Spanking Good Time

"Come on, spank me! You know you want to!" This was said to me by a very young man at the 20 500 East Bar last night. The guy had obviously had a lot to drink...but then again, so did my friends and I. So what did I do? I spanked him.

He then proffered his buttocks to every woman at the table, but was denied by the rest. So, he came back to me, and I obliged him once, twice, three times again. Before I knew it, his friend came over and begged for a spanking. For some reason, it was different with this guy...and so I did not. It turned out my instincts were correct; the guy was married, and his wife was no where to be seen. He told one of the women at the table that it was okay...his wife was into it and wouldn't mind. Despite his best efforts to sway at least one of us to give him a spanking, we all denied him service and he went on his merry way.

Shortly after Married Guy With A Yen For A Spanking trotted back to his loud, drunk friends, the real entertainment began. The DJ was given his leave, and in his place was Chris, a one-man band. He started off with some disco, and we were soon all on the floor.

While we were grooving, the young man who had received a spanking, came up to me and said "This is for you!" He danced in front of me, and then he did the splits. Within seconds, he was back on his feet, beer still in his hand, and he danced away with a great big smile on his face.

Not to be outdone, the Married Guy With A Yen For Spanking danced over to the floor. He got another friend to join him, and they started a line dance. He shimmied, he shook, and a line of people joined up right behind him. When dared to do the splits, he did...he split off the dance floor and his merry band of drunkards joined him back at the table.

For the rest of the evening, we danced to the one-man band's music. Once in a while, one of the drunken young men would join us and beg for a spanking. When told a spanking would be theirs if they could replicate the splits move of their friend, they would sheepishly leave the dance floor. When we left, they were still there...drinking beer, making jokes, and toasting their friend, the spankee.

Betrayed

Tonight's plan was to stop by Todd's house to pick up a video, and then head home. When I pulled up in front of the house, I knew instantly something was wrong. The window of my old office had something in the window...I knew someone had been in it, but wasn't prepared for what was going to hit me when I walked through the door.

Todd greeted me at the door, and he said "I have a note here for you." I said "What does the note say? That you love me?" He said "Well, it does say that, but it's mostly an apology."

An apology? For what?

It turns out that he let Danielle have free reign in the space that used to be my office. She disconnected the VCR, unhooked the TV, and in other words, wreaked havoc in the space that was once mine.

Todd PROMISED me he would let me know before he ever let Danielle in there. He said if worse came to worse (scheduling wise) he would at least give me a week's notice, so I could remove whatever I didn't want a stranger to rifle through.

He did not.

Instead, some woman I don't even know went through EVERYTHING that was mine that was still left at the house. And, she wasn't even careful with any of it. My stuff is piled all over the room...books thrown on the bed, heaven knows what stuffed into garbage bags, and most of my furniture gone.

Words can't even begin to describe the amount of anger I feel. Anger that my stuff was just thrown around, as if it didn't matter. Anger that Todd didn't follow through on his promise. Anger at Danielle for being so careless with my things.

When I expressed my surprise and anger, Todd said "Well, it's been almost a year." And in fairness, it has. However, the times I have expressed wanting to come over to pack things up, he has either said he has had plans, or didn't want me there that particular weekend, or had seduced me away from packing to spend time with him instead.

Even in the last couple of weeks, I've expressed an interest in packing up. However, he has things going on, and didn't really want me there. So, this sudden desire to expunge me from his home has come as quite a surprise.

In my life, Todd was the one person I felt as if I could trust to stick to his word. Now that he hasn't, I feel as I can't trust anyone. I'm lost and angry and...and I guess a little depressed.

I cried all the way home, and cried some more at home. I hate that Danielle went through my things. I hated seeing everything piled and tossed around so carelessly. But most of all, I am most disappointed in Todd and his carelessness with his promise to me.

This will take a long time to recover from.

Steamed

I have a "friend" whom I meet periodically for a "latte." She has a latte addiction, and so she always assumes that when I meet her, I'll have one, too. I usually opt for herbal tea instead, because Dr. Atkins wouldn't approve of the latte.

