Mystery Shopper Malady

My UBO (use by others) appointment that was scheduled to occur at 11am this morning was cancelled. I didn’t know this fact until about 9am this morning when I enquired what time I needed to be ready by and Master informed me that our mystery shopper had cancelled…at 6pm last night. Why it took Master 15hrs to tell me that I didn’t need to angst and stress about UBO because it wasn’t going to happen I don’t exactly know, except to say that I’m sure the fucker he got some twisted pleasure out of keeping me in suspense.

My curiousity was piked by the reason for the cancellation. You see, when I heard he’d cancelled, there was a little part of me that immediately thought, “Crap, I’m not good enough and that’s why he cancelled”…because…well, I’m a girl and I always have insecurity issues. No matter what the real reason behind the cancellation – deportation, having his meth lab raided by police or his cat having a hairball and him needing to do the Heimlich manoeuver really, really carefully etc. – my initial gut reaction is always that there is something wrong with me.

So I asked Master why he cancelled.

‘Do you need to know?’ was the response he gave me along with The Look™ (that kaya has already trademarked…)

Apparently I wasn’t going to be getting any information that wasn’t on a need-to-know basis. The fact that I *needed* to know to assuage myself that I wasn’t the reason, didn’t register with Master because…well, he’s a boy and he doesn’t give a shit because I wear the shiny thing. The only thing he told me was that the mystery shopper wasn’t ‘in the right head space’ – which could be true (like yours truly) or it was simply a polite way of saying, ‘You suck’.

Another possibility is that he got cold feet. If he did, he wouldn’t be the first mystery shopper that has had cold feet. I have a hard time getting my head around the ‘cold feet’ thing though. Once I say I’m going to do something, I do it. I might be scared shitless or revolted beyond belief, but by fuck, if I promise to do something, I do it. (which I guess is why it takes me so long to make a decision because I know that once I do, I’m totally locked into it.) I find it quite interesting when people spend several weeks setting up a play date and talking through it and everything, only to cancel at the last moment because the reality is a much bigger beast than the fantasy.

The truly sad thing though is along with a HUGE feeling of relief at hearing of the cancellation (because I’m still not in the mood), I’m also feeling slightly rejected. Lol. God, I’m just so sad, aren’t I? In some bizarre way I feel like I turned up for a blind date somewhere and the person took one look at me and left before I even realised I had been stood up.

Whatever the reason actually was for the cancellation, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me as I’m assuming the person doesn’t even know me, but you know me, all sorts of things go through my head at a time like this.

I’m feeling ranty

1. Why do people feel the need to say negative things about my weight?

Growing up as a fat kid I had my fair share of being teased mercilessly and in my pubescent years I truly enjoyed being given well-thought-out nicknames like, “Fats”. Fast-forward 20 years and I thought being on the other end of the scale would stop that hurtful shit, but apparently not.

When I was at home last week, I spent almost every day being made to promise my eighty-six-year-old grandmother that I wouldnt lose anymore weight. At random times during the day she would interject it into conversation, like we’d be chatting about her cute toilet paper with paw prints on it and suddenly she’d say to me, “I think you’ve lost enough weight. Promise me you won’t lose anymore, ok?”

I’ve also got an acquaintance who, every time he sees me, grills me about how much weight I’ve lost. He also likes to make comments like, ‘You’re wasting away!’  or “You’ve turned sideways and now I can’t see you!”

To be honest, I find the comments about my lack of weight more upsetting than anything I was ever told when I was fat. I’m sure most people don’t go around making random ‘fat’ comments to large people because they know it’s not nice, so why make random ‘too thin’ comments to people who have lost weight?

I’m no-where near uberly skinny. I still have a body fat percentage of around 28% and enough padding in my ass to feed a third-world country. I have a small build and would need to lose another 8kg (15lb) before I would be classed as ‘under-weight’.

Granted, some of the pics Master has taken and posted of me aren’t that flattering. In some positions I can look gaunt and a bit bony, but my body is still adjusting to the weight-loss and everything is sagging. I’d like it if he didn’t post those pics, but he posts what he wants, when he wants.

