the cats I've met (and as a 3rd generation cat lady there have been many) from dignified ladies and lazy old toms to kittens who only stayed a few hours, not one of them has been quite as strange as our Maggie.
She does the usual cat things: waking suddenly from a dead sleep and dashing across the room at top speed, stealing packing peanuts and hiding them all over the house, insisting on drinking from a dripping faucet even when there is fresh water in the water bowl. But her oddest by far is the way she reacts to strange noises. When Maggie hears a noise she doesn't like she does not run, or hiss, or arch herself up like cats are famous for. Instead, she stands up on her hind legs and freezes.
Now this is not usually a naturally tenable position for a cat. Most cats can only balance on their hind feet while unsupported for a second or two. Not Maggie. She will stay in that position for several long moments until she decides whether she needs to run or go back to her nap.
I've never seen another cat behave that way. I've only ever seen it in small plains-dwelling animals, like meerkats, or prairie dogs.
But we're going with meerkat. You should have seen the look on her face when we suggested calling her a dog. LOL.
Ms. Betty
Monday, June 9, 2008
Gnome Spanking
I have a favorite computer game called Jardinains. It's a typical break-out style game where you bounce a ball off a little paddle to clear a pattern of bricks, only Jardinains has a little twist.
There are gnomes standing on top of or hiding behind the bricks on every level. These are very bad little gnomes. They laugh at you, make faces, and worst of all throw flower pots from their lofty little perches at the top of the screen. If a flower pot hits you you lose points. Your paddle also freezes for a few seconds, so if it happens at the wrong moment you may miss the ball and lose a life. Not very nice at all.
Thankfully, the gnomes can be punished for this poor behavior. When you knock one down you can bounce him off the paddle the same way you do the ball while he cries "oh! oof! ouch!" in a little high pitched squeak. The longer you spank a gnome the more points you get, and if you spank him long enough he turns into a power up. Some power ups are nasty little tricks, but most of them are very helpful to the game. If you have a power up active, like the exploding ball, when you hit a gnome he goes soaring way up into the air off screen. When this happens Chuck and I say "gnome in orbit!" A few seconds later the gnome comes plummeting back into the atmosphere screaming and trailing a line of sparks. If you bounce him he goes screaming off into orbit again.
You can even shoot them with the laser power up. They don't die, they just cry "ouch!" very indignantly.*
The only trouble is I get so caught up in punishing the gnomes for their pot throwing tantrums that I tend to forget to catch the ball, so I guess I won't be making the high score hall of fame.
But I'm getting plenty of gnome spanking practice while I try.
Ms. Betty
*No gnomes were harmed in the making of this post. Gnomes may be shot or spanked, but only if they deserve it. All guidelines for the correction of delinquent gnome are followed with utmost care. At no time are they made to wear dish towels, work without pay, serve as wine tasters to detect poisons, or painted gold and used as Christmas Tree toppers.
There are gnomes standing on top of or hiding behind the bricks on every level. These are very bad little gnomes. They laugh at you, make faces, and worst of all throw flower pots from their lofty little perches at the top of the screen. If a flower pot hits you you lose points. Your paddle also freezes for a few seconds, so if it happens at the wrong moment you may miss the ball and lose a life. Not very nice at all.
Thankfully, the gnomes can be punished for this poor behavior. When you knock one down you can bounce him off the paddle the same way you do the ball while he cries "oh! oof! ouch!" in a little high pitched squeak. The longer you spank a gnome the more points you get, and if you spank him long enough he turns into a power up. Some power ups are nasty little tricks, but most of them are very helpful to the game. If you have a power up active, like the exploding ball, when you hit a gnome he goes soaring way up into the air off screen. When this happens Chuck and I say "gnome in orbit!" A few seconds later the gnome comes plummeting back into the atmosphere screaming and trailing a line of sparks. If you bounce him he goes screaming off into orbit again.
You can even shoot them with the laser power up. They don't die, they just cry "ouch!" very indignantly.*
The only trouble is I get so caught up in punishing the gnomes for their pot throwing tantrums that I tend to forget to catch the ball, so I guess I won't be making the high score hall of fame.
But I'm getting plenty of gnome spanking practice while I try.