She contacted me earlier this week to meet for a latte at Borders. I agreed to meet her there at 2 p.m. on Sunday. However, the plumber didn't leave until until just after two, so while he was playing around with my swamp cooler, I busied myself looking for her phone number. I found it and called; the number was disconnected.

What to do? I was pretty sure she gave me her cell number once upon a time, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I crossed my fingers and hoped I'd find her still at Borders by the time I got there.

When I arrived, I hurried to the cafe, just in case she was still there sipping her latte. No luck. I took a look around the store, starting in metaphysical (her usual hangout) and worked my way to sci-fi (her next favorite place to look). I didn't see her.

I found myself actually breathing a sigh of relief that I couldn't find her. Oh I knew she'd be mad at me for not being on time, but on the other hand she's one of those "friends" who isn't really. I am not sure why I feel so obligated to her, but it probably has something to do with my sense of loyalty. She has never done anything egregious; she just isn't the best friend a girl could have.

I ran some errands and emailed her when I got home. Sure enough, the reply was short and not-so-sweet. I could tell she was furious, and actually seemed to accuse me of not looking hard enough for her.

I feel slightly awful...but on the other hand, again slightly relieved. I figure it'll be another month or so before she wants to meet for a latte...if ever. Could this be over for good? One can only hope.

Hot and Sticky, Part 2

I waited and waited and waited and the plumber never did show up yesterday to fix my swamp cooler. So, me and the cats got naked in our little sweat lodge. We sat around cross-legged as we passed the peace pipe and tried not to curse the plumber for forgetting us.

This morning I called again, and the guy was apologetic. He sent someone over right away. Apparently he wasn't too apologetic, because he still charged me full price. Still, it was nice to feel the cold air coming out of the cooler.

As I started getting ready to go meet a friend, I heard a "kerplunk" sound come from the direction of the cooler. All of a sudden, the pump was noisy and erratic. I went outside to have a look see. Water was still coming through, and the pump seemed to be working, so I went on my merry way.

As I was putting on the finishing touches in the bathroom, I started to feel hot. And sweaty. And not in a good way. I went into the office to check the swamp cooler. Uh oh. No more cool air. Just warm outside air.

I called the plumbing company, and got my friend on the phone again. He said he'd send someone right over. And right over it was...someone was at my house within 15 minutes. He checked the swamp cooler, and for some unexplained reason, he took my garden hose and started "washing" the unit. Water came spraying into my office, and even though I've cleaned up, I still am finding watery dirt specks on the furniture.

A few minutes later, he told me it was fixed. Turns out the spigot that turns on the water to the pump had been turned off. (And no, I didn't do it!)

Tonight me and the cats are almost too cool, but believe me, we're not complaining. It's so much easier to get warm than it is cool. Of course, now that the temperature is more comfortable, the cats have forgotten the peace pipe ritual and are back to chasing each other around the house, and sparring face-to-face. Don't get me wrong; I love the cool. But I sure do miss the quiet!

Hot and Sticky

t's 95 degrees outside, and so of course my swamp cooler picked today to stop working. Well, wait...I'm lying. It works...the motor comes on, the fan blows...but the pump isn't working. So instead of nice, cool air flowing into the house, hot, dry Nevada air blasted through the house with glee.

I called the plumber, and he actually remembered me. He asked if I could wait until Monday. As I choked on my tongue, he said "Well, wait...it is pretty hot outside. We'll send someone over today." He took down my address and phone number, then said "Hang in there; we have a couple of people ahead of you."

That was four hours ago. I have not yet received a call, and the house is an oven (just call me Biscuit, butter me and eat me!). The cats are panting, and much too hot to bug one another. Big Chief does yell at me occasionally, though, asking me where that nice, cool air went to.

An hour ago, the regularly scheduled afternoon breeze started up, so I opened all the windows. However, unlike many afternoons, this time the breeze decided it was too tired to flow for long, and died down.

So here I am, hot, sticky and shiny, waiting for the phone to ring with the good news that the plumber is on the way. I'm glued to my chair, but not because I'm entertained. Because my pants are wet with sweat.

Aren't I attractive?

I could have...

Today I went walking with a friend. We normally walk at Rancho San Rafael, but decided to try Idylwild Park for a change of pace.

