Epic rants — yes, plural

You lucky people. I have two things that are pissing me off right now. No, it’s not anything about the holidays, and it’s not stupid gross food. One issue is on topic, and the other is not. But both have gotten under my skin lately and it’s time to release a bit. Warning: controversy ahead. If you’d just as soon skip it, I understand.

Last Friday, I saw two pictures that had just been put up on FetLife. The first was an extreme closeup of one butt cheek, with the skin broken and bleeding. The caption read: “Results of a proper caning.” Really? And then the next photo was the same butt, mercifully a little farther back but still pretty damn close up, so you could see both cheeks, which were not just red, but had white spots, the beginnings of bruises, and two spots that were bleeding. And that caption read: “A proper bare-bottom belting.”

Proper? According to whom, pray tell? And of course, we viewers are left to infer that anything less than a spanking/strapping/caning resulting in blood is somehow less than “proper.”

I know, I know, I’ve talked about this before. I’m sick of death of the comments, the implication that bottoms who don’t get trashed beyond recognition are wimps. “That’s not red enough.” “I could have done a better job.” “Looks like a decent warm-up, now bring on the spanking.” Fuck these people! When did it become not enough to simply have a nice red backside? Why is it that with some folks, bottoms that look like they’d been plunked on a George Foreman grill, turned up high, are the holy grail??

Hmm. I’ve been caned dozens of times over the years, by many tops. But I’ve never had a cane break my skin. What a shame that I’ve never had it done properly, huh? (massive eye roll)

This follows along with the issue that John Osborne and I felt compelled to shoot a harsher, more intense video, because viewers were bitching and snarking about our last two being “too light.” What is with this freaking blood-lust going on with spanking video watchers? So OK, we shot a video where John was punitive, and I shed tears. It was well done and I trust John, and I felt comfortable going there with him. Still, it’s irksome that we had to go there, to cave in and cater to the damn barbarians out there. I get it, though. If you’re in the business of selling video, you need to do what sells. But for God’s sake, stop criticizing people’s work. If you don’t like a video because it’s lighter than you care for, then go watch something else. But don’t try to shame and ridicule people’s efforts just because they fall short of your desires for rear carnage.

Here’s my gripe, in a nutshell. You want to play hard? Have at it. You want to bleed? Knock yourself out. If that floats your boat, then you can deal with the aftermath, and more power to you. But goddammit, don’t try to make others feel like what they’re doing isn’t good enough, or “proper” enough, because their flesh isn’t ravaged to your liking. What happens when newbies see these photos, claiming this sort of extreme is “proper”? I can see it now: inexperienced tops thinking they’re pussies, and they need to up their game in order to create these torn-up asses. And naive bottoms thinking they are “less than” because they don’t take this degree of punishment, and therefore should feel some sort of scene shame. Ridiculous.

Can’t we just play like we want to play, and leave words like “proper” and “real” and “true” out of it?

Ugh.

OK, that’s one. The next one is bound to piss some people off, and I’m sorry but not sorry. I don’t go out of my way to offend, but sometimes, you know, I just can’t avoid it.

Found this little gem on Facebook, of all places:

It’s true. The NRA and the 2nd Amendment advocates fight to the death (literally) against gun controls/stricter gun laws, but when it comes to women and what they do with their own bodies, oh, that’s everyone’s effing business.

I am not anti-gun. I don’t think guns should be eliminated. But clearly, with so many psychos out there shooting people, with terrorists killing groups of innocent folks, things are out of control. There needs to be something, and I don’t know what it is, but we can’t keep going on like this. But for everyone who says something needs to be done about guns and the fact that far too many nuts can get their hands on them, there’s another who says gun control is not the answer, and we just need more guns. That the people in Paris should have had guns. That the Jews in the Holocaust should have had guns, for Christ’s sake. That we should have guns in school classrooms.

This kind of killing goes on and on and on, and somehow, it’s left unregulated. Men, women, children. Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, spouses, all manner of loved ones. Meanwhile, women are vilified and shamed and criminalized because they choose to expel a tiny splotch of ectoplasm that is undeveloped and completely unviable. This is a sin. This is murder. This must be eliminated. Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.

Recently, our country’s Senate did two things: they refused to pass a bill that would prevent people on the no-fly list from getting guns. At the same time, they passed a bill that would defund Planned Parenthood. Yeah, that makes sense too. Let’s not control the crazies with guns that destroy lives, but by all means disallow women from choosing whether or not they give birth.