2.  I’m supposed to be having a mystery shopper visit tomorrow, but I am so not in the mood for it.

My ‘holiday’ at home really wore me out mentally and jumping straight back into work fucked me up physically. My body is also so confused with the three-hour time difference and the daylight savings vs. no daylight savings zones so I’ve felt funny since I’ve been back. My period is late and I’m uberly pms-sy. Oh and have I mentioned I’ve been binge-eating since I got back and my body is aching from my gardening splurge? Not to mention that getting ready for a mystery shopper requires a couple of hours of hair removal, hair-doing and getting ready and the appointment is for 11am tomorrow which means I’m going to have to get up early…

Yeah. I’m definitely not in the mood for it.

I’d like to be a bit more excited about it for Master’s sake, but honestly, I just can’t drum up the enthusiasm in me.

3. One of my piercings really, fucking hurts.

It happens every time my period is due, but it’s like someone is digging a metal skewer into my private bits. They also get incredibly itchy and so I scratch, and that makes them sore and then itchy again, and so I scratch…rinse and repeat for a week every month.

Let’s also not forget that during my period is not the only time they hurt. They just hurt MORE during my period.

4. I’m trying to get back onto the weight-loss wagon, but it’s not working.

For the past eight weeks my weight has been yo-yoing around and it annoys me to no end that I just cannot reach the target weight I set for myself. It’s not that I can’t reach it physically. It’s very attainable, but some part of me just can’t make that final commitment to knuckle down and get there once and for all. Every time I lose a little bit I reward myself with, of course, food and then the cycle starts again. Normally I’m a very disciplined person and so it’s driving me insane that I’m just not doing what I need to do!! AHHHH!!

5. Slut wear is not practical.

On Friday I went to the garden centre in platform heels and an impossibly mini dress. Bending down to pick up plants exposed my beaver. Then, I nearly broke my neck walking on the slippery concrete after they’d just watered the plants.

After the garden centre came the fruit and veggie market. Firstly, you can’t hold a bulging basket of fruit & veg and pull your dress down at the same time as you weave between screaming children. Secondly, platform boots with stiletto heels won’t save your toes when you get run over by a guy wildly wielding a trolley of onion bags.

Then came the supermarket. Walking up and down the aisles with the teeny-tiny steps I needed to take totally buggered me. Then my stilettos kept sinking into the lawn as I tried to carry the shopping bags inside. It was stinking hot and by the time everything was unloaded and packed away, I just wanted to get naked.

Maybe that was Master’s plan all along.

I’ma gonna git domestic on yer asses

Master and I have been busy the past few days doing a couple of projects. He’s building me a St. Andrew’s cross:

After this photo was taken he added some hinges, a back brace, some eyelets and did some recessing and other wood-working shit that I don’t know the name of and now it’s mostly complete except he mumbled something about needing to do some routering.

Apparently after completely it though, Master decided that he wasn’t overly happy with the end result and has proclaimed it a ‘prototype’. Apparently he wants something more ‘robust’. Why he needs something more ‘robust’ and the implications for me, are things that are likely to keep me awake for the next couple of nights.

While Master has been making his cross, I’ve been busily making babies!

Propagating seeds in egg cartons:

I’m seriously getting into this whole gardening thing!

Do you think I have too many packets of seeds? Lol.

The herbs and lettuces I planted a few weeks ago have been simply roaring along.  Coriander anyone? 

I’ve also got lemon basil, sage, flat leaf parsley, curly leaf parsley and chives.

If lettuce is more your thing, how about some gourmet or cos lettuce?

The other night I actually started harvesting some of my lettuce babies and had them in a salad. I felt a bit guilty, but alongside the chicken roasted in the turbo oven, they were scrummy!

Now, normally I’m not the gardening-type. Previously, the only time I ever ‘gardened’ is when the weeds were so thick that the poodle pup couldn’t find a space clear enough to lift his leg. But I’m really getting into this growing-things-to-eat deal. Maybe it speaks to my love of frugality – although I think we’ve spent more on seeds, potting mix, fertilizer, insecticide and other assorted goodies than we would spend on actually buying vegetables in a six month period, but hey, at least it’s a wholesome hobby and keeps me away from playing WoW!