As I was driving to meet her, I thought again about how I haven't bumped into my old boss from Acme Consulting Company. And after I had that thought, another thought pushed itself to the surface: "Piepa, you've been thinking about this on and off for a week...you are about to bump into her. Somewhere. Some place. Get ready."

The next thing I knew, a great song came on the radio and I completely forgot to get ready to bump into her.

I parked, and soon after my friend pulled up. I wanted to go eastward, but she felt west was better, so off we went. About a half mile into the walk, I saw two women approaching us, and one of them looked really familiar.

Oh no. It couldn't be...could it? But it was. Thankfully, the path was really narrow, so I just continued my conversation with my friend as I moved to the right to get behind her so the ladies could pass on the left. I didn't look...just kept walking and talking.

I could feel her eyes on me, but she didn't say anything and in seconds we were out of eye sight of one another. When there was a lapse in the conversation about 10 minutes later, I told my friend about my feeling, and how I was pretty sure that was my old boss I passed. I said I didn't want to look too closely, but was pretty sure it was her.

We walked and walked and finally came to a turning around point. We headed east this time, and kept talking. Soon, though, I saw two ladies approaching us again, and I thought "Oh gawd...they turned around too..." This time the path was wider, so even though I kept my eyes on my friend during our conversation, I didn't have to move over.

My friend said "She was staring at you! It must have been her." I said "Ye gads...she is one person I had hoped never to bump into."

I could have said "Hi." I could have at least acknowledged that I knew her in a past life. But I didn't.

Strangely, I don't even feel badly about it...I just feel thankful that when it did happen, I was with a friend.

Ass Backwards

You know you're having a bad day when you go to the ladies room and discover that your underwear is on inside out...and has been all day long.

My Favorite Time of Year

It's August 1st, and tonight is the official pre-start of my favorite event in Reno: Hot August Nights. For many it's Artown, which goes on during the whole month of July. Now, I want to like Artown, I really do. I like to think of myself as an artsy person. But this year, just as last, I have plans to take full advantage of Artown, and I end up not having gone to one event.

That won't be true of Hot August Nights.

I love old cars. I suppose I get that from my dad, who was a mechanic. But just not a mechanic...he could see a car and know whether or not it was a 48 or 49 model. He knew the nuances and changes in cars through each incarnation. Probably not any more; most cars these days look the same, which I HATE. I despise how modern cars are so uniform in look and color and lack originality.

Tonight, though, I'll drive my rather ordinary looking car with vanity plates down to The Summit for the Show and Shine. I can't wait! I can't explain why, but I love the old cars. I have since I was a teen, and even though I don't know a Model T from a Cadillac, I am pulled to these events every year.

So, if you're in Reno and see a lone woman walking around admiring the cars with a look of lust on her face, that's me. Feel free to say hi, because you won't see me at an event again until next August!

A Night of Rest?

I was so looking forward to last night. It was my first night "in" in quite awhile. I had all kinds of plans...watch a few episodes of Big Love (from Netflix). Make a nice dinner. Catch up on some reading. Play with my new tarot cards. But of course, none of that came to fruition.

For one, I'm still getting used to my new hours. At my previous place of employment, I had flexible hours. However, at my new job it's strictly 8-5. So, after work I found myself with a "must do" errand, and by the time I found what I was looking for, and got home, it was after 6 p.m.

That nice dinner? Oh, I still made it...but it took so long to make that I actually had dinner while I was making it. So, after the dish was done baking, I slapped some aluminum foil on it and stuck it in the refrigerator for...tonight? No time. Tomorrow? Won't be home. Breakfast on Saturday? Perhaps.

When dinner was finished cooking, I sat down to watch Big Love. But wait...I couldn't relax. There was too much cat hair and too many cat toys around for it to be relaxing. So, I cleared all the toys off the floor, grabbed the vacuum and went at it.

Thirty minutes later, I thought I could finally relax. But then I remembered the reason for my errand: buying an answering machine so my phone wouldn't ring and ring and ring and ring when I wasn't able to answer it. So, I sat down and set the thing up. Thirty minutes later I thought it might be time to finally relax...

Of course I was wrong. One of the cats threw up, so I had to get off the couch to clean that up. By then, it was 9 p.m. and I was exhausted. I made sure the cats had food, water, and then I went off to bed.

