Wrestling a bitch into submission

It was a wonderful warm afternoon.  I had that irrepressible sense of giddiness that always accompanies the arrival home from my last day off work before a nice long vacation.  When Master told me to get my walking shoes on I welcomed the idea of stretching out my legs. 

But he did not take us on any of our known and sweetly familiar routes.  He was in the mood for a bit of adventure.  So I found myself wandering in unfamiliar environs.  The trail he chose narrowed from a wide sidewalk to a narrow dirt path winding through blackberry thickets.  Sadly, I am a creature of habit… and when I do something new I plan it out, research it exhaustively.  To passively follow along, not knowing where the trail may lead, to explore??? It triggers all my insecurities and control issues.  I was questioning, suggesting, resisting… but to my credit, I followed along, legs and body obeying even if the mind and mouth weren’t.

Eventually the trail widened and reentered into more cultivated environs.  We found a place where strange metal towers, the kind that high voltage wires hang from were built, just standing, without the wires… perhaps for trainees to practice upon.  They stood there in a clearing, tall, angular, hard but in some ways airy, weightless and full of possibilities.  To be tied, suspended dozens of feet above the ground… spot lights and spectators… or left alone in the darkness… Of course Master always practical and pragmatic, said there is in all likelihood security cameras and grouchy security guards… oh, well… poof goes the fantasy.

We eventually found our way back to the car and drove home.  On the way I did a mental inventory of the contents of the refrigerator, seeking out inspiration in the odds and ends in the vegetable drawer.  Celery, there is always celery, and bell peppers and mushrooms… half a bunch of parsley that should be used soon or it will just end up in the compost.  Oh… and a nice bit of broccoli.  And a couple cups of left over rice.  Yes… that is it… I will sauté the veggies and mix in the rice… I have done that before.  But I have never added broccoli… that sounded like a new touch that I wanted to try but the recipe would require it to be diced… not broken into florets.  I wondered if Master would object.  He grouches at the oddest times.  The last time I tried to “chop up” broccoli, he ranted for nearly twenty minutes about me somehow abusing vegetables.

I think I rolled my eyes at the memory and shot him a “look”.  And he was instantly all over me.  “WHAT???” 

“nothing”… small voice, averted eyes.  I mean how can you explain that it was a moment of irritation caused by the anticipation of some possible future unreasonable rigidity on his part???

“…just thinking about dinner.” 

But the giddiness, the leftovers of the disorientation from being taken places I was not comfortable in and the strange imagined dissatisfaction I was anticipating all mixed together and I was tense, reactive… already busy with assembling the ingredients and tools… so when he reached for me, I shrank back and dodged away.

That resistance… that bit of fight… it always is like gasoline on a fire.  He leapt.  He grabbed.  And my nebulous mood ignited into full blown rebellion.  I struggled to escape.  I raged.  “Don’t bother me!  I am cooking!  You want to eat????”

And perfectly predictably… he went on full attack and the harder he tried to wrestle me into submission… the more I fought and just as I was about to gain some advantage, he sank his teeth into my ear… not the lobe but the top, gristley part… yark… but I was instantly still, perfectly still, it hurt and he hissed through his clenched teeth something about me being difficult and somehow those words and the warm heavy breath behind them tickled.  Tickled worse than anything ever before in my life… and… I… could… not… move.  I trembled.  I laughed, nervous, panicked pent up giggles that only made it hurt and tickle worse and worse and worse.  I screamed and then I begged. 

“I am sorry.”

“I will be good.”

“I will never do it again.”

“Pulllleasssse stop, I will do anything…!!!!!”

“Please, please, pleeeeeaaaaaasssssse…. Maaaasssster!!!!”

When he finally relented and let me go I sank to the floor.

He stared down at me and grinned a slow satisfied grin.  He commented to me, to himself, to the universe in general, “That works good.  I will have to remember that.”

And from somewhere in the squirrely depths of my brain a random memory about the way to wrestle a pig into submission is to leap upon them and bite them in the ear bubbled to the surface.  I don't know how good it would work for a pig, but it seemed to work for me.

The rice turned out delicious… the broccoli (chopped !) was a perfect addition. 

Not Fair

Sometimes it is just not fair.  I shouldn't be surprised, I know that there is no promise of fair, if anything quite the opposite.  But sometimes it still sneaks up on me and bites me in the butt.

I had already talked with him about this thing, in my eyes had gotten permission to do this.

I had talked with him about how I was just not going to eat the same food as him, that eating the meat and potatoes and all the fixins was making it easier and easier to slip away from my low cholesterol diet.  

way back machine...

About two years ago I got the heads up from my doctor that my cholesterol was just a bit high, any higher and we will need to talk about medication.  That was a bitch, I wasn't eating a lot of high cholesterol type food, I don't like eggs, meat, cheese all that much.  But I got ruthless and cut it ALL out.  Nada... day after day, week after week of 0 mg cholesterol and other forms of saturated fat.  I upped the amount of good fat, olive oils and seed oils.  I also started exercising... (in all honesty, the exercising was Master's idea... I was getting pretty crazy and he just dragged me out of the house one day and forced me to march for about ten miles in the hot sun.  It did wonders for my attitude and he instituted a pretty rigorous walking schedule.  It was good for us... time to talk, a way for him to exert control.)

