Welcome to my blog! 🙂
This time tomorrow, John and I will be en route to Las Vegas. Four days of kinky fun with approximately 200 people, I think (?) Maybe a bit less. This particular gathering began in 2013 with just 55 of us, but it has grown every year. (The photo above was taken from inside the car on a recent Vegas trip.)
I have been cranking out work like crazy, and I’m treating myself to a full week off. Sometime in between bouts of work, I managed to shop a bit and buy some new underwear, some cute PJs and some yoga pants. (I shopped for a new dress but didn’t find one, but this is a very casual weekend and there will be only one occasion to dress up.) Oh, and Alex, SC and I bought matching tank tops with a very cute and apropos saying on the front. Hopefully we’ll be able to coordinate wearing them at the same time and get a picture.
The weekend will be fairly unstructured, but there are some events planned and we already have a couple of lunch/dinner dates set up. I have purchased copious snacks and drinks for our room, gotten a fresh pedicure (I never bother with my fingernails because they are so wretched from a lifetime of picking at them, so I just cut them short), booked our rental car (picking that up shortly), and this afternoon I will start packing (to be finished in the morning). Every trip has the same set of rituals; John and I have this down to a science after doing it for so many years. One would think I’d relax a bit and just trust that we’ll get there, like always.
But I never do. Fortunately, John is ever tolerant of my insanity.
This should be an interesting party. As I’d mentioned before, I haven’t really played in a few months. So I feel like I have a virgin bottom all over again, although I know it doesn’t work that way. My tolerance may not be at its peak, but I’m sure it will be like muscle memory and come back to me. However, I may have done something really stupid.
I may have slightly bratted Michael Masterson on FetLife. You know, the Michael Masterson? The Real Spankings Institute guy? The Spanking Blogg “Best Male Spanker of the Year 2016” winner? I’ve never played with him before, although we’ve chatted at a few parties in recent years. I’ve commented on here how he is the most bratted man at any party and what a good sport he is. I never thought I’d be one of the bratters, though.
It’s official. I’ve lost my @#$%ing mind.
Ah well. Pacing, Erica. Remember, stretch it out over four days. (Famous last words.) Wish me luck, y’all.
The ride there should be OK. It will be Thursday, not Friday, so no end of week rush hour. Coming home may be a challenge, as it will be on the side of the 15 freeway where a huge sinkhole opened up during the recent rain. But who cares… that’s next week.
So looking forward to seeing old friends and making new ones! Will share all that’s fit to print after we get home. 🙂
Wishing all my friends a lovely Valentine’s Day, however you like to celebrate. Hope you all have happy hearts… in whatever form they may take.
John and I already had our celebration last weekend. He gave me roses, took us out for a special dinner, and then hid small boxes of chocolates all throughout the weekend — four in all! I gave him chocolates as well and baked him his favorite brownies from scratch.
And of course, what’s hearts and flowers day without a little naughty humor?
Enjoy, everyone. 🙂
So it’s been an interesting few weeks, ones of much soul searching and roller coaster emotions. I’ve learned a few things, made some mistakes. And now I think I’m ready to move forward once again.
One of the mistakes I made was breaking my own promise to myself and allowing politics to pervade my blog, Twitter and Facebook. The events of the past few months have consumed me, as they have many, and I let myself get swept up in venting. The reactions were enlightening and depressing at the same time. I got a lot of backlash, but not necessarily from the opposite polarity. I also was ignored, unfollowed and unfriended by people I least expected to do so. In times of emotional crisis, I find out time and again who cares about Erica, the entire person (even in her darkest, angriest, most unlikable times), and who just wants Erica Scott, the witty, snarky spanko showing off her butt. I find out who my friends are. It’s a painful process, but a necessary one, I guess.
Look, I get it. This is a spanking blog. Politics can be read anywhere, anytime, any place these days, ad nauseam. When one comes to a spanking blog, one wants to read about spanking, yes? Same deal with followers on Twitter and other social media. Therefore, for the bulk of my venting, I have found two secret groups of Facebook (“secret” meaning that posts only show to the group members) where people can share their political concerns and fears. Likewise, I started another Twitter account and when I feel like retweeting the Orange Menace’s stupid posts and adding my own comments, or just want to rant about whatever’s going on, I use that. And as for here, I will not be posting anymore strictly political posts. They get crickets, for one, and then I have to put up with rude rebuttals from the likes of people who are so stupid, they need to be told how to spell their own name. So, it’s back to spanky stuff.
