"Til My Arm Gets Tired!"

I don't know about you guys--but, I loathe the morning. I simply detest it. And, since due to some allergy problems, I can't have coffee or caffeine...

Mornings=Ew.

Period.

Especially when you fail to get out of bed when the first(two) alarm(s) go off.

Definitely when you're jarred to consciousness by a quick flurry of painful swats, pushing you out of bed and out the door.

And, then, you know what makes mornings even worse?....

When you're on your way home from an errand at about 9 am. You've only recently come to the sad realization that there will be no slipping back in bed for a minute or two before work....

I was on the phone with Steven, carefully cataloging my list of things to get accomplished today, when my car, Tennessee, hiccuped. There was a momentary lull, during which I closed my eyes briefly and prayed she wouldn't stall.

She didn't. So, assuming that, like always, I have a few deaths left in her before she completely quit on me and made it clear she REALLY wasn't going any place else without more gas--I passed a gas station on my right.

I cruised right on past the point of no return, and into an intersection, where all my prayers on the subject became moot.

She died.

Not, the first death of four, kind of death either.

The I'm-not-moving-again-till-I-get-a-little-sip-of-gasoline kind of dead.Horns blasted, I tried to hang up the phone but didn't get it completely hung up.  Lights flashed. Some instinct urged me to hit my emergency flashers.

And, there I sat, dead middle of the intersection. Slowly, I picked the phone back up out of my lap.

"Eh, hem. Steven?"

"Yeah?"

"My car died. In this intersection...what should I do?"

A quick muffled growl and terse instructions.

And, waiting.

A threat that I would be spanked till his arm got tired.

More waiting.

Finally, a nice gentlemen and his wife pulled over and helped me push my car back out of the road. They also, bless their sweet hearts, took my gas jug(I carry one just in case) and filled it up.

I made it home.

And, while I didn't get spanked till his arm was tired....

It was more than enough!

Boo Mornings.

No Longer Grounded!

I'm finally un-grounded!!! Yayayah!! And, just in time...because, I'm telling you guys...we had, quite probably one of the only...I think...three? Screaming matches in our entire relationship, since beginning DD.

It was huge.

And, over marriage and church. Ironically enough.

And, probably tomorrow, I will post about it...

But, for today...we have his entire family coming over for dinner, and I'm prepping the house...big stuff!

So, see ya tomorrow! 

Medium Steak Might cause Spankings

Just a quick little...actually, you know what? He's in the shower, and he DID give me permission to tell you guys I was grounded before I just vanished. So. I'm going with the whole story. So there. (Clearly, I'm feeling just peachy about this, oh most hated of punishments.)

I was working the other night at the restaurant. We were DEAD. I mean, dead dead. Like $100 hours to split between seven servers. And, this guy came in with his wife and sat in my section. Long story short, he ordered a very pricey steak, medium. It came out still partially frozen. Mortified, I took it back and told my cook to please deal with that. He fried it. I mean burnt the crap out of it.
(Only this guy did NOT say well done...)

Anywho, this led to a horrible, loud argument between myself and another server, because my manager refused to just recook a steak without trying to serve this twice-wrong steak, and I refused to run it. This girl felt it was her job to correct me. I didn't agree.

By the time I left, I was in tears. I called Steven. His response at the end of my story? "You really do need to work on your flare-ups at work."

Livid, despite the fact I was pulling into our driveway, I hung up on him. Then, I whipped the car around, and went for a bit of a drive, hanging up every time he called. Probably fifteen minutes later, I finally answered.

I was informed that I needed to stop the car right where it was and wait.

(He's getting out, so here's the end of it!)

Long story short, I have been both spanked and grounded...

See ya in a week or so!!

The Newest Family Member

Maybe some of you remember---

I have a thing for animals.

I like to bring them home and love them and cuddle them and make them stockings(yes, I start in October), and call them my very own. :)

The trouble? Well, firstly, Steven is allergic. And secondly, he seems to think that one 10 month old boxer and one Great Dane is enough....

SURELY not.

So, the other day, I was craigslisting.


And I stumbled upon this ad for the cutest little kittens ever! And, for free!! Steven was already in class, and since I was at school, I was only a measely little 15 minutes away...