Yesterday I actually spent FIVE HOURS clearing a patch in the garden so I could replant my lettuces as they were getting too big for the pots. I’ve also decided to clear a patch on the other side of the house to plant my corn and onions and some of the tomatoes. I can’t wait until I can harvest some of these goodies!!

Somebody kill me now before I get too damn domestic and start talking about knitting!

I’ve lost the ouchie gene

Remember the other day how I was saying that I’m not as ‘into’ the whole bdsm thing as I used to be? Well, I’ve had a bit more of a think about it and I’ve come to the conclusion that there is one facet of it that I’m a whole lot not as into as I used to be – the pain thing.

I’ve never been one to actively seek out pain, but I think I used to definitely tolerate it a lot better than I do now. In fact, my tolerance for pain now is right around the nada, niente, no-way-jose mark. I just don’t want it in any way shape or form. I don’t even find the thought of it slightly titillating or norti. I just really, really, really with every fibre of my being do not want to have to feel anything that is ouchie.

Which is a wee bit of a problem for a slave in a bdsm relationship, don’t cha think?

I tend to do a lot of my thinking at really bizarre times. Sometimes it’s on the toilet or when I’m munching on my vegemite toast, but today’s great thought came when I was walking to the bus station after just getting off the train. Somewhere between the up escalator and the ticket gate, the thought struck me that the feeling I have towards things ouchie these days is none other than…fear.

It’s a deep-seated, stomach-churning, I-do-not-want-to-be-there feeling that either (a) makes me want to vomit or (b) makes me want to cry. Even when something is not really that ouchie, the thought of it being even slightly ouchie is enough to set me off. And I don’t think it even has to be ouchie to induce those feelings, even just ‘uncomfortable’ is enough to set me off.

That’s why I don’t want to be beaten, don’t want to insert anything up my bum and I haven’t even given bondage a second thought – which is soooooo not like me. Any time Master even gets the faintest hint of a glint in his eye that he wants to do something, I can’t get away fast enough. I just want to be as far away as possible from anything that is going to cause me anything but neutrality or pleasure.

If he wants kisses or cuddles or even relaxation therapy (when my tmj cooperates) that is a.o.k. Ravishings are fine. As are banter sessions. I also don’t have any sort of issue with Master himself; I still love spending time with him and he does make me very happy, but when he wants to do ouchie stuff, he might as well be offering to lick me from head to toe.

I used to be the sort of person who got some sort of twisted pleasure from the struggle of being forced to endure pain. There were many times that I even asked for more ouchies, having thought that Master hadn’t given me ‘enough’. While I never felt pain as anything but pain, I got some sort of satisfaction out of it that helped my tolerance.

Now? I got nothing but fear and loathing.

The last time I felt like this was that morning I was on the bus going to that really horrible government call centre job I was doing last year when I suddenly decided that I just couldn’t do it anymore and I once I arrived at the office I quit. I had just reached that point where it was totally beyond my tolerance level, like over the last 6 months I’d somehow filled up my allowable quota for shittiness and now that I was full I could take no more. There was nothing for me to do then but quit that job. I could not, physically and mentally, stand another day there.

Comparing my feelings towards pain to that shitty, shitty job is probably not the best thing though. I’m not saying that I’m ready to quit slavery or that my feelings towards Master have changed in any way. I just don’t want to do the pain thing any more.

I don’t.

I can’t.

I’ve reached that point where my mind is just saying, “No”.

And for some reason I’m scared.

Yeah.

This is one of those times when being a slave sucks.

 

I’m famous

Apparently when I arrived at the airport on Monday night, a local radio announcer witnessed my arrival and on the radio the next morning decided to talk about the bizarro chick in the what-the-fuck-is-that? outfit walking through the domestic airport. Apparently they were debating the reasons why I was wearing what I was and why some ‘guy’ was furiously taking photos. After some debate, they couldn’t decide on a reason and asked the ‘bizarro chick’ to call in and satiate their curiousity if she was listening.