I had hoped I would pass out...unfortunately, I got up three separate times last night. But that's another story for another time...

Guess I'll have to wait until next Wednesday to have another night of relaxation. Maybe next then I'll really be able to rest.

I Must Be Evil

About two weeks ago, I met a bunch of local bloggers from the singles site I belong to. I had a great time with everyone who showed up. However, I will admit that there were two guys to whom I found myself slightly attracted to. One was clearly in like with someone else at the event, and the other guy put me into the friend category.

Well, today I found out that the bloom is already off the new romance and this guy is back on the market. The minute I heard, I felt something move in my pants. Huh? What are my nether regions thinking? After all, this guy was going out with a kind of friend of mine.

Okay, so we're not close. And we only met each other once. But we have talked in the chat room and we do comment on each other's blogs, so it seems like we're friends. However, for all intents and purposes and of course, we are friends.

But are we the kind of friends who must honor the Girlfriend Law? Would it be okay for me to get involved with this guy? Or only my pants? Or neither?

I have no idea what the honorable thing to do is. I only know that my pants are kind of happy right now.

Roses and Wine

On Friday night, I received a dozen red roses. I know what you're thinking: "Piepa has someone on the hook." Well...I don't. But, since I'm an equal opportunity receiver, I'll take flowers from just about anyone who's willing to give them to me.

Unfortunately for me, my cats love roses so I had to bring them to work. And, once they were on my desk I had to field a bevy of questions ("Who are they from?") and also smile politely whenever someone said "Oh, you must have been a good girl this weekend." News flash: I'm always a good girl except when out on a date. Or driving a car.

I digress...

Flowers on my desk always cheer me up. Always. So much so that some weeks I'll forgo a grocery item or two so I can buy flowers instead. This week started out rather brutally, as I'm still in training and on Monday I had trouble "getting it" as they say. I hung in there as long as possible, and even though the flowers helped to take the edge off, I knew I needed wine that night to really relax me.

The good news: I was supposed to meet a bunch of my ex co-workers for free drinks at GSR. As soon as the whistle blew at 5 p.m., I was out like a light and headed for GSR. I kept thinking about how good it would be to sit down with old friends, talk about work, catch up on their lives, and drink free wine.

When I got to the 20 500 East Bar, I took a quick walk around and did not see any of my friends. Figuring I was the first one there, I saddled up to the bar to get my free drink. I think the bartender really hates giving out freebies, because he made me wait. And wait. And wait. I finally got my wine and snagged a table.

And waited some more. And some more. And some more.

Finally, I dialed up the co-workers for whom I had numbers. Lany: no answer. Carmen: no answer. Christine...wait, she wasn't going anyway, so I didn't call. Played my portable Yahtzee game. Still no friends. Had I been stood up?

After I finished my glass of wine, I decided to go home. The brave part of me wanted to go to the cafe and grab a bite. The lost soul part of me wanted to retreat to the safety of my home. The lost soul won, and home I went.

When I got home, I debated about opening up a bottle of wine. I bought an extraordinary wine from Cost Plus, and was saving it for a special occasion. Wasn't being depressed that my friends stood me up special? While I was debating this in my head, my phone rang.

I heard "Hey girlfriend..." and was instantly warmed by Lany's voice. Turns out I had the night wrong; our get-together isn't until next Monday night. Strangely, I felt instantly better knowing I was a bonehead, as it meant that I wasn't stood up. Or forgotten.

After the phone call the only thing I needed was some chamomile tea. I put the bottle of wine away for a special occasion...

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Well Groomed

I received a rather odd compliment from someone recently. He told me I was rather well groomed.

Now, like most girls I would hope to get compliments like "Gee you're hot" or "hubba hubba, I like your legs." And personally, I prefer compliments about my personality and/or how enjoyable I am to be around. So, being told I am well groomed, while obviously a compliment, has left me feeling completely flummoxed.

I suppose I should stop chewing on that and just enjoy it. Instead, I feel as if I must now work harder to become memorable for something other than my washing ritual and mad ironing skillz.

Claim Jumper Friends

If I've said it once, I've said it way too many times: Claim Jumper is probably my most favorite restaurant EVER. The reasons are varied...the service is almost always top notch, the food is plentiful and good, and I just like being there.