So,  I told some friends I'd be right back, and I called the ones who put up the ad. Just to be on the safe side, since Steven's so picky, I asked and made sure they weren't the Craigslist Killer. Not that they'd tell me, but at least I could say I'd ASKED.

When I arrived...there was not one kitten left...but TWO! The people giving them away pointed out how sad it would be if they were separated. So, I took both home.

He made me give one away. The second hates our dogs but is seeming to do better with them now.

My backside wishes I'd left well enough alone.

And, I'm banned from Craigslist forever.


And, yet....

I got a kitten! :) 

A Ring On Your Finger

"Wait until I have a ring on your finger, Grace. That's how you, especially, believe, and, with you, I want to do it right!" Steven insisted, pushing away my questing hands.

"You had sex with your OTHER girlfriends, Steven," I pointed out. "It's not fair to not let me give the same thing to you...it makes me feel like I'm cheating you somehow."

"But, you're NOT. I want to do this right with you.."

"Well, you don't believe that way, clearly...and, I'm going to marry you, right? So it's basically like we ARE married."

"No, Grace...and I DO believe that way...don't push me on this.."

That was around March of last year. Obviously, I ended up having my wicked way with him. But, then...then, I was involved in a church, and passionate about the God that, quite literally, hung my moon. I felt such a strong surge of guilt, holding back from Steven...but, he wanted to do right by me. Let's just say, our first sex experience was a loaded gun. All sorts of emotions, bundled into one.

And, we've had our share of bumps and bruises along this particular relationship path. But, after last post, I felt so heavy, so ruined and wasted and hurt...I honestly felt there was only one place to go. It had to be God.

Now, Steven has a friend, M. M has a wife, J. They started about a year ago, going back to church together. They've been pushing us to do the same. So, with a 'what-do-we-have-to-lose' attitude, we started back to church with them...

And, I know that everyone doesn't believe the same as we do. I'm not asking that you do, or criticizing if you don't. I'm just spilling my story. Or, at least, this chapter of it. It's been tough, this honesty, so demanding...and, stopping the sex has been rough. M and J being involved in our lives so completely, asking questions, checking in, helping out, cooking dinner, has been so helpful.

But, we're back to waiting on that ring. I'm nervous, more than a little scared. But, for the first time in a while, I can honestly say that I have faith that we're gonna come out on the other side of this.

(Tomorrow, I have a much less serious post, about our new little family member. :) But, I have GOT to do some housework, lol...so, off I go! Missed you guys!)

A Finger Food Or A Forever?

 My hair was pulled up into a messy bun of sorts, tucked away as neatly as possible into my hairnet. I bent over the fryer, filtering the dirty oil and replacing it with clean.

"Love monkey!" my cousin's voice was, as it is most of the time, pretty cheerful. Now, let me go ahead and point out that T is...well, she's like a sister to me. We were, quite literally, raised together. Her own parents kind of bailed when she was about five and she's lived with me, off and on, for the last fifteen or so years. But, she's pregnant, and I don't feel like she's ready. It terrifies me when I think of her, out on her own, with a bitty baby to tend. I've seen how she treats her dogs, and it just scares me to death. She tries, but she has no real role-model, and, God, I hate to watch her struggle. Usually, I try and fix whatever mess she's made. This isn't something I can do for her, becoming a mother. So, we've had more fights in the last several months than we have in the last several years....

And, yet, she knows me. I turned to face her. 

"Shit, you look rough. What's the matter?"

"Nothing big," I sighed. "Just, Steven hurt my feelings a little bit. We were supposed to spend time together--only like a half hour--before I came to work, but his friend came over and he bailed out. I think I'm probably just blowing it out of proportion. I didn't tell you, but he cheated not long ago, and I think I'm just still trying to work through it." 

"Oh, God! You found out?? That's fantastic! No offense, or anything, but I've had pictures of his profile on POF on my phone for AGES. I couldn't decide whether it was best to tell you, or just let you stay...you know...blissfully ignorant." My heart sunk and met my stomach somewhere down in the area of my toes. 

"POF? What's...I don't know what that is." And she told me--it was another dating site, "Plenty of Fish". And she showed me pictures. It was the correct age, it was from about two months ago. He listed under pets our dogs, and under marital status, it read single. He was looking for "A woman" for "Dating, but nothing serious." 