There’s just one problem with that; lately, I simply don’t have spanky stuff to post. I am not going to explain why, so please don’t ask, but I have not played (except for a brief moment at a holiday party) in over three months. My parties are few and far between, and my shoots are pretty much down to once in a great while. And I’m tired of hashing and rehashing the same tired discussions we’ve all seen a million times. Therefore, this blog will probably be periodic rather than regular. When the spirit moves me, when I have something fun and topical to report, I will do so. For example, in a couple of weeks we’re going to a big party in Vegas for a few days, so no doubt I’ll have some fun stories from that. But I’m no longer going to rack my brain trying to come up with things to write. I’ve written and written and written, for years. And lately, I’m (thankfully) so busy with work, I don’t have as much time for blogging anyway. So, when time passes between blogs, don’t fret. I’m still around. I’m just going to be here on a “need to post” basis from now on.
Oh, and mind you, I am not saying that I’ll never slip in some political snarky humor again, here and there. I mean, it’s inevitable, since this entire administration is one big punchline.
And with that, on to my most excellent segue*…
Last week, Triple A Spanking released a clip that I shot with them three years ago. In it, John Osborne and I play husband and wife, and we are supposed to go to a gathering given by one of his friends. However, because I cannot stomach this friend, I make up a bunch of lies, including that I’m sick, to get out of going. So, what did John call this film about lying liars?
Yup, he went there… 😀
(Yes, I edited that last photo. I hate those freaking straight-on shots! Unless you’re a proctologist, you don’t need to be getting up in there.)
I confess, seeing that title made me laugh harder than I had in weeks. So, who used that phrase better? John Osborne…
… or Crack-Whore Barbie Con-job?
I’d say John Osborne for the win!
So that’s it for now. Back to work with me, and then I’m off to spend the pre-Valentine’s Day weekend with my beloved. ♥ And no, we are not going to see “Fifty Shades Darker”!
Have a great weekend. y’all.
*For those who were educated at Cheeto-face University, that word is pronounced “seg-way,” not “seg-yoo.” 😛
Don’t bother looking it up; it’s “welcome” in Russian. Hey, we might as well start learning it. Our new POS — er, POTUS has been, so he can understand his new owner when Putin says, “Suck my d$&k, my little orange pet.”
In light of the recent revelations, I wonder just what’s in that bottle…
Stay healthy, friends. And try to freeze your ageing process for a while. Because you won’t be able to afford getting sick or growing old once your health insurance, Medicare and Social Security are gutted. Oh, and ladies, stockpile your birth control, because Planned Parenthood is on the chopping block too.
To those who are sneering, laughing, gloating, and saying things like “Your tears taste delicious,” I’d say the last laugh will be mine, but sadly, I’ll be screwed along with the rest of you. And to the poor ignorant fools who are now screaming, “Wait… what?? The Affordable Care Act and Obamacare are one and the same? Nooooo! My health insurance!” I’d feel sorry for you, but… Nahhh. I don’t.
Think I’m making this up? It’s already happening. Behold one of the many examples from http://www.areyousorryyet.com. Two real tweets, one month apart, same person.
Schadenfreude? You bet your ass. This is what happens when you don’t believe what’s right in front of your face. We tried — and tried, and tried — to tell you.
Sleep well, democracy. Hope we can revive you before too much damage is done and we become even more of a laughing stock than we are already.
So yesterday, as I was trundling along on the treadmill, my mind wandered as it is wont to do, and I had what I consider a brilliant brainchild.
Consider the following:
I should run for president in 2020!! Not just the first woman, but the first kinky president! Hey, if we can have a PeePee President, why not a Spanko President?
Imagine the possibilities for slogans!
Of course, John would be the First… what? We’re not married, so already, I’m breaking tradition. But so what? We’ve been together for over 20 years; that’s longer than a lot of marriages. (Just ask the upcoming Commander in Cheat.) So, I guess John could be First Switch, Top of your Bottom in Chief. And then there’s my cabinet — oh, so many boxer briefs and panties to fill. But I think I’d start with Paul Kennedy as Spanker of the House, and make Alex Reynolds Secretary of the Posterior. Perhaps Michael Masterson should head up the Lap of Justice Department.