Ms. Betty
*No gnomes were harmed in the making of this post. Gnomes may be shot or spanked, but only if they deserve it. All guidelines for the correction of delinquent gnome are followed with utmost care. At no time are they made to wear dish towels, work without pay, serve as wine tasters to detect poisons, or painted gold and used as Christmas Tree toppers.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Quick Blog Update-- One or Two Notes
Some of you have asked about the falling whale reference on my Technical Difficulties blog.
The reference is from Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a story that has been produced as a radio show, a TV series, a 5 book trilogy, and most recently a film. Although Adams made deliberate changes each time he told the story in a different medium any one of them will give you the spirit of the whole. In order, I prefer the radio series, then the recent film, then the book.
If you'd like to find out more, you can start here, but I warn you...it's not pretty.
For more on how the whale got there, I suggest finding "The Guide" in one of it's many forms. Trust me, it's well worth it.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
To the person who left the anonymous comment on my "Good Morning" blog:
I did receive it and I'm very touched. Thank you.
I did not publish it because there was no way to separate the two halves of your note, but I did keep it.
Be well.
Ms. Betty
The reference is from Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a story that has been produced as a radio show, a TV series, a 5 book trilogy, and most recently a film. Although Adams made deliberate changes each time he told the story in a different medium any one of them will give you the spirit of the whole. In order, I prefer the radio series, then the recent film, then the book.
If you'd like to find out more, you can start here, but I warn you...it's not pretty.
For more on how the whale got there, I suggest finding "The Guide" in one of it's many forms. Trust me, it's well worth it.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
To the person who left the anonymous comment on my "Good Morning" blog:
I did receive it and I'm very touched. Thank you.
I did not publish it because there was no way to separate the two halves of your note, but I did keep it.
Be well.
Ms. Betty
Friday, June 6, 2008
So THAT'S what it takes...
I have never paid much attention to big muscled heart throbs, either of the past or today. My usual reaction is a shrug and thoughts of "he's just a guy".
I do tend to lead with my heart, but not my loins. What interests me in someone is what is in his mind, what he's passionate about. I rarely give much notice to eye candy factors.
Since the most of I see is most celebrities, they pass by me with little or no notice.
Then I say this picture on The Spanking Blog:*
And now I know what it takes to catch my eye. I guess they have to be stripped and strung up before I notice them.
I suppose it makes sense.
Thanks for the picture, Spankboss.
Ms. Betty
*Note: While I found the picture above on The Spanking Blog, Spankboss credits the Bondage Blog for finding the picture first. Really though, I suppose the credit for the picture belongs to the director and script writer of the film it came from, along with the very talented camera crew.
I do tend to lead with my heart, but not my loins. What interests me in someone is what is in his mind, what he's passionate about. I rarely give much notice to eye candy factors.
Since the most of I see is most celebrities, they pass by me with little or no notice.
Then I say this picture on The Spanking Blog:*
And now I know what it takes to catch my eye. I guess they have to be stripped and strung up before I notice them.
I suppose it makes sense.
Thanks for the picture, Spankboss.
Ms. Betty
*Note: While I found the picture above on The Spanking Blog, Spankboss credits the Bondage Blog for finding the picture first. Really though, I suppose the credit for the picture belongs to the director and script writer of the film it came from, along with the very talented camera crew.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
How to tell that you're a bookworm...
It was a very book-y weekend in Ms. Betty's world.
It all started with this Wall Street Journal article about one man's passion for his books. When I hit the line about him needing an extra suitcase to bring back all the books he buys while he's on vacation I went "yep, that's me." (It kinda reminded me of a certain bunny, too.)
Remember Belle and the Beast and the library? Would have broken the spell on the spot for me. I firmly believe a man's true worth is directly related to what books he owns and/or has read.
Another sign? This week's episode of Dr. Who featured a library the size of a planet, copies of every book ever written. Real, hard bound paper and print books. I caught myself drooling. Actually drooling. My hands started to tingle...I wanted those books!
Yet another is when the idea of someone cutting up an "old, useless" book to make a purse out of makes your skin crawl while your brain shrieks in silent horror and images of some future airhead cutting up the last copy ever of the collected works of Shakespeare to make a fashion accessory, and the usually more rational part of your brain reluctantly acknowledges that that particular horror may not be as far fetched as you'd like to think. Cue the Munch painting.