You know, I don’t even have a dog in this fight. I am way past the child-bearing age. And when I was that age, I made damn sure that I wouldn’t have any, because I knew I didn’t want them and I didn’t want to deal with birth control. But it still pisses me off that younger women out there might lose their freedoms, and if not those freedoms per se, then all the funds available to make their choices. Look…it’s not that I’m a big advocate of abortion. I’m much more of an advocate of people being responsible and smart with their bodies, and not getting pregnant unless they want to. But I have always felt strongly about the right to choose. And I also happen to think it’s a sin in itself to bring a child into the world when you’re neither financially nor emotionally equipped to raise it properly. When I was in eighth grade (a long-ass time ago), I wrote a school paper titled: “Abortion: Better No Life Than Unwanted Life.” I got an A. And I still believe that. How come it’s OK to go ahead and have the kid, just to abuse and neglect it, or not give it the opportunities it deserves because it has a passel of siblings that were also unplanned?

So here’s my solution for the gun-loving anti-abortionists: Every time you see a woman about to have an abortion, shoot her! That way, you 1. get to use your precious guns; 2. prevent an abortion; and 3. eliminate a killer. Win-win-win! Of course, you’re also killing an unborn baby along with its murderous mom, but hey, collateral damage, right?

Yes, that was written with tongue firmly crammed in cheek, and a series of swallows against vomiting in disgust.

Yeah, I’m pissed off. You know why I rant? You know why I blog and vent? Because I can. Because I choose to blow off steam this way, instead of going out and taking my frustrations out on innocent victims. Because I know how to channel my anger like a sentient and sane adult. I’m just so damn sick of people who kill and hurt and maim and do stupid shit to other people. And I’m sick of the people who cheer those fuckers on, one way or another.

(sigh) I know this writing isn’t going to change a thing. But sometimes, I need to do it anyway. Because if I keep it all inside, I just get depressed, and that really sucks. I am trying to keep my sanity during times where there is insanity all around me.

Rants over, for now. I will try to be entertaining next time.

Facebook, stupid people, and me

With a title like that, you know there’s some snark forthcoming, no?

OK, so pretty much everyone and their second cousin is on Facebook, including a lot of fellow kinksters. Generally, when kinky folks are on FB, they fall into one of two camps. Some of them use their scene names, and promote their material (books, videos, blogs, etc.) that has to do with their kink. And others are there under their real names, and don’t speak of the kink at all — they are there to connect with family, coworkers, vanilla friends, etc.

Surprise, surprise — I don’t fit into either camp. I use my scene name, but I don’t promote my scene stuff. I don’t post pictures of my bottom, of spanking, or any links to videos. (I did post a sort of g-rated kinky picture once of myself in bondage, but then I took it down.) I don’t talk about spanking. I don’t feel the need to do so — I can talk about that here, on FetLife, on Twitter. I belong to a Spanking Authors group, but it’s private. On FB, I’m friends with a lot of different people, including vanillas, and even a couple of cousins. Everyone knows what I do; I don’t exactly hide it. But I don’t broadcast it, out of respect for vanilla people, or for kink friends who are trying to appear vanilla on FB. So why do I use my scene name, you might ask. Simple. I post pictures of my face. And I don’t want to broadcast my real last name out there, for all the stalkers and weirdos to see and say, “Ah! So THAT’S who Erica Scott really is!” My real name is for friends only.

Being the troublemaker I can be sometimes, I’ll hint at it. For example, right before Shadow Lane, I’ll post a status along the lines of “Going to Vegas for a long weekend to engage in activities we don’t talk about on Facebook.” 😀  But I won’t spell it out.

So what do I find particularly annoying on FB? When I post something that has absolutely zero, zilch, zip to do with spanking, and commenters try to make it about spanking. So much for subtlety!

Yesterday, I went to lunch with my stepmother, and we had an unusually handsome waiter. Damn, he was gorgeous. I joked with my stepmom about how utterly effed up it is that I think this guy is cute and then realize I’m old enough to be his mother. When I got home, I posted a status on FB about life’s “fuck me” moments, mentioning the server and that sickening jolt when it occurred to me that he could be my son.

People liked the post and made lots of fun comments. Until the bozo who wrote, “I hope your stepmom tanned your bottom for those thoughts.”

Uh, no. Because life is not a spanking video, dear. If it were, I’d be 18, my stepmother would be a gorgeous MILF-y 42 or so, and sure, that would be video fodder. Real life? I’m 58 and she’s 83. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. No one, but no one wants to see that. And if someone does, I don’t want to know who they are.