All these changes had an unexpected result... the pounds just slipped away, five, ten, twenty, thirty pounds... it was effortless, the pants got baggier and baggier, Master made many very lecherous and appreciative comments about the "new" shape.  I threw out all the fat clothes, bought a whole new sexier wardrobe.  More lechery from Master... mmm... very reinforcing.   

Cut to to the present...

The 0 mg cholesterol thing slowly found excuses for a treat here, a snack there, a birthday, a holiday, a new set of expectations to menu plan and cook for Master every day... laziness crept in... and greed.  That pot roast can't hurt, I will eat just a small helping... cookies??? Well, it is Christmas.  Coworkers that find it not all that difficult to talk me into that piece of cheese cake.

The walking went from every day to every other day to a few times a week and now... now it's a few times a month.  We blame the weather and I have to admit that here in the Pacific northwest it has been pissing down rain for what seems like a year.

Those 35 pounds gone have started to creep back.  That new wardrobe was tight before, now it is getting darned uncomfortable. 

So now... now before things totally get out of control, I trying to get back to that original mindset.  No red meat, fat free dairy only, more fiber, more beans and vegies and fruit and whole grains... not some, no good excuses... nope... nada... it is like being a vegetarian... you don't say you are a vegetarian and then eat a steak on your birthday because it is a "special day".

So there is was, a re-commitment to eating different, being healthier and hopefully skinnier... and yet maintain my obedience and devotion to my Master who wants...  he requires meat, preferably cow meat or pig meat.  So I had talked to him about cooking his dinner but not eating the same food and he listened and said okay... he even questioned me about my weight gain and has started taking a more active role again in taking me for walks.  We have been driving to Malls... meh... not my favorite type of walk but it was raining so hard last night that we got soaked just walking across the parking lot.

Yesterday, for dinner I had planned for him a pork chop with rice and salad.  For me, steamed winter vegetables and a slice of fat free bread spread with garlic humus.  I love cooked cabbage.  It was yummy.  But I screwed up.  It seemed like a good idea if I was cooking two dinners, it would be easier to cook mine first and his when he wanted it... Master usually wants a late dinner, around 7:30... I usually am starving around 5:00... separate meals at separate times.  If I eat earlier, I am more likely to stick to regimen.  If I eat earlier, I would be 100% available to serve Master... I could even sit at his feet as he eats...   genius... or so I thought... until he walked in after work and saw the left overs from my yummy steamed vegetables... and roared...

 

"Why did you cook this now?!!!???"

"But... you said... I told you... we talked..."

Something inarticulate, loud and intended to shut me the fuck up.

So I shut up. And got all sorry for myself and weepy.

Not fair... not fair at all.  But apparently, he would have eaten the steamed vegetables too.  And apparently I was supposed to have known that.  So I got some very clear messages.  He likes steamed vegetables.  I may eat what I want, but do not assume that he is not going to want some of it too (even if he has already told me what he wanted for dinner).  I am required to eat at the same time as he is... even if I am hungry or it is late.  "You will not starve to death."

 

I am a smart ass.

So it was a busy, busy day at work. I started out filling in for a coworker that had to go to a training. I raced through her job and headed for my own, never once slowing down all day long. In the middle of my lunch the walkie-talkies all started buzzing with a apb about a kid that ran from staff and I had to walk away from my nice warm chili and search the entire building and then the grounds in driving ice cold rain. Sweet... we never found him, but he was one that knows how to walk home. Crazy kids, it was nasty wet outside.

Then when it was finally over, the last bus driving away in the fading gray day and I sat down and took a long deep breath, my boss walked in and said, "Don't get comfortable. We have a bus coming back." Groannnnnn.....

The kid was all, "I didn't do anything." And we were all... "Whatever... Now we have to figure out how to get you home." When one of the options being tossed in the air was wait for his dad to come get him in two hours he let out a deep exasperated groannnnnnn... and I laughed, "You know that was the exact same sound I made when I heard your bus was coming back."

I ended up driving him home in the school van. Typical, I am the only staff person that has kept their driving credentials current, so I am the go to person to schlep the little monsters home when they can't follow the bus rules.

***

Tomorrow is the work Christmas party and Master has given me permission to be home late. When I got home, I threw together a quick recipe of coconut cookies. On impulse I chopped up some candied ginger and dumped that in with the coconut. Master is not a big fan of ginger so I thought it would be fun to try something different on my coworkers.

When Master came home he headed for the cookies and I warned him, "Those have ginger in them."

He gave me a puzzled look. I shrugged and said, "Yes, I am cheating on you. I have started baking for someone else." As I got down on my knees for our ritual Master is home greeting. Suffice to say, the normal few happy to see you swats were replaced with a nearly unbearable flurry of blows with a handy spatula. I was soon squealing, "They are for work, the Christmas party. Please, ouch, I will make you cookies, ouch, ahhh..."

