Misstress M

I have this crazy rule with emails.

I can’t stand spam. I mean who does, right? Well, I have taken extra care to protect my personal email address from funky junk. I have gone as far as creating an email account which I use for website registrations or even giving it out to people I don’t know very well.

What qualifies as spam and junk? Well, anytime you send me an email that is copied to more than two people, and has the letters fwd: in the subject line is spam and junk to me. I don’t care for it. I have even called people who I have not spoken to in ages and said, “Hi, how are you? Hope you are doing well. Take me off of your junk email list, please. Bye and have a great day.”

That’s how much I HATE it. I really don’t care if I never get laid because I did not forward an email to 10 people. Or I don’t even want a miracle to happen at 11:11 only if I send the email to 100 people. I don’t even care that Cheryl Crow got cancer because she drank water out of a bottle (I am not kidding you, I got that email). I don’t CARE….I don’t need someone telling how to believe in God or influencing my beliefs in higher power. I DON’T CARE…..I DON’T CARE……I really really really I mean REALLY don’t care. That being said, random emails being copied to the whole world with the letters fwd: in the front don’t appeal me. AT ALL.

Clear as mud right?

Well all that being said, I have this friend whom I call El Capitan. I adore him. He always makes me laugh, and he is never more than a step away from me when I need him.

But you see, El Capitan thinks it’s hilariously funny that I have such a hang up with crap in my email in box. So what does he do? At least once a day he looks up amazingly stupid news on the web and sends me the link.

And what do I do?

Well, since I have opened the email I might as well as read it right?

Thisis his recent junk email.

For those of you who don’t care to read it, basically it’s an article about a woman who has eighteen children. If you think that number was written in error, let me say it in numeric. That’s 18, as in 1-8, as in two more and she will be at the magical number of 20. Now let me say this as a mother of one. Kids are hard. They are expensive, and hot dang it…whatever few minutes you have at hand. They take that time away from you.

Now that’s one kid I am talking about, what about 18?

The logical person in me ponders over the subject matter and thinks. Well, those kids will need, cloths, toys, games, food, education, God forbid college, and if we are lucky they are also going to need miscellaneous stuff. You know like tooth paste, toothbrush, underwear, socks, movies with friends, socializing, little league games. So on so forth. It all adds up.

Now let’s just assume that this mother of almost two dozen kids is able to provide them with all of the above. What worries me is how in the hell did she find a willing sperm donor?

Forget that! How did she find the time to actually have sex and even have enough time to go to the hospital to give birth?

It’s beyond me. And you know what’s worse. For once I don’t mind junk mail.

And don’t you go signing me up for email crap either!

We all know that I have a HUGE….giant….the size of Texas ego. Sometimes it gets so big that I have hard time balancing myself on my heels.

But it’s all good. I am not too worried. It does wonders for my self esteem.

Occasionally I may need to boost this Ego thing of mine. So I will send random text messages to random people from my contact list just saying; “Who is yo Goddess.”

It’s not so much the ego boost that I am after, but it’s the humor.

The responses which flood my phone are hilarious…and what can I say amusement is what drives me.

Here are some of the classic answers I have gotten.

1. You baby…only you.
2. Depends, what does this goddess have for me?
3. You!
4. Callisto or the ice queen or Cat-woman. Who is yours?
5. Is this a trick question?
6. Of course you.
7. You are baby.
8. If I say you, will you put out?
9. Only you baby…you are the one only Goddess I know.
10. What’s in it for me?
11. You are such an attention whore. Get back to work!
12. You gonna give me something?
13. Gag me with a plastic fork. Are done brutally killing innocent men and now you need attention?
14. Oh mighty Goddess of Love, I worship the ground you walk on. Your smile alone is a blessing.
15. Again? How many times can I tell you? You! YOU are the Goddess you claim to be.
16. You need an ego boost? Not giving it. Sorry!
17. Fine I will say it. In one condition though. Don’t let it get to your head.
18. You are crazy as is, why would I want to ignite the fire further? No! You are not my Goddess.
19. I am!
20. You want me to tell you what?