So, because I didn’t want to be rude (yes, that happens sometimes), I attempted to deflect his remark and steered things back onto the topic. But he wouldn’t give up. Today, he wrote that I should have at least gotten a “warming on the seat of my skirt.”

Oh, for Christ’s sake.

But before I could answer, someone else chimed in and told him to give it up, that this wasn’t about spanking, despite his clumsy efforts to make it so. And what does Bozo reply?

everything about eirica is about spanking she is a spanking model idiot

(Really? If you know so much about me, how come you can’t spell my name right, idiot?)

It still boggles my mind that some people think this way. Of course, if one is into spanking, especially if one’s career is centered around spanking, then every single thing they do and say and eat and drink and breathe and excrete comes down to spanking! Everything else — feelings, desires, relationships, hobbies, preferences, travels, travails, etc. — is just filler.

Newsflash, dumbass. No, everything about me is not about spanking. It’s part of my life, granted. A big part. But it’s not my whole life, period. Nor is it the whole life of spanking actresses, models, bloggers, authors. They all have various dimensions. They have likes and dislikes, loves and hates, favorite foods, children, mates, pets, allergies, childhood memories, songs they sing in the shower, nightmares, and all those other bits and pieces that make up the messy puzzle of human-ness.

Why would people assume that anyone’s life is that one-dimensional? I guess they think that porn stars have sex 24/7 too, huh? Because, well, sex. That’s all there is, isn’t there? (sigh)

Yeah, I know. You can’t fix stupid. But it helps to rant about it every now and then. 🙂

OT Rant: The latest and greatest in disgusting food

Been a while since I did one of these. Last April, to be exact, when I ranted about Denny’s bacon sundae. Well, they’re at it again.

Having come to the end of their “Baconalia” cholesterol fest, they decided to move on to “Let’s Get Cheesy.” Imagine the possibilities. Now take those possibilities, stuff them with cheese, dump cheese on them, and then cover them with cheese sauce. There’s so damn much cheese, you don’t know whether to eat it or take a bath in it.

All the items on this featured menu are disgustingly decadent, but I’m focusing on the most outrageous: The Mac ‘n Cheese Big Daddy Patty Melt. (OK, I don’t know about you, but I’d feel like a horse’s ass just ordering it. What a stupid name.)

Here it is, in all its gluttonous glory. Buttered and grilled potato bread (God forbid it should be wheat bread). A burger patty, melted cheese, and Frisco sauce (whatever the @#$% that is; probably mayonnaise-based). And then? Yup. A layer of macaroni and cheese.

This sandwich has 1690 calories (I don’t eat that many calories in a whole day!!) and 99 grams of fat. If you were to eat a stick of butter, that would be a healthier choice.

But wait, there’s more! It comes with a side of French fries, accompanied by dipping sauce. Ketchup? Nah. Cheese sauce. In case you’re still cheese deficient.

When does this stop, people? According to the latest statistics, 33.8% of adults in America are obese. No, not overweight, obese. As in morbid. Obesity-related diseases and conditions are on the rise. Children and adolescents are getting fatter. Food portions are getting bigger, fattier, cheesier, breadier, sweeter. The media tell us to diet. The restaurants and food ads gleefully encourage massive gorging.

Let’s just make it simple, shall we? Take a wheel of cheese, batter it and deep-fry it, smother it in chocolate sauce and whipped cream, and eat that six times a day. At least that will cure one of the world’s problems: overpopulation.

Granted, I don’t like bacon and I’m not all that crazy about cheese either. But even if I did like these food items, I’d eat them in moderation. A slice or two of pizza with a normal amount of cheese is fine. Do you really need triple-thick-crust pizza with five kinds of cheese piled on it, with more cheese baked into the crust???

Oh, and if you’re hankering for some dessert after that macaroni mashup, another “Let’s Get Cheesy” item is a Strawberry Cheesecake Milkshake. Ice cream blended with cream cheese and cheesecake chunks.

Could be worse, I guess. They could have crafted a Hot Cheese Sundae.

OK, I just made myself sick with that one. Later, y’all.