At the time, Master and I were listening to the radio as he took me to the train station so I could get to work. Unfortunately, we were listening to 94.5 instead of 92.9 *smacks head*. Wtf were we doing listening to the other station??

Could you imagine what the domly one would of done if we’d be driving along and suddenly their conversation turned to me? I shudder to think. I also shuddered when I came home today and found Master about to send an email to the station saying that he had details and they should call him for information. Fortunately he thought better of it and the email was summarily deleted.

So if we weren’t listening, how did I find out about it?

Master posted some of the slut cop pics to Fetlife and a friend commented that they already knew about the outfit before they saw the pics. I was curious as to how they knew as I’d not told or shown anyone my outfit except my 86 year old grandmother who was highly amused by it. It was then that the story about the radio came out.

Lol. I know I should probably be horrified or something, but all I can think of is how funny it is.

So if there are any Perthites out there who heard the Em & Sam Mac brekky show on Tuesday and heard them discuss yours truly give me details! Please?

Constable kitten

When Master came to the airport to pick me up, this is what he found:

I casually strolled off the plane clutching my pillow and dressed up in Master’s surprise gift. I swear that 30 or so minutes between me standing up out of my seat ready to exit the plane and Master and I collecting my luggage to exit the airport were the longest of my short life.

Everyone…and I mean everyone was staring at me.

Master had given me instructions to wear something that was ‘easily removeable’ and slutty. When I stumbled across this little beauty of an outfit in my two-bit backwater hometown I thought it was perfect. So not only did I find perfect bread and cheesecake there, but I also found the best slutwear. Apparently country-folk still like things a bit kinky in the bedroom.

When we got home I gave Master the full effect.

Then I decided to show Master my accessories that I’d packed in my checked luggage because I didn’t want to be escorted off the plane as a terrorist. This required opening my bag that was so heavy I nearly gave myself a hernia getting it to the airport. 

The poodle pup was very eager to see what I had too.

A girl’s just not safe these days without her gun, baton and handcuffs. And they all work too! Lol.

Did you notice that I also had thumbcuffs on my stockings? They work too! Although I’m not sure what I’m going to do with 4 pairs of thumbcuffs…

There’s nothing like a bit of baton to go with your booty.

And here’s an obligatory shot of cop beaver to make up for the lack of photos while I was away.

I wasn’t actually wearing the outfit when I got on the plane. I’ve read enough newspaper stories about people getting kicked off planes for wearing t-shirts with offensive slogans, let alone for being dressed up as slut cop. Instead, I took everything I needed in my hand luggage and got changed near the end of the movie. I was in the toilet a while as I changed and put on my make-up and there were 3 or 4 people lined up waiting for me to get the hell out of the cubicle. I did the walk of shame back to my seat through half a plane full of people and sat quietly for the next hour and a half adjusting my garter straps.

After we touched down, everyone stood up to get their luggage and the cabin was ablaze with lights so, of course, the whispers started.  I just stood there waiting for the exodus to begin, tugging at my skirt wishing it was a bit longer because I was totally naked and hairless underneath.

Needless to say, Master was quite happy to see me. When he saw me walking towards him, he had the funniest look on his face. If I didn’t know him better I would say he was almost shocked – not shocked by what I was wearing, but shocked by the fact that I actually wore it. But he was pleased and that’s all that really mattered.

It was a good homecoming for both of us.

Winding down

My ‘holiday’ is fast coming to a close and in typical why-the-fuck-didn’t-I-discover-this-earlier? fashion, with two days to go, I stumbled across the most AMAZING organic sourdough bakery and THE cheesecake that I have been searching for for the last…ummm…32 years.