So entertain me….”Who IS yo Goddess?”

Whoops I did it again

What’s your fantasy baby?

Please tell me, I know you have a fantasy or two. I want to know your lusty thoughts; I want to feel the warmth of your passion. I want to be the one to make your wildest dreams come true.

So what is it? Do you want a steamy encounter with a strange woman in the elevator? How about threesome with two Sex Gods worshiping the temple that is your body? How about an orgy with college cuties? Can I throw you a nudist party? Do you want to watch me do something? How about if I put on my dominatrix outfit, tie you up and make you obey me? A school girl? Anal? Mud wrestling? How about your own porn production? Please tell me.

Ok people, here is the thing. We all know that we all have fantasies. That thing that we think about late at night when we can’t sleep. It’s normal. Everyone has theirs, some are far too kinky for my taste, and others may be doable. But here is the key, things in real life work out a little differently.

In your fantasy things may be in pristine order. And everything will work the way you want it to work, feel, taste, and consume (I had to stick that word in there).

So what’s with this? I am giving you too much and yet, I am not giving you anything at all.

Let’s just say that you are at a point in your relationship with whomever, and you are ready and willing to share your fantasies or even ask about your partner’s fantasies. What to do? How to do? And what not to do?

Rule number one: This one is important. Like 911 important. If you screw this one up, you have screwed it all up.

DO NOT ever scold your partner for telling you’re their fantasy. You asked, and you better be prepared to stomach it. If you were not ready for the answer you should not have asked. I know so many women who ask their men what his fantasy is, and he comes up with something as generic as a bombshell blond having sex with him. His girl (the one who asked) gets bent out of shape because he was honest. Don’t ASK if you DON’T want to KNOW.

It’s simple.

Rule number two: First and foremost discuss what the rules are. What are your breaking points, what are the deal breakers, and what is considered acceptable to you (the participant)? What does your partner want? You have to enjoy it as well. Remember that.

Rule number three: You can ask for it, but you cant mandate it.

Rule number four: Be reasonable. I seriously mean that. Don’t ask for the star and the moons, because you already know it’s impossible.

Rule number five: Understand that things may not and will not go as planned, and your life long fantasy may be ruined because it was not what you thought it would be like.

Rule number six: Respect other’s boundaries. If he/she allowed you to tie them up, he or she may not be comfortable with you doing other things to them.

Rule number seven: Will you feel any differently for your partner the next day? Yes or no….be honest with yourself. How about with yourself? How will you feel about your actions? Be honest again.

Look, with fantasies, you have to prepare for the worst and anticipate the best. Know your body, know what you want, know what is acceptable for you, and be clear in your answers.

Happy Tuesday….and go make someone’s lusty dreams come true!

But before you go….tell me what your fantasies are. I am just curious. That’s all. Email me if you don’t want to post the answers. Misstress_m@mac.com

Have you ever lost someone? A person whom you had profound feelings for? Someone who passed away and you did not have the opportunity to express your feelings for them?

The only person I have lost in my life with no hope of ever getting back, was my grandfather. And that was well over four years ago. The sudden emptiness was horrifying.

All that being said I had a dream last night. Another one of my exhausting and restless dreams. I dreamt of a person who plays a moderately key role in my life. And without warning or even a slight hint, he passed away.

Just like that….He passed away without telling me that he was going to die. Although I highly doubt that people signal the world a month in advance and notify everyone of their pending appointment with death. I wish it worked that way.

Anyway, in my dream this he person died. I did not get to say good bye to him, nor did I have the opportunity to get one last hug or kiss. What’s more disturbing is that I was upset that I had not told him how I really felt about him.

How I really felt about him? What in the hell? I didn’t know I felt anything more than adoration and lust.