OT: Yet another rant about disgusting food

So, what do I like to bitch about, people? (And don’t say everything.) Yes! Gross food! In the past I’ve ranted about the KFC Double Down sandwich (bacon, cheese and sauce between two fried chicken breasts), IHOP’s Pancake Stackers (two pancakes layered with cheesecake filling and topped with fruit and whipped cream), and Friendly’s Grilled Cheese Burgermelt (a grilled cheese sandwich, topped with a burger and all the fixings, and then another grilled cheese sandwich on top of that). I’ve also critiqued marshmallow peeps, and made sure everyone knows that I think cottage cheese is one of the most revolting substances on Earth.

What’s on today’s Barf-O-Rama menu? Denny’s new Maple Bacon Sundae.

Yes, it’s exactly what you think it is. Vanilla ice cream, layered with maple syrup and crumbled, cooked bacon. It’s one of Denny’s limited-time-only (thank God!!) “Baconalia” selections. Other items include Bacon Meatloaf and a BBBLT (a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich with triple bacon).

OK, I hear you out there — Oh, come on, Erica. You just don’t like bacon. That’s not it. Granted, it’s one of the things I don’t eat anymore, but I used to. And I can see the appeal of it with eggs at breakfast, or in a sandwich, or crumbled into salads and baked potatoes. But in dessert????? NO!

What the hell is up with this country’s love affair with bacon, anyway? It’s turning up everywhere! I have actually heard of chocolate-covered bacon, the thought of which makes me want to hurl. And my beloved Danny has actually ordered a Bacon Martini at a dive bar near Vegas. Today on FetLife, someone posted a link to a Bacon Chocolate-Chip cookie recipe. Stop the madness!!

OK, I get it, people love bacon. But just because a food is good, does that mean it belongs everywhere and combined with everything? I adore chocolate, as many people do. But come on. There are limits. Would you put hot fudge sauce on your prime rib? Sprinkle your mac-‘n-cheese casserole with chocolate chips instead of bread crumbs? (OK, maybe some people would, but I’d rather not know them. They’re the same people who would hear Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony and say it needs more cowbell.)

Apparently, journalist Robin Wheeler agrees with me; see her amusing commentary on the bacon sundae here.

And while I’m in rant mode, what’s up with this trendy BS of combining sweet with spicy/savory flavors? I do not want freaking seasalt on my caramel, thank you very much. And I sure as @#$% don’t want cayenne pepper in my chocolate bars. Stop with this designer food nonsense. Putting pepper in chocolate is like mating a dog with a cat. Oh, and stop putting flowers in my chocolate too, while you’re at it. I like to smell the roses, not ingest them.

OK, I’m getting off-track here. Just say NO to bacon on ice cream, I beg of you. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have a salad.

A two-fer: a clip AND a rant

I’m home… and I promised more clips, didn’t I. New Guy posted a bunch of them on FetLife, but on there, only the people who “support” (read: donate money to) FetLife get to watch the videos, so many won’t be able to see them.

This little clip is my favorite. I love his reactions to my big mouth. 😀

So, Thanksgiving is over. One down, one to go. Er… I mean, wasn’t Thanksgiving lovely?? Oh, whatever. I’ll tell you when I’ll give thanks — when John gets that @#$%ing PICC out of his arm and he doesn’t have to inject those @#$%ing antibiotics any more. Just a couple more weeks… he’s so miserable. 😦

You all have heard me bitch and moan and rant about the holiday season; I have nothing new to say at this point. So for those who are new to my blog, I’m reposting a rant from December 2007, just for grins. Remember all that fuss about whether you should say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays”? Here’s my take on that life-or-death decision. Enjoy.

Warning — the following rant is sacrilegious. If that sort of thing offends you, please stop reading here!

I don’t know where any of you stand with the dumbass controversy about whether one should say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays. Personally, I don’t give a damn either way. I happen to say Happy Holidays, simply because it’s generic and covers everything. But it doesn’t bother me if someone says Merry Christmas to me. I mean, it’s just a phrase. At this time of year, it’s the same as saying hello and goodbye. But people make such a freaking fuss about what to say. Good grief, do people really have nothing better to whine about? I’m sure the homeless people on skid row don’t care whether or not someone says Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays to them.

I was watching the news the other night, and they had one of those “human interest” stories they tack on at the end of the war and the rapes and the natural disasters, just for a little feel-good moment. Apparently, some little podunk town somewhere in South Bumf**k decided they’ve had enough of Happy Holidays, and they’re going to reclaim Merry Christmas. One merchant in this town has big signs up in the store, reading “It’s OK to say Merry Christmas!” All the employees wear buttons that read, “Merry Christmas.” Yes, the Christ is in red.