He finally stopped and after a humiliating order to pull down my pants he touched up the glow here and there and finally stopped. I knelt there, exposed and asked, "Do you want cookies?"

"No."

"Then why did you spank me so hard?"

"Because you were being a smart ass."

I could not help but protest that the "cheating" statement was a joke, that I was not being a smart ass. I was trying to be funny...



...and got another series of swats. I ended up howling, "Yes, I AM a smart ass, I AM a smart ass, I AM a smart ass!!"


He ate a cookie and said they were perfect, not too gingery. I ate one bite and they are double yummy.



I am a smart ass... or at least my ass smarts.

Good Gravy

It had been a lazy, slow, uninspired weekend and one of the results was that I did not write a menu, did not buy all the fixins for making any kind of planned meals. Yes, there was the usual steaks and pork chops in the freezer, the proverbial bag of taters in the cupboard, we weren't gonna starve, but without a battle plan, the idea of making dinner gets increasingly anxiety provoking as I am driving home.

So on Monday, it had been another cold, windy, wet and dark day and I needed something warm, filling and comforting and I decided I wanted meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. So I swung by the local Safeway to grab the few things I did not have. Primarily the meat and the gravy mix. Now, I am normally not the kind of person to use premade anything, but meatloaf is a tricky thing. There ain't no drippins, nothing to use to make the tasty base of gravy so I tend grab a package of Lipton beef and onion soup and use that with some beef broth to make gravy.

But, typical for any last minute plan and very typical for my dysfunctional relationship with the local Safeway... the place on the shelf that holds the Lipton soup was empty, zip, blank, nada... shit. Right next, just two steps down I see shiny jars of "GRAVY". I glare at them, I can already hear Master's criticism of many of my attempts at homemade gravy. And the seductive, (lazy) voice in my head is whispering... "Somebody made this gravy and thought it was sooo good they bottled it and are trying to sell it. How bad can it be?" I should have not listened to that little voice.

The meatloaf was good, the mashed taters were awesome... the gravy was horrid. Master bitched me out... as usual. I get stubborn. I remember all the times my homemade gravy got analyzed and found lacking (conveniently 'forgetting' the dozens of times he mmm'd and snarfed up the good gravy). I pout and whine that he never likes my gravy anyway so I might as well just buy the crappy kind. (This is totally inaccurate. I have a bad habit of forgetting compliments and carefully archiving away each and every criticism.) He got really mad. And I got snarky.

We spent the evening giving each other the piss eye. All over gravy.

In the end he made me come into the kitchen and "helped" me clean up. (Translate help into micromanage and pinch and spank and harp and bitch). I remember one time grabbing two clean plastic butter tubs and trying to stuff them under my bra. I mean I was needing some protective equipment. It didn't help much. But by the time we were done, we were both laughing. I mean it was just gravy after all.

Release the Squirrels

Somehow, the words just flow so much better in the early mornings, fueled by that miraculous first cup of coffee, my mind isn't so much smarter or swifter as focused. All distractions and complications have not yet awoken and I can sit with my computer and it just takes off... a wild, ride... a flood of images in my mind. I see it first and once it is there in my brain, I describe it... I tell it to you.

This morning was one of those mornings, where I could see it sooo clearly. The bedraggled form of my heroine sprawled across the comatose king... And the words were flying from my finger tips onto the screen and I kept eying the little clock in the corner... the deadline for me to put it down and get ready for work ticking closer and closer.

I love the way it feels when I write, the pictures in my head, the words bringing it to life, the click and hum of my finger tips on the keys... It is addictive and so hard to stop. As the last minute fades away, I slam the top of my keyboard down, almost manic with caffeine and creativity. I lunge up from the couch propelled by the knowledge that I have left too many things to the last minute.

I am talking to myself (hey, if you can't talk to yourself, who can you talk to). I ask the air... "I wonder if you can call in "creative"? And laugh at my own joke. I verbally go over the list of things I need to do and what I need to take to work and what I think I want for lunch... jibber jabbering to myself a mile a minute.

And Master calls from the bathroom, "RELEASE THE SQUIRRELS!!!!!"

He is used to this, all stillness and focus nothing but the rattle of fingernails on keys, then boom... yammer yammer blah blah blah... giggle... yammer some more. He is very amused by it. So there it is... "RELEASE THE SQUIRRELS!"

I wonder why when I get home I am drained... I cannot see the pictures so clearly in my head... can't find the words to describe them. Maybe it was the hours spent wiping butts, holding sticky hands, explaining to people the best way to get a nonverbal autistic kid from point A to point B without him imploding or worse exploding. When to push, when not to. It is a delicate dance. I love my job, but it does take a lot out of me.

And now I must gather the last shred of my energy and go make the dinner... Ling Cod fillets grilled outside with Mojo Sauce, grilled corn on the cob, pearl barley salad... maybe cantaloupe for dessert. Yum... just saying it has my creative juices flowing again... maybe I will write something after dinner.