The bread was chewy, dense and baked to perfection in their brick hearth. It was filled with the most divine combination of roasted pumpkin, fetta, olive tapenade and rocket and I was having little forgasms (food orgasms) on the suspiciously-IKEA-looking trendy furniture in the cafe the whole time I was munching away as I sipped my cappuccino made with fair-trade coffee and served with art on top and a delicate antique silver spoon on the side. The cheesecake was a german-style baked cheesecake with a smattering of sultanas in it. It had a hint of lemon, a rich, dense flavour of real cheese and was OMG perfection.

So it’s now official. A two-bit backwater town in the middle of nowhere, kicks the ass off a metropolitan capital city thirty times the size. I’m wondering if this revelation has contributed to my recent thoughts that perhaps my hometown is not so bad after all. If I keep thinking like this, I’ll seriously have to drag myself back here in the dead of winter when everything is dead and frozen just to shake myself out of this un-natural state of, dare I say it, ’liking’ it.

I had dinner with my sister last night and after her husband disappeared for night shift we had one of those five-hour conversations about what we’ve fucked up in our lives and what we want now. She’s not a happy camper and I’m hoping that somehow talking about it helped her in some way. I pointed out the fact to her that people are constantly evolving and changing and it’s un-natural to stay wanting the same things they did several years ago- let alone seventeen years ago. I really do feel that relationships have a certain expiration date on them and like a dairy product past its use-by-date, if something is not done when that date rolls around, the relationship starts to fester and smell.

It got me thinking about my relationship and what I want. I’m not the same person I was three years ago and what I want now is quite different. Coming out of a failed relationship and being full of self-doubt and confidence issues, back then I wanted something that was purely non-emotional and would allow me to experience what I felt I had originally missed out on i.e. the ‘real’ slave experience full of kinky ouchie stuff. Three years on I’m realising that there really is no ‘real’ slave experience to be had and having experienced a reasonable gamut of bdsm stuff, I’m not as into it as I once was. I’m quite content to have the 99% normal life with 1% of spice to add some flavour.

I’m thinking that being a ’slave’ in name only is enough for me and that I don’t need the assorted pain, play and accoutrements that go along with being a slave. I’m content with my connection with Master as a person and the mutual bond we share. I enjoy him as a partner on a multitude of levels that don’t involve anything even remotely connected to bdsm and by far, the biggest thing that speaks to me about how I’ve changed is the fact that I don’t mind when we don’t play. I don’t get angsty and I don’t worry any more. In fact, the only thing that stresses me about it now is not having anything juicy to write in my blog because I know it’s what a lot of people come here to read.

I see the stats drop when there are no pics or smutty posts and I really do feel a pressure to ‘perform’. It’s almost like I can feel the expectations around me and I guess having the word ’slavegirl’ in the title of your blog brings with it a belief that there will be a certain level of slavegirl-related stuff in it; I suppose it really is a bit mis-leading when there’s more food porn than porn porn within its pages. I even started this god-damn post talking about bread and cheescake…lol. What does that say about me???

I don’t think coming home and being ‘away’ from my slavery has exacerbated my feelings. I’ve been having a waning in my interest in things bdsm-ish for quite a while and I really haven’t said anything because Master’s level of interest has been pretty much on par with mine. For some reason though, while I’ve been away Master has decided that when I go back I need retraining and things need to be ramped up with a lot more play and rules being imposed. He’s been busily buying toys and books and has also started constructing a St. Andrew’s cross that he’d been talking about making for quite some time, but never had.

To be honest, I don’t know whether Master is actually thinking that he’d like to do more or whether he’s simply feeling that we should be doing more because we’re “Master & slave”. I also don’t know whether my absence has made his heart grow fonder or his nether regions get hotter, but this past week he’s been more passionate about things bdsm than I have seen him been for a long, long time. It’s great to see him motivated and interested in things because he’s been quite down with his work situation and everything of late, but while he’s charged up and raring to go, I’m ready to curl up and take a nap.

I’ve managed to buy Master something that I’m sure he’ll enjoy when I go back, but as far as anything else goes, this little wind up toy is running out of oomph. Maybe I’m ready just to go under my own steam.