But the ultimate sign that one is an incurable bookworm is when the cover of a book randomly used in a how-to article can fascinate you so completely you forget everything else you are doing and spend the entire day tracking down everything you can about said book. The book is this case is Freedom, an anthology edited by Martin Greenberg and Mark Tier:
It all started with this Wall Street Journal article about one man's passion for his books. When I hit the line about him needing an extra suitcase to bring back all the books he buys while he's on vacation I went "yep, that's me." (It kinda reminded me of a certain bunny, too.)
Remember Belle and the Beast and the library? Would have broken the spell on the spot for me. I firmly believe a man's true worth is directly related to what books he owns and/or has read.
Another sign? This week's episode of Dr. Who featured a library the size of a planet, copies of every book ever written. Real, hard bound paper and print books. I caught myself drooling. Actually drooling. My hands started to tingle...I wanted those books!
Yet another is when the idea of someone cutting up an "old, useless" book to make a purse out of makes your skin crawl while your brain shrieks in silent horror and images of some future airhead cutting up the last copy ever of the collected works of Shakespeare to make a fashion accessory, and the usually more rational part of your brain reluctantly acknowledges that that particular horror may not be as far fetched as you'd like to think. Cue the Munch painting.
But the ultimate sign that one is an incurable bookworm is when the cover of a book randomly used in a how-to article can fascinate you so completely you forget everything else you are doing and spend the entire day tracking down everything you can about said book. The book is this case is Freedom, an anthology edited by Martin Greenberg and Mark Tier:
Unfortunately there isn't much out there about it. I found it listed on Amazon, but no real information on what the book is about.
Anyone know anything about it?
Ms. Betty
Anyone know anything about it?
Ms. Betty
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Good Morning!
There is something very meanly satisfying about sending someone off to the airport with cane stripes on his bottom.
Mind you, there weren't many. It was his very first, so he only got two, but they were good ones. He was not looking forward to sitting for several hours on the plane.
The cane wasn't all he got, of course. We started with a nice long otk warm-up first. "You call that warm?" he says. But really, I was nice.
He had to be at the airport by 10, so I spanked him at 8, first thing after my coffee. A very nice way to start of the morning. :) He's more tender first thing in the morning. I'll have to remember that.
We chose a nice wide selection of implements: my little homemade plastic flogger, my slapper, a ruler, a suede covered ping pong paddle, a nice heavy silicone spatula, and my favorite hairbrush. While I was making my choices he spotted a little homemade loopy johnny called the 'heart of fire'. He said it looked "interesting" so I added it to the pile. "Just remember you said that," I warned him. He suddenly looked worried for some reason. ;)
I sat in the center of the couch and took down his pants. This was a rare treat for me. Usually he sees me in the middle of the work day when he has to stay neat and pressed so I have him hang up his clothes before we start. This time though he'd opted for nice rugged jeans to travel in, so I got to leave them bunched around his ankles while I pulled him over my knee.
I started with my hand, spanking with crisp firm swats at a medium pace. It didn't take long for him to start turning a nice warm pink. I moved through the implements slowly, giving him plenty of time to experience each one before moving on to the next. I spanked at a moderate speed and intensity, working for a nice all over red, and adding a "zinger" every now and then. He kicked and wiggled a bit, moaning with the gentler smacks and crying out with the harsher ones. He sank into the spanking, enjoying the sting.
I spent a lot of time working his sit spots. I wanted the soreness to stay with him as he enjoyed his 3 hour plane ride. That spatula makes a particularly nice meaty slap and really gets into those hard to reach and oft neglected places. It was perfect for the job. He hadn't been quite awake when he arrived, but by the time I was done with the spatula he certainly was.
Another nice trick for getting hard to reach spots is to spread the cheeks and use a ruler vertically along the sides of the crack. This tends to produce some very lively reactions, especially done at a fairly hard and fast pace. I have been told this technique out to be banned by the Geneva Convention, but it's actually a favorite of his so I used it for a nice long time, searing those strips on either side of his crack nice and red.
I love my heart of fire. This is a homemade invention I built out of a grooved plastic jump rope that I found at my local grocery store. It got it's name because the two overlapping loops spread out when it lands, leaving heart shaped welts on naughty bottoms. And oh does it burn. I didn't use it long, but it was certainly an attention getter. I got some very lively wiggling out of him, and some nice loud yelps.