That said, my love of Claim Jumper is well known to those that know me and love me. And even those who don't love me. (But I won't focus on them now...) So, my boss, who won't be at work on my last day, took me to lunch today at Claim Jumper. He also invited Lany (my next-door cube neighbor) along.

These are two of my most favorite people at Acme Cardiac Safety Services. Mike was a great teacher, and really showed me the ropes when I first got to Covance. Lany also taught me a lot about how to succeed at my job. I'll be sad to leave them behind.

We had a nice time at Claim Jumper. We talked about work, people at work, next steps, the grief we felt over the lay off, cars, kittens, children, and the Independence Day. At the end of the meal, my boss insisted on buying me a brownie (something I normally don't indulge in, as Dr. Atkins would slap my hand if he knew what I was eating) to go. Frosted brownies are one of my favorite indulgences, so I was touched that he remembered and got me one.

I have two more days left at work: tomorrow and Monday. Today before I left, I packed some of my items up and as I placed them in a box I found myself tearing up. I wish I could have stayed at Acme. The people there were some of the best I'd ever worked with. I will really miss them (and my paycheck).

Hopefully I'll fit in at QuadNet and make new friends and be as highly esteemed as I am at Acme. I know one thing, though: Acme will always have a place in my heart, even after its doors are closed for good.

Sexy Red Shoes

Unlike most girls, I am not a shoe hound. I don't get excited about shoes, I don't spend much money on shoes, and I prefer flats to heels. Every once in awhile, though, I feel the need to get a little sexy with my footwear. Saturday was one of those days.

I have a few outfits which have been begging me to buy them a pair of red heeled sandals. So, feeling a bit restless and getting tired of hearing my outfits complain, I left the house Saturday afternoon to look for a pair. I only had forty minutes, so I went to my one of my favorite stores hoping I would find what I wanted.

I did.

Almost as soon as I walked in, I saw a pair of 3-inch red heeled strappy sandals. There was only one pair available...and they were a half size too small. I tried them on anyway, and they actually fit.

Wait. This was too good to be true. Not believing that they fit, I started walking up and down the aisle in the shoes, thinking that they would begin to hurt. They did not. A couple of women told me the shoes were sexy and that I should buy them. So I did.

I couldn't wait to wear them. On Monday, I pulled out one of my outfits and showed them the new shoes. My outfit was happy. I got ready for work, and on the way out the door I put on my new shoes. The total effect was marvelous.

But after 9 hours of work wearing those shoes, my feet started to cry. What looked like sexy straps to the average eye were actually small leather torture devices. I couldn't wait to take them off.

When I got home, I couldn't get them off fast enough. As soon as the shoes came off, I noticed my feet were bruised and chafed where the straps were. I soaked my feet in water, while Big Chief played on the edge of the tub.

Today my feet are not so sexy looking and still bear the marks of Monday's all-day torture session. It's been said that beauty hurts, and I have to agree.

It's back to Easy Spirits for me...at least until my feet heel and my outfits start whining at me again.

Californication

Has anyone out there seen this TV show yet? I just saw the first six episodes this weekend, thanks to Netflix. All I can say is "Whew...where's the cold shower?"

I rented it simply because, as a fan of the X-Files, I felt an unexplainable need to see David Duchovny play a part other than Mulder. I had no idea what the show was about...so imagine my surprise when I discovered the show seems to be about sex, sex, and more sex. And not just sex, but sex of many different varieties: The brown kind, the dominance kind, the awkward kind, and the regular kind.

I think somewhere in there the show is kind of about relationships and mid-life crisis, but it's hard to tell amidst all the sex and talk about sex and naked bits.

Still, I did enjoy the first six episodes and eagerly await the next six. After all, if you can't have it, watch it!

Morning Coffee

This morning started out pretty much like any other. The first alarm buzzed and I turned it off. The second alarm went off and I turned it off. A half hour later, Big Chief Many Toes decided to scream into my right ear canal, so I stumbled out of bed and headed for the kitchen, where I proceeded to make my morning cup of coffee.