They interviewed the owner of this establishment, looking very righteous in her button and her loud, cheery Xmas sweater from Bobbie Sue’s House of Dreck, and saying, “We need to remember what Christmas is about — it’s about Christ.” She went on to say that any customer in her store who says “Merry Christmas” gets a 5% discount.

Give me a break! So now, every greedy so-and-so in that town is going to flock to that store and cheerfully say the designated phrase, just to get the discount! Some Christmas spirit, that is. Hell, I’d say Merry Christmas, or Happy Kwanzaa, or Joyous Toenail Clipping Day or whatever the hell you want me to say, for a discount.

I wonder how the owner would react if a customer came in, piled up the counter with half the store’s merchandise, then said, “Merry Christmas — now give me my damn discount.”

Yeah, I know, I’m bad. Tell me something I don’t know. 🙂

I am, therefore I bitch

Or is it the other way around? Whatever. I don’t care.

Cosmopolitan magazine (yes, I read Cosmo, shut up) has a regular feature they call “Bitch It Out!”, in which they invite their readers to vent their frustrations, aggravations and complaints. Not because they can do anything about them, but because they recognize sometimes it feels good to blow off steam and just maybe, others out there will relate to you. I rather like this idea, so I’m going to indulge in a bit of bitching myself. And after that, I’m opening the floor. Someone pee in your Wheaties? Having a suckfest of a day? Let go of it here! Have fun with it. You’ll feel better, I promise.

I hate the dentist. No, not my dentist, personally. He’s a decent chap. But I hate going to the damn dentist. I don’t like people poking around in my mouth. I don’t like having my jaw wedged open until it feels like it’s going to lock in that position. I really, really don’t like that nasty, poky little implement that scrapes and scrapes and scrapes. I hate the taste of that stupid numbing agent that’s supposed to make me not feel the needle, but I do anyway (and I hate the needle too). I hate the sound of the drill and the smell of teeth being pulverized by it. And you know what I hate more than any of that? How @#$%ing much it costs for the dubious pleasure of all this torture.

I had my annual dental exam today. I get my teeth cleaned twice a year and I observe all the proper oral hygiene, so my teeth are generally in decent shape. But when I was younger I wasn’t as conscientious, so I have a mouthful of crowns and fillings. Only one root canal, though. So far.

Last year, I got a clean bill of health after the x-rays and exam, and I exhaled in gratitude, realizing I hadn’t taken a breath in the past 45 minutes. Today, I wasn’t so lucky. Triple whammy… An old crown needs replacing, as well as a very old filling, plus I have a tiny new cavity. Fun fun fun! Dear teeth: You suck. So I had to make an appointment for two fillings and a crown; I am NOT doing this before the Shadow Lane party, so I scheduled it for the Tuesday after I come home. What the hell, I’ll be dealing with post-party drop anyway. Might as well throw in mouth pain and get it all over with at once.

The cost of today’s exam and the upcoming work? $1,145. And that is with dental insurance. What the hell are they putting in my teeth, platinum?

Funny thing about checking accounts — they don’t self-replenish. You have to actually have some work to do, earn some money and deposit it. Not much of that going on around here. So you’d think my damn teeth would cooperate and stay healthy, but noooooooo. Blech. Nothing I can do about it, though. I’m rather attached to my teeth, so I gotta do what I gotta do.

It was 108 degrees here today, at least that’s what my car’s temp gauge read on the way home. Have I mentioned lately how much I detest the heat? I don’t even feel like playing, which would probably do me a world of good. Ever notice how extremes in temperature either way are not conducive to spanking? If it’s too cold, you want to stay bundled up, not remove layers of clothing. And when it’s this hot, the last thing you feel like doing is exerting yourself. This afternoon, I sat in my computer chair and thought, “I’m hungry. I’m hungry. I’m hungry.” However, it took me nearly an hour to go get something to eat. Why? It seemed like too damn much effort to get up and walk into the kitchen. So forget spanking. Six swats in and I’m breaking a sweat. And don’t give me this baloney about how women don’t sweat, they glow and look dewy. I’m not a freaking Southern magnolia blossom. I sweat.

It was a crappy day. Not a heartbreaking day, not a tragic day, not an earth-shattering day… just enough to make me cranky as hell. Forgive me and thank you for listening. But I’m all about equal opportunity.

So, something have you cranked out of shape? Share! Bitch it out. I feel so much better.