Baggage

I spent most of today digging through the boxes of my stuff that I have littered around my grandmother’s house. It’s a bit like an emotional graveyard with boxes of things representing every single facet of my life; from piles of notes I passed to friends in high school to pamphlets and memorabilia from Japan. There were even a couple of pages of notes from a discussion I’d had with my first owner about reinforcing the rules when our relationship had floundered at one time or another and a card he had given me for ‘Slaventine Day’ (Valentine’s day). It might sound like I’m a bit of a hoarder, but actually I only keep things that build a story of where I’ve been and what I’ve done because the reality is that I have a terrible memory and without things to jog it, I forget things so completely that they may as well have not existed. 

I also found my photo albums as I had been wanting to take them back to Perth with me. I flicked through the pages chronicling my 10 years in Japan (endless photos of drinking and karaoke), some random pics of my Year 10 & Year 12 school formals (ahh..early 90’s hairstyles!) and my wedding. My grandmother even had the programme, menu and schedule of my wedding as well as fifty million photos of me in the big white dress, so looking back over everything was quite a lengthy and emotional trip down memory lane.

Five hours, three bags of rubbish, a huge box of clothes for the good sammies and several “OMG, I can’t believe I’ve still got this!” exclamations later, I finished rifling through my emotional baggage, organized what I wanted to keep in one big box that is to stay at my grandmother’s, and made a couple of small piles of things to take back with me. It felt good to have worked through it all.

Today I also had lunch and dinner with my sister. Lunch was an emotional out-pouring over subway 6-inches about the tatters of her marriage and her fears for the future of her kids, while dinner was a more emotionally-together chat about work and the Twilight movie over turkey steaks and vegetables. We bonded over low-fat, low-cal diets and she announced that she thinks it’s time she came to Perth for a visit and a break from everything.

I mentioned the possibility of her impending visit to Master when I spoke to him a little while ago and his response was truly priceless:

“But I’m going to have to wear pants!”

Don’t you just love men-folk?

Yesterday I caught up with my one remaining friend from high school that I’ve known for 18 years and our five hours of conversation pretty much went like this: twilight movie, true blood, babies, babies, babies, twilight book series, babies, babies, true blood books, babies, babies, babies, babies, babies. I understand that everyone around me is in the prime reproductive age group, but seriously, there are only so many birthing experience stories and toilet training episodes I can take. Considering I haven’t seen or read any part of the twilight series, our conversation topics were stretched to the max, so thank god for true blood.

After my afternoon spent with my friend, the evening was spent with my mother where there was another emotional out-pouring about her recent break-up with her partner of 10 plus years and her inability to orgasm. It was weird, but there I was discussing in great detail what I did to get off and how the thickness of the tissue around my clit called for some pretty heavy-duty equipment and careful placement of said equipment. She said she was thinking about getting herself a dildo and I suggested that if she was built like me, a vibrator would be in order. She then asked what the difference between a vibrator and a dildo was….It was cute.

We then got onto the topic of my ex-hubby and she burst into tears saying how sorry she felt for him after what I did. My grandmother coincidentally has also done the same thing and consistently gets all teary whenever my ex’s name is mentioned. Guilt trip anyone?

Needless to say, all this emotional stuff has pushed my slavery into a tiny little corner in the back of my brain somewhere. Master has given me an instruction to wear something ‘easy to remove’ when I go home on Monday and he has been making noises about snapping my leash on inside the airport when I get off the plane. I think he’s also planning some serious ’slave re-education’ as I’ve gone about as feral as one can go i.e. I’ve been too caught up in everything around me to give him the attention he deserves.

I think I need a holiday after my holiday.

 

Small town slavegirl

Everything moves slowly in the country except the time I spend here for some reason. Cars seem to crawl along, conversations drag out for several hours, but it seems like I’ve just arrived and already three days have passed.

The flight over was OMG tiring. Master dropped me off at the airport and as I’d already checked in on-line, I breezed through the luggage drop-off in about 2 minutes and headed for security where I held the line up as I unloaded my laptop from my bag and then took my boots and coat off. I then had the standard “You’ll need to take your necklace off” comment from the security dude to which I gave my standard answer of “It doesn’t come off” and then I strolled through the metal detector without it making a peep.