I felt the lump building in my throat, and fled to the bathroom after making some excuses to my co-workers. I called, and he said he didn't even remember making it. The account had already been deleted, (I checked before I called him), but just the knowledge that he was out on multiple sites looking for someone that was more than me...

I cried. For the whole rest of the shift and into today. I told him to pack his things, and to leave. Or to stay, but he could sleep on the futon, and that we weren't together. He told me not to talk like that, that we weren't broken up, that we couldn't be. 

I don't know what we are. I felt some better this morning, but this is like any other stage of grief: it comes in its waves. Sometimes, my heart feels so full I want to burst. I want to take that pain out somewhere, to pour it out into water and watch it rush away. I find that I want to hurt him back. I want him to feel what I'm feeling, to hurt like I'm hurting. 

I want to know how you can love someone, and still be looking, always looking. 

But, I know we don't do well separate. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to leave. I'm not sure I'm strong enough to stay. I just want to curl up into a ball someplace quiet and still and be left alone. 

As Steven pointed out, however, it showed no activity, and it had been deleted. He swore up and down that since I found out about fetlife, he'd been faithful, that it was only me, and it only ever would be me from here on out. He said if he'd remembered about POF, he'd have put it out on the table during the fetlife fiasco and gotten rid of it. 

I'm confused and hurting. I feel like I must just be THAT girl. The one that everyone knows isn't going to be worth it, the one that is someone to come home to, a safe, solid, easy choice. A she'll-never-bail-workaholic that is there for sex when they want it, there for affection if they get the urge, and gone often enough that they can have everyone else they want, too. I feel like a finger food--pawed, handled, passed over in favor of something sweeter. I don't want that: I don't want to be a finger food; I want to be a forever. 

I told him we could staying living together for a while, but he had to prove that he loved me. That he loved only me and would only love me. He assured me that he would do that and then some. I'm too terrified to even hope he's telling the truth. 

I Wrote

You know, they say if you do something for more than 21 days, it becomes an addiction.
This blog must be mine--because every day since that last post, every day since sharing mine and Steven's utter debacle, this blog has crossed my mind. I've considered posting on the days where I've been inconsolable and heart broken.

I've considered blogging on the days that we took a few careful steps in the right direction.

I nearly wrote the night I came home to find a room remodeled completely for me in silent apology.

My fingers were on the keyboard after the following conversation:

"I just don't feel like you can be snappy with me over this, Steven...I didn't do this. I'm not the one that cheated. I'm just hurting. Maybe, sometime down the line, when this is all said and done, and we've moved on, maybe on that day, you can. But, this is the day after. This should...oh, I don't know...be the day of hearts and chocolates and flowers and sorries down on your knees!"(As wrong as that sentence felt. I've been so used to him being the rock, the strong one, the support I hold on to.)

"I am sorry, baby--"

"Don't call me that! I don't feel like your baby!"

"But you *are*. And, like I was saying, I *am* sorry, but I'm not that KIND of sorry."

"Well, you need to find a different way to be sorry, or just leave. I'm not strong enough for this."

That night, I nearly wrote to say I was done.

And, I know that all of you would have continued to be so supportive. I so appreciated all of your comments before.

I wanted to have somewhere to say how I felt when I woke up in the middle of that first night, and I thought it was a nightmare I'd woken from...only to reach out and touch him just in time to remember it was true.

When I realized a good part of my struggle was not only losing that feeling of trust, but also, losing our whole dynamic--we've always been of a DD bent, he's always been the Boss--I wanted to spew my confusion onto someone.

Then, when we had sex for the first time again--Lord, I wanted to write then! But, I feared that you guys would tell me I was crazy. That I should have waited. That I should have left.

One of my managers in training asked me the other day, "If you couldn't keep his attention the first time, what makes you think you're going to cut it now?"
 
I had to pull off the side of the road after work because I couldn't see through the tears. And, confusingly enough--the person I chose to talk to about all of it?

Was Steven. He told me I should have told her to go pleasure herself. At my look of confusion, he grinned and explained, "You don't like me to say 'fuck'...I thought you might prefer 'pleasure'." I had to laugh.

It's been a very, very confusing journey, this last week or so. I let him spank me. It felt so normal and right. I don't know how to take that.

He apologized when we had sex again, for being dumb and for not giving me what I needed, and he promised to be there.

And, for all my lack of trust, for all that struggle...

I believe him.

So, I wrote.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1-4u9W-bns