Now take the feeling of sudden feeling of emptiness, add mixed emotions, and bundle it with incredibly vivid dreams. What do you get? Chaos!

All of this scary all on its own, because I would like to think that I have done my absolute best to suppress my feelings towards him. Any development of emotional commitment has been, to the best of my knowledge, nipped in the bud. Dependency has been obsolete, and we have remained as two independent figures living separate lives.

Needless to say, this morning has started off on the wrong foot. As a matter of a fact I think I might have landed on my head this morning. I am exhausted, all of my nerve ending are hot wired to an acid oozing battery, and I am in an incredibly shitty mood.

I don’t know why, because it was merely a dream.

But I think I know why I am so wound up.

I am still doing that weight loss thing. Remember this? Well, I am still set on it and I am still going at it.

So far I have lost 9 pounds and I have few more to go.

What do I do?

I hike few times a week, and if I can drag my ass to the GYM, I will go just for show. But I would much rather hit the trails. Sweaty men confined indoors with the weights are no longer attractive to me.

So that’s twice a week and five miles each hike.

Here are pictures, just for your entertainment purposes.

My abs while I suck them in (so you wont say I am sucking them in).

And letting them all hang out.

Not too shabby don’t you think? I still have a lot of work to do. But I am still going at it.

Or stalkers as I prefer to call them.

So I have this Myspece profile. Ehhh whatever, it was a trend and I created the profile just to be cool.

Maybe I lied just a little bit.

I do change my profile background every week, my song matches my background which also matches my picture, which matches the heading of the profile.

That’s all…..I swear my obsessive compulsiveness ends RIGHT there. I will occasionally leave a comment here and there, sometimes I get emails, and I use myspace as a way to show off the pictures I have taken. Also to stalk my 14 year old brother.

But I don’t take anything seriously on the site. If I fell in love with every boy who sent me an email or posted a suggestive comment on my site I would be in deep trouble.

However…..I do have a rule.

If I don’t know you, I am not going to add you. If I do know you and I leave you comments and you don’t respond I am going to delete you. By the way…this rule excludes people I constantly talk to, email, call, read and etc.

And that’s what I did on Wednesday, I became delete happy.

Why you ask?

Well I am not 15 anymore and I don’t like to play games or show off 1000 friends who really aren’t my friends. Fair enough right?

Apparently not.

First I got the emails, “I see that you have deleted me. I see how it is have a great life.”
Yup, you too. Have a wonderful life.

Then I got the instant messages “When did I piss you off so that you deleted me.”
You didn’t. You just were not responding to me, so I created more room for people who actually respond. I am selfish that way.

And I finally got the phone calls: “Emm, why you gotta delete me?”
I didn’t know I had to ask for permission. But since I missed that memo its not “Why you gotta delete me?” its “Why did you delete me?”. However every question is fair. Since your dumb ass started getting laid and has a girl you have crossed out all of your friends. And I don’t like being used as a rag doll. I will be here when she dumps your ass so call me when you actually need my help. Until then, I gotta do what I gotta do.

People take this myspace crap way too seriously.

I went hiking with Miss T the other day. And as usual, I wore what I always wear. Yoga pants, tank top, and a baseball cap.

Our custom requires for us to always stop at the supermarket to purchase an apple or two because I am not sweating my ass off to go to a restaurant and stuff my face with salsa and chips.

As we made our way through the parking lot and I managed to do my cat whistle at the police cruiser parked in the corner (I always whistle for cops…don’t know why….but I do) Miss T looked at me and said.

“Emm, why is he looking at us….you to be more specific?”
“He is not looking….lets go.”

So we walked until we were approximately five feet from his cruiser. Her rolled his window down and said, “Hi”

“See! I told you he was looking.” Miss T managed to whisper without moving her lips.
“Hey there officer…how are you?”
“Good. I just wanted to say thanks for the support”
“Huh? What support?”
“Your hat. I like it.”