The flight was full without even one seat to spare and after boarding on-time, we spent 30mins sitting on the tarmac while they loaded on luggage. At some time past midnight ‘dinner’ was served and every hour or so the non-English speaking dude sitting next to me had the lovely habit of digging his elbows into my side as he wanted me to move so he could go to the toilet.

I reached Sydney airport at oh-my-god o’clock and headed straight for the Starbucks cafe I knew was in the other terminal for a grande hit of delicious caffeine, only to arrive and find it was GONE!! I dont’ think I’ve been more devastated since I discovered that the USA did actually go to the moon (personally, I find the whole conspiracy theory a lot more satisfying…)

Then it was two hours to kill before boarding another tiny propeller plane and praying fervently to god that we’d make it (have I mentioned I don’t like flying?) But I made it and 12 hrs after I’d left home in Perth, I finally arrived.

It had been 18mths since I’ve last seen my family and everyone looked a bit greyer. My 86 year-old grandmother was looking especially fragile and it’s quite upsetting to see her getting weaker and weaker every time.

I live my life generally in a bubble over on the other side of Australia. I’m not the sort of person to call my family every week and I only get little snippets of information now and then that don’t really impact on me deeply. Yes, I hear when someone has been sick or someone has moved house or something major like that, but I’m not close enough to have an emotional reaction. I get the information and file it away somewhere, but it’s not until I’m physically presented with the reality that I actually feel anything.

 My life as a slave is so very far removed from the realities of my life as a sister, daughter, grand-daughter, aunt, niece and cousin that it is a shock to the system when I’m thrust back into that life. I think that’s why I get so very,very tired when I come home. It’s like a year’s worth of emotional reactions suddenly hit me and I’m overwhelmed. 

But what’s also disturbing is how easily I can slot back into those roles after being so far removed from them and living as nothing more than a slut, whore and bitch. One minute I’m parading around the house naked in boots and chains and the next minute I’m the responsible adult wiping snot off kiddies’ noses and ensuring everyone has their hat. It’s quite mind-blowing.

I’ve already had a visit from my father, whom I try to avoid like the plague, and hopefully now he won’t bother me again. For some reason, people keep telling him when I’m coming home and if they didn’t I’d just slip in and out of town and he’d be none the wiser. I’m hoping he leaves me alone now because  seriously, I don’t think I could listen to another minute of his prattle and feign interest. It’s really torture, in fact, I think I’d prefer to be licked than to have to spend time with him.

So that’s about where I am at the moment.  On a good note, the whole change of scenery has seemed to curb my binge tendencies. I’m not actually even hungry and normally I’m ravenous all the time, and the only thing I’ve purchased is a pair of thongs (no, not the underwear kind, the shoe kind. In fact, I think thongs as underwear are illegal in this part of the country…lol.)

I’ve got a few lunches and dinner dates lined up for the days ahead and I’m sure my holiday will be over before I know it. While family is nice and I love them to pieces, I don’t think I could stand the emotional impact for extended periods of time.

I think I need the simple comfort of my slavery.

I’m off

From tonight I’m heading home to spend some time with my family so posts will be far and few between over the next week and a half or so. My hometown is some far-off place in the mountains on the other side of Australia where country music is king and internet is scarce. At least one of my new outfits included a boot-scootin-hoe-down type of outfit so I’m going to fit right in.

Speaking of far-flung places, Master and I watched the movie ‘New in Town’ on the weekend and it was set in the dead of winter in some tiny place in rural Minnesota. So to all you Minnesotans out there, do all people have a funny accent, have surnames that sound like Schllooomerhaussen and is the first day of ice fishing really a state holiday? Inquiring minds want to know.

And if the answer to all my questions is ‘yes’, I’ll start to feel slightly better about my rural hometown simply because it doesn’t get buried in 12 feet of snow.

You’ll have to amuse yourselves in my absence so make sure there’s lots of juicy stuff for me to read when I get back, ‘k?