A few short minutes later, I was curled up on the couch drinking my coffee while watching Big Chief run around the living room chasing all things visible and invisible. In-between sips, I rested the cup on my thigh while I petted my poor little asmathic Schmutzy.

At some point, I heard a noisy, slurping sound. "Gee, one of the cats is really enjoying their water" was my first thought. And then I saw Big Chief climbing up my curtains, and of course Schmutzy was right next to me...and then I realized that the slurping sounded awfully close...I turned to my coffee, and saw Purrscilla's little head bobbing up and down into my cup.

I figured there wasn't any use to stopping her now...so I just let her have a caffeine fix in peace. About five minutes later, a normally shy and skittish Purrscilla was running around the living room, teasing Big Chief, jumping on stray toys, and bouncing off walls. As for me, I tossed the coffee and headed for the shower while Purrscilla continued to run off her caffeine buzz in the living room.

A New Kind of Catnip

Every morning, I grab a plastic bag on my way to the litter pans. I then scoop out the unwanted items from the pans and throw them in the plastic bag. After this is done, I tie the bag closed, place the bag on the floor by the side door, with the intention of taking it outside to the garbage can on my way to work.

This morning my routine didn't vary. I cleaned out the litter pans, put the bag on the floor by the side door, and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. I then packed my lunch, got my stuff together, grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

I bent down to pick up the bag...but the bag wasn't there. Wait. I could have SWORN I cleaned out the litter pans...I run to the office. Yep. Litter plans are waste-free. I look in the office to see if I left the bag in there. Nope. Could I have taken it into the bathroom? Nope.

Hmmm...

Then I remember that I heard a strange rustling when I was washing my hands...almost like the sound of a plastic bag being played with by a cat. Or perhaps a kitten. "Big Chief!" No response. I start looking around for the bag (which you would think would be easy, since I have very little furniture). No bag. I look under the bed. One cat, no bag.

I look behind the washer and dryer. No bag. I look in my closet. No bag. I go back out to the front room and look around. Wait. There's a bulge underneath the slipcover of the couch. I move the slipcover and there it is...the bag of crap.

Big Chief was watching me, and as soon as I grabbed it, he thought it was play time again. He ran towards me just as I was lifting myself and the bag up. He jumped, with 12 front toes aimed at the bag. He missed and landed back on the ground.

I took the bag and did what I should have probably done in the first place: took it immediately outside to the garbage bin.

Now that I realize Big Chief thinks a bag full of crap is as much fun to play with as a catnip toy, I'll have to be more mindful of where I put the bag in the morning, lest it end up wedged in my couch again.

Martinis, Old Men and Confessions to the Boss

Much to my delight, GSR is having a special during the month of June at the 20 500 East bar: free drinks, including six different martinis, to ladies on Mon-Thurs nights.

My boss scheduled a ladies night for this past Wednesday. Originally five people RSVP'd, but you know how that goes...one backed out to have sex, another backed out because she couldn't get a babysitter, and then we were left with three (plus boss).

I was the first to arrive, and was surprised to see the bar was almost full. Thanks to local advertising, the word finally got out and the bar was overrun with women. I found a table that would seat all of us, and grabbed it. A waitress came over and took my order.

Next to arrive was my boss, and next my cube neighbor. No one else showed up. My boss ordered appetizers, and we all ordered martinis (me, one more, everyone else their first!).
Martinis seem to have a way of loosening lips. Before I knew it, my boss was telling us a funny drinking story about my cube-mate's boss. I spilled some of my own secrets, and then my boss spilled another one. By the time my boss and I had downed three martinis, the party was underway.

As soon as the free drinks hour ended, the cocktail waitresses literally disappeared. We hung out, as a "band" was setting up. (Said band consisted of one guy and many synthetic instruments.) We decided to see this guy perform, so we stayed.

The guy was actually pretty good. He started out with some swing music, and people got up on the dance floor and danced. By people, I mean senior citizens. After the second dance, a senior citizen approached our table and asked if one of us "ladies" would care to dance. We all said no, but my no was different. I said "Thanks, but I don't know how to swing." Wrong response, because he said he could teach me. Next thing I knew, Grandpa had grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor.