We finished off with a nice long dose of my favorite hairbrush, just to seal it all in. It smacked loudly against his sit spots as he wiggled a bit and hissed with the burn.
I put the brush down and had him hand me the lotion bottle. He relaxed as I worked the lotion into his very warm deep pink bottom. I let him rest for a few minutes, talking lightly as I nursed his skin. But we weren't quite done...
You see, this particular "boy" of mine tends to get himself into mischief any time he's out of town. My goal for today was to give him something to think about in case temptation started whispering while he was off on his own. Just a bit ironically, as he lay resting on my lap it was I who found temptation irresistible. I reached over and slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. He began to protest that it was completely and totally unfair to use his own belt against him. He'd be scarred for life. He'd never be able to wear it again. I could not do that to him.
I did it anyway.
I bent him over the back of my desk chair and began to apply the belt to his bottom. Very soon he was very very red, howling a bit and protesting loudly. I paused and he, very sillily said something about giving up wearing belts for good. He'd just hold his pants up with rope.
"I can work with rope," I said. "And I do have other options if you decide to give up belts." I held up my latigo strop. "This does quite nicely."
I landed a single lash of the strap across his bottom. He hollered. Suddenly he decided he liked being spanked with his belt just fine. That being the case, I picked it up and started spanking him with it again. He still hollered, but there were no more protests, just a big sigh of relief when I put the belt down.
Now, there was just one thing left: the cane. About 18 months ago, when I spanked him for the first time, we played a bit with the cane, very lightly, but this was the first time he'd feel it "for real". As he stayed bent over my chair I reminded him of the cute little stunt he'd pulled the last time he'd been on a business trip. I told him I wanted to make sure there weren't any repeats of that, so he was going to get just a taste of what the consequences could be if he got the inspiration for any more practical jokes. I tapped the cane lightly against his very red bottom. He wiggled. I waited for him to settle, pulled back the cane, and swung. He screamed as his knees buckled under him. He hissed and gasped as the pain spread. I waited for him to put himself back into position and swung again. This time he should straight up when it hit, screaming again.
I ran my hands over his back, talking in a soothing tone as he settled down. Two very clear lines crossed his cheeks. Poor dear. I fetched some ice from the kitchen and took him by the hand back to the couch where I laid him back over my lap. I ran the ice over his very hot and sore bottom. He shuddered as the it melted on his skin. I added a coat of arnica, then let him get up and pull his pants up.
We sat on the couch and talked for a bit. Well I sat, he sort of leaned on the side of his hip to spare his bottom.
As he started to leave I suddenly realized his belt was still on my desk. He winced "Ah no, you can keep it. I don't want it," he said. "I don't need that thing. I'll just get another one."
"Alright, then I'll just have to spank you with that one when you get back."
His eyes widened. "I can't win this, can I."
"Ah, no." I handed him his belt.
He left for the airport and I sat back thinking about him going through the security line at the airport with his sore bottom, standing there handling the belt that had helped make it that way.
Ms. Betty
Mind you, there weren't many. It was his very first, so he only got two, but they were good ones. He was not looking forward to sitting for several hours on the plane.
The cane wasn't all he got, of course. We started with a nice long otk warm-up first. "You call that warm?" he says. But really, I was nice.
He had to be at the airport by 10, so I spanked him at 8, first thing after my coffee. A very nice way to start of the morning. :) He's more tender first thing in the morning. I'll have to remember that.
We chose a nice wide selection of implements: my little homemade plastic flogger, my slapper, a ruler, a suede covered ping pong paddle, a nice heavy silicone spatula, and my favorite hairbrush. While I was making my choices he spotted a little homemade loopy johnny called the 'heart of fire'. He said it looked "interesting" so I added it to the pile. "Just remember you said that," I warned him. He suddenly looked worried for some reason. ;)
I sat in the center of the couch and took down his pants. This was a rare treat for me. Usually he sees me in the middle of the work day when he has to stay neat and pressed so I have him hang up his clothes before we start. This time though he'd opted for nice rugged jeans to travel in, so I got to leave them bunched around his ankles while I pulled him over my knee.