My White House pet would be a giant white dog (she’d have to be white, so I could name her — what else? — Snowflake, and any breed would work except sheepdog). I would train my faithful companion to always hide (or bury) wooden implements. She’d never bite anyone, but she’d growl menacingly whenever she sees
someone anything orange.
One of my first acts would be to declare the non-consensual grabbing of pussies to be a capital offense. (Just to be clear, I’m talking about real non-consent, not our type of “oh, please don’t… don’t… don’t stop” consensual non-consent.) And ladies? From now on, no one will be able to get up into your business — unless you want them to, of course!
Tolerant, respectful people — of all nationalities and colors, all religions (or none), all genders (whether born or chosen), all orientations, all sizes and shapes, all ages and income levels — will be treated in turn with tolerance and respect. Those of us who choose not to follow the tried and true societal dictates will not be shamed, but welcomed. None of this bullying/prejudice/discrimination shit on my watch! This is America, not AmeriKKKa. (And yes, your leader will be spanked often for her shameless word play.)
I would redesign the Oval Office, of course. My office would need corners. All staffers would be armed with guns — squirt guns. And corporal punishment would replace capital punishment (but only for vanilla offenders, since kinky offenders would like it way too damn much).
What do you think, readers? Can you add any ideas? Would you vote for me? Come on, I couldn’t possibly be any worse than what’s coming. You’ve got nothing to lose but your inhibitions — and possibly your underwear. 😀
Actually, quite a bit, if we’re talking about choices for scene/kink monikers. What prompted this? This week, I saw two of them that were such a turn-off, I wouldn’t even bother checking out the person behind them.
I’ve said before that I keep my profiles on the various kink sites, because I never know who’s out there and it never hurts to know more locals. I have many friends with whom I share TTWD, but so many of them are far away. One of said sites will sometimes email a notice to me if their algorithm somehow concludes that a potential match is brewing. So this week, I received this:
“Hey, Erica Scott! Have you met DrSausage? He’s ready to meet you!”
spraying coffee all over the screen Dr. Sausage??? How does one get a doctorate in sausageology? Does the PhD stand for Perky Hard Dick?
When I tweeted about this, one of my friends cleverly replied, “But… he’s a doctor!” Which made me laugh. Suddenly, I was taken back over 30 years and remembering my mother, who had a dreadful habit of trying to fix me up. She’d attempted it many times, but her most egregious effort came one day when she called me and said I was going to be mad. I listened, feeling my blood pressure spike into emergency levels, while she told me about how she’d been at the beauty parlor that day and had struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to her at the dryers. Turns out said woman had a single son. All my mother needed to hear was “single,” “Jewish,” and “doctor” — she didn’t even need a photo or any further description.
That’s right. She gave my phone number to this woman, who she’d known for about ten minutes. To give to her son, who she didn’t know at all.
I exploded. “How could you DO that?? You don’t know this woman! You don’t know her son! You don’t know anything about him — and you give my phone number to perfect strangers? And what kind of a man needs his mother to fix him up with unseen women?”
Her defense? “She seemed nice. And how bad could he be — he’s a doctor!”
Yes, the guy called me, and I met him for coffee. Turned out he was cute, charming, funny and sexy, and we dated for a few years. And if you believe that, please allow me to sell you some magic beans.
Part of me was tempted to write to DrSausage and say, “Here I am, oh meaty one! Come and do your wurst!” But I decided against it.
And then, same week, I get, “Erica Scott, someone just checked you out!” I looked to see who it was.
Just shoot me now. No, wait. Shoot HIM. Yeah, I get it. He likes older women. But there needs to be a little finesse here.
News flash, pal. I don’t usually presume to speak for all women, but I’m making an exception here. There isn’t a woman on this entire f&#%ing planet who would find it a compliment, within a sexual and/or kink realm, to be referred to as “Granny.” “Mommy,” yes. I can certainly see that, even though it’s not my thing. But “Granny”? NO. What’s she going to do, bake you cookies until you beg for mercy? Knit you some ankle restraints?
I wanted to write to GrannyLover and attach a charming picture I found of a prim and proper white-haired grandma flipping the bird. But I decided against that as well.
Just another week in the life of a spanko. Have a great weekend, y’all.