I will admit, he was a good teacher. We danced the length of two songs, then he led me back to my table and grabbed my boss and dragged her to the dance floor. (Gramps was pretty strong.) She did a much better job than I did, but I guess that's why she gets paid the big bucks.

Strangely, the music man decided to transition from swing to Pink Floyd. The dance floor was totally empty...for about two minutes. Then an old couple courageously hit the dance floor and waltzed to Pink Floyd. It was mesmerizing to watch. (Well, keep in mind mesmerization was easy after a few martinis.)

After the Pink Floyd debacle, the performer decided it was time to get us all back on the dance floor. He asked for requests. I shouted "Disco!" while the rest of the crowd shouted "Country!" He pointed at me, laughed and said "Disco?" Then he played the opening bars of Play That Funky Music to tease me, then launched into some old Merle Haggerd song. DAMN HIM. The good news is that for the rest of the night he flirted with me, but I think only because I was the only one in the crowd to actually put money into his tip jar.

After exchanging several winks and teases for disco music, the AV system crapped out. Even a squad of four geeky AV guys (one was replete in full outback regalia... from khaki shorts to floppy hat) could not put it together again. That was our cue to leave.

Even though it was now ten p.m., my boss insisted on treating me to dinner at Fin Fish. Hey, who am I to deny the boss this great pleasure in watching me eat? So off to Fin Fish we went. I ordered the crab "cakes" (actually, it ended up being only one cake; apparently the menu had a typo), and she had tuna tartare. She offered to buy me a glass of wine, and I know this is so unlike me but I declined. I mean, it was now about 10:30, and if I had any hope of getting home in one piece the last thing I needed to do was down another glass of alcohol so close to the time I needed to get in my car and find my way home.

I couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to her...alone. It's usually pretty easy to talk and joke with the boss when everyone else is around, but when it's mano-a-mano it can be a bit intimidating.

When all was said and done, I finally got home around 11:30 p.m. Way too late, because I had a job interview the next day and a skills test to take. But that's a story for another day...

Real Girls Eat Meat

PETA is on the rampage again, this time slamming poor little Jessica Simpson for wearing a T-shirt with the saying "Real Girls Eat Meat" emblazoned on the front. I have to admit, I've never been a big fan of little Jess...that is, until today. Now I say "Rock on, blondie!"

Ya see, real girls do eat meat. I should know. I'm a real girl and yes, I eat meat. Pretty much every day. And you know, none of that sissy ground turkey for me. Nope. Hot dogs (Hebrew National, of course!), hamburgers, steak, and dare I say it, salami are consistently on my daily menus.

So grab a bottle of wine and a chunk of salami...I'll gladly meet you and show you how a real girl eats her meat!

The Pleasure of My Own Bed

I spearhead a group here in Reno made up of magical ladies over "a certain age." Last night we met at Rancho San Rafael park for a picnic and a walk around the labyrinth.

The weather was perfect. We spread out our blankets underneath the trees, placed all our food offerings in the center, and before eating, one of the ladies read to us a passage from the book "Simple Abundance" about Midsummer.

It was an enjoyable evening, but we felt incomplete in a sense as one of our members who had RSVP'd did not show up. We knew she had planned on joining us after her plane arrived, so at first we just thought she was late...then we realized she probably had jet lag and decided against a night out with friends.

We were half right...today I was greeted with an email from Marilen stating that she had come down with an awful cold, so was not able to make our get together last night. Then she said "So, I'm going to take a bath, put on some PJ's and take great pleasure in my own bed."

Ahhh...that sentence really hit home with me. There is nothing I like better than the pleasure of my own bed (and, of course pajamas and a bath!). Women's magazine after women's magazine constantly states the importance of making one's bedroom a haven. And even though my house is under furnished and still needs work, I have made every effort to make my bedroom a place I enjoy being. It's the only room in my house that is fully furnished.

I spent some extra money on a quality bed. I added luxurious sheets and down pillows, and a comforter that's both comfortable and beautiful. I keep the room picked up and clean. It's my haven.

I love the time I spend in my bed. Oh sure, you can insert all your own lurid reasons here as to why I love the pleasure of my own, but the truth is I love it simply because it is my own. It feels safe, it feels comfortable, and it feels welcoming.

It's one pleasure I wouldn't give away for anything in the world.