I started with my hand, spanking with crisp firm swats at a medium pace. It didn't take long for him to start turning a nice warm pink. I moved through the implements slowly, giving him plenty of time to experience each one before moving on to the next. I spanked at a moderate speed and intensity, working for a nice all over red, and adding a "zinger" every now and then. He kicked and wiggled a bit, moaning with the gentler smacks and crying out with the harsher ones. He sank into the spanking, enjoying the sting.
I spent a lot of time working his sit spots. I wanted the soreness to stay with him as he enjoyed his 3 hour plane ride. That spatula makes a particularly nice meaty slap and really gets into those hard to reach and oft neglected places. It was perfect for the job. He hadn't been quite awake when he arrived, but by the time I was done with the spatula he certainly was.
Another nice trick for getting hard to reach spots is to spread the cheeks and use a ruler vertically along the sides of the crack. This tends to produce some very lively reactions, especially done at a fairly hard and fast pace. I have been told this technique out to be banned by the Geneva Convention, but it's actually a favorite of his so I used it for a nice long time, searing those strips on either side of his crack nice and red.
I love my heart of fire. This is a homemade invention I built out of a grooved plastic jump rope that I found at my local grocery store. It got it's name because the two overlapping loops spread out when it lands, leaving heart shaped welts on naughty bottoms. And oh does it burn. I didn't use it long, but it was certainly an attention getter. I got some very lively wiggling out of him, and some nice loud yelps.
We finished off with a nice long dose of my favorite hairbrush, just to seal it all in. It smacked loudly against his sit spots as he wiggled a bit and hissed with the burn.
I put the brush down and had him hand me the lotion bottle. He relaxed as I worked the lotion into his very warm deep pink bottom. I let him rest for a few minutes, talking lightly as I nursed his skin. But we weren't quite done...
You see, this particular "boy" of mine tends to get himself into mischief any time he's out of town. My goal for today was to give him something to think about in case temptation started whispering while he was off on his own. Just a bit ironically, as he lay resting on my lap it was I who found temptation irresistible. I reached over and slid his belt out of the loops of his jeans. He began to protest that it was completely and totally unfair to use his own belt against him. He'd be scarred for life. He'd never be able to wear it again. I could not do that to him.
I did it anyway.
I bent him over the back of my desk chair and began to apply the belt to his bottom. Very soon he was very very red, howling a bit and protesting loudly. I paused and he, very sillily said something about giving up wearing belts for good. He'd just hold his pants up with rope.
"I can work with rope," I said. "And I do have other options if you decide to give up belts." I held up my latigo strop. "This does quite nicely."
I landed a single lash of the strap across his bottom. He hollered. Suddenly he decided he liked being spanked with his belt just fine. That being the case, I picked it up and started spanking him with it again. He still hollered, but there were no more protests, just a big sigh of relief when I put the belt down.
Now, there was just one thing left: the cane. About 18 months ago, when I spanked him for the first time, we played a bit with the cane, very lightly, but this was the first time he'd feel it "for real". As he stayed bent over my chair I reminded him of the cute little stunt he'd pulled the last time he'd been on a business trip. I told him I wanted to make sure there weren't any repeats of that, so he was going to get just a taste of what the consequences could be if he got the inspiration for any more practical jokes. I tapped the cane lightly against his very red bottom. He wiggled. I waited for him to settle, pulled back the cane, and swung. He screamed as his knees buckled under him. He hissed and gasped as the pain spread. I waited for him to put himself back into position and swung again. This time he should straight up when it hit, screaming again.
I ran my hands over his back, talking in a soothing tone as he settled down. Two very clear lines crossed his cheeks. Poor dear. I fetched some ice from the kitchen and took him by the hand back to the couch where I laid him back over my lap. I ran the ice over his very hot and sore bottom. He shuddered as the it melted on his skin. I added a coat of arnica, then let him get up and pull his pants up.
We sat on the couch and talked for a bit. Well I sat, he sort of leaned on the side of his hip to spare his bottom.
As he started to leave I suddenly realized his belt was still on my desk. He winced "Ah no, you can keep it. I don't want it," he said. "I don't need that thing. I'll just get another one."
"Alright, then I'll just have to spank you with that one when you get back."
His eyes widened. "I can't win this, can I."
"Ah, no." I handed him his belt.
He left for the airport and I sat back thinking about him going through the security line at the airport with his sore bottom, standing there handling the belt that had helped make it that way.
Ms. Betty
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