My hat? Ohhhh I had forgotten my baseball cap. But which one was I wearing? So, I reached over with my free hand and traced the baseball cap…Oh I remember which I was wearing. The one with big BOLD letters that spelled out LAPD.

“I wonder why you like it! Be safe and stay out of trouble for me.”

He burst out laughing. And we walked away.

“And I always wondered how you met all of the cop boy toys of yours.”
“That’s right! But you and I know that my phone book does not need any more cops. I need something like a construction worker. Or stay at home dad. But no more cops.”
“He was cute.”
“Yup…and he is still a cop.”
“You are nuts!”

And so we went hiking…and that is exactly how 75% of the contacts in my phone book are cops. I should consider getting a hat that says I Support Stay Home Dads, or wear an apron with tomato sauce smeared on it.

I worry about the silliest of all things. The minuscule little details will drive me mad. When I was a little girl, my grandmother used to tell me “Measure ten times before you cut anything.”

Sure….whatever…

I never really understood the meaning behind it. It was simple, if I measured it the first time and it was five inches, how was it going to change in a matter of seconds?

It took me years, and countless sleepless nights to understand the hidden meaning behind it. She wasn’t talking about cutting a fabric. She was talking about life.

When I first found out about my pregnancy and finally accepted the depressing state of my failing marriage, I continued my age old habit of worrying. I would lie in bed eyes fixed to the uneven spot on the ceiling and remember bits and pieces of my childhood. I would remember my parents, and my grandmother. I remembered all the good times and the bad times, and the fun times, and even the embarrassing moments. But one thing would hunt me.

I was loved. I knew I was loved. The attention and care towards me was oozing out of the walls that’s how loved I was. Love and adoration seemed to come easy to me. I only loved those who loved me. But what about this person who was now a part of my body. How would I feel for her?

I seriously could not comprehend how I was going to fall in love with a person at a time when my life had practically come to a halting stop and everything that was once happy had taken on a depressing figure. Not to mention that every inch of my heart and soul was bruised and aching.

For nine months I thought about it, and I came up with clever methods of making sure that as soon as this child of mine was born that I find space in the dark corners of my heart and I would make myself love her.

I am just that complicated of a person. That’s all.

It doesn’t go without saying that as soon as she was placed in my arms I fell madly in love with her. And the worry of ever not loving her completely left my mind. For the first few days I would sit in the rocking chair with her in my arms and I would constantly count her little fingers and toes to make sure that there were 10 of each, and wonder how I could ever think that my heart was not capable of ever loving again.

And then I began to worry if she would love me back (I know I am a freak). Needless to say, she does. Every morning she covers my face with kisses and tells me that I am her Super Hero. Yay for me.

Anyway, today my little munchkin is having a mother’s day tea party at her school celebrating me…How friggin’ awesome is that? Not to mention that she has collected coins and with my mom’s help bought me a plastic set of bracelets with smiling princesses and a plastic yellow ring that doesn’t even fit my pinky.

I love her to no limit! And apparently I worried for no reason.

As he pulls me closer to him, he places a kiss on my neck and fingers the long strands of my hair. Brushes away the unruly mane from my face and carefully kisses the scar on the ridge of my nose.

“See this….when you do this, this is when you show your true colors.”

“What colors? What am I doing that’s allowing me to shed my inner asshole.”

“When you let your guard down and you cuddle. You act like the woman you really are. You are not really as big of a hard ass as you lead people to believe you are.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Nothing….just this is fine. Stop fighting it.”

He then proceeds to massage my exposed back and strategically place random kisses on my face as I close my eyes and drift into a land of unknown where I am cherished, where tulips grow all year round, where I have a bouquet of lilacs on my nightstand. Where I am free of constraints and limitations.

The only thing I hear are the birds chirping and his voice ringing in my head. Stop fighting it…..

And then what? Surrender? I don’t know…it is so unlike me.

But maybe I do need to stop fighting is. Because my battles have left me somewhat weak, self conscious, and over confident.