The Pirate Queen's Log

Small Happinesses.

Fri, 06 Apr 2007 03:02:51 GMT

Whether you're male or female, most of the time nobody wants to talk about or hear about things that have to do with a woman's Area, especially when it has to do with The Cycle. Unless it's Happy Naked Funtime and you're directly involved, most folk don't want to hear about or even think about other people's hoo-hahs. But you know what? This is just too awesome to not write about:

Tampax is brilliant. Seriously? I haven't been this happy about a product redesign in oh, pretty much forever. I've always preferred their product 'cos of its biodegradability, but the cardboard applicator, while pretty environmentally-friendly, had a tendency to piss me off. If I had wet hands, like, fresh out of the shower or something, sometimes it'd be hard to get a good grip on that stupid, slippery thing - a major pain in the ass. Well, one of the main features of the new design is a "no slip grip" that not only keeps the applicator together better, but also makes for far less slip-fingered fumbling.

It's about damn time!

Tons of Stuff to Write About, No Energy.

Tue, 03 Apr 2007 05:57:09 GMT

So instead, I'll post a silly quiz result:

Your results:
You are Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)

Kaylee Frye (Ship Mechanic)		90%
Zoe Washburne (Second-in-command)		90%
Wash (Ship Pilot)		75%
River (Stowaway)		60%
Dr. Simon Tam (Ship Medic)		60%
Inara Serra (Companion)		55%
Malcolm Reynolds (Captain)		50%
Derrial Book (Shepherd)		40%
Alliance		15%
Jayne Cobb (Mercenary)		10%
A Reaver (Cannibal)		0%

You are good at fixing things.
You are usually cheerful.
You appreciate being treated
with delicacy and specialness.

Click here to take the Serenity Personality Quiz

Splat.

Sat, 31 Mar 2007 16:20:25 GMT

The Boy lost another tooth yesterday. He still firmly believes in the Tooth Fairy, and as he lay down to sleep last night, he called Spanky into the bedroom for a little concerned dialogue.

"Spanky, will the Tooth Fairy be okay if I turn on my fan?"
"Yeah, buddy, she'll be fine. Her Tooth Fairy powers should keep her safe. Go ahead, turn it on."
"Okay...I just didn't want her to go SPLAT against my wall. Goodnight, Spanky...."

He's got a good heart, that kid.

O Best Beloved

Fri, 30 Mar 2007 05:54:06 GMT

When I was very small, one of my favourite books was Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling. The tales are all narrated to the storyteller's best beloved, as in, "Now in these days, O Best Beloved..." As I read the stories one by one, over and over, I always felt warm and comforted and embraced.

The little one? That's my son, of course - and yes, he is the Most Beloved of All. But the person I am referring to tonight is the man on the right.

Bobby. That's what I've always called him. Nobody else ever calls him that, not his parents, not his siblings, not any of his other friends, not his acquaintances or associates. He's always been Bob to them, or Father Luchi.

We first met and struck up our unlikely friendship via a Buffy the Vampire Slayer forum. I found his posts to be witty and insightful and warm and fun, and he thought similar of mine. We began e-mailing back and forth, and eventually moved from that to IM's. We shared stories of our lives, our families, everything, sharing secrets and truths that we couldn't or wouldn't share with anyone else. It was easier to bare our dark corners to an IM window than to a person face-to-face. The physical distance between us helped, as well - he was living in Rwanda at the time, and I was here in New Hampshire.

Nobody ever would have thought that two people so outwardly dissimilar could ever become so close. We ourselves reflected upon it once in a while - he a Jesuit just hitting his 50's, me a post-punk bisexual feminist stay-at-home mother in my early 20's - even the most "Odd Couple"-influenced sitcom writer would look at us and find it ridiculous. We knew better, though - we always moved in harmony.

He was dreadfully depressed - more than anyone around him knew. His family was aware, but since they were stateside like myself, they couldn't do much of anything about it. I was home every day, awake at strange hours, and achingly, near-suicidally depressed, myself. He was emotionally isolated where he was, feeling empty and alone and almost not even human...and I poured every ounce of myself that I could into letting him know, getting him to feel, to understand, that there was light and hope for him. At the time, my desk was next to a window that had a glorious view of the rising sun, and I would wake before sunrise here, and wait for him online. He would always do his best to come online, and I would spend the next hour or so describing to him in as much detail as I could the changing light, the world going from black-and-white to full colour, the view outside of my window as it revealed itself to me, slowly altering as the sun peeked shyly over the rooftops. I sent him care packages filled with shelf-stable dried tortellini, stacks of CD's packed with songs from my eclectic music collection, books and letters and drawings and things to make him smile, to make him feel warm and loved - because he was loved, very much so.

Months into our friendship, he was finally able to come home to the US. My heart felt too big from my chest when he told me that visiting me and my family was one of his top priorities...when we finally met in person at the airport, I felt instantly like I'd known him all my life. There was no awkwardness between us, no strangeness, just the relief of finally being able to -be- in each other's -actual presence-. We spent almost every waking hour with each other during that visit. I showed him every possible nook and cranny of my part of the world - all my favourite places to visit, all the nifty things within walking distance, and even just within a short driving distance. It was a blast, and it didn't feel like a first meeting at all - it felt like a reunion of two very old friends. When it was time for him to head back to St. Louis, I was sad, but happy that it was thousands of miles closer than Africa. My sadness didn't have time to last very long. It was only a couple of short months before I discovered that he'd been accepted to a university just an hour's drive south from me. That was...late 2003? Early 2004? Either way, it was the beginning of an amazing couple of years. We visited one another at least once every month after his arrival in Massachusetts. He'd drive up here, or I'd drive down there, and of course we'd IM or e-mail every day or so...we were best friends, and we were convinced that we had at least the next 20 years or so together to share, best friends side by side and all that.

"Pooh, promise you won't forget  about  me,
  ever.  Not even when I'm a hundred."
        Pooh thought for a little.
        "How old shall I be then?"
        "Ninety-nine."
        Pooh nodded.
        "I promise," he said.
        Still  with his eyes on the world
 Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt
 for Pooh's paw.
        "Pooh," said Christopher Robin
 earnestly, "if I--if I'm not quite" he 
stopped  and  tried  again  -- ".  Pooh, 
whatever happens, you will understand, 
won't you?"
        "Understand what?"
        "Oh, nothing." He laughed and
 jumped to his feet. "Come on!"
        "Where?" said Pooh.
        "Anywhere," said Christopher
 Robin.

--From the House At Pooh Corner,
 by A.A. Milne.

...we were supposed to have the next 20 years together. Best friends. Side by side. And then he was diagnosed with stomach cancer. It's been a little over a year now, and he's already had surgery, and chemo, and radiation...and the cancer has spread to his liver. He's very ill now, and he sleeps much of the time. Even talking on the phone is hard for him. He's visiting with his parents as I write this, and he hopes to spend his last days in St. Louis...the only thing left to do is to make him comfortable, and wait. During our most recent phone conversation, I managed to joke through my tears that he'd "broken the contract," because we were supposed to have all these years left. He replied in his typical plainspoken and truthful style, that no, "cancer had broken the contract." I knew in my soul then, and I know it now, that he was telling the truth.

Bobby, I want you to know something. I'm writing it here, and I'm going to write it in the letter I'm going to send to you in the mail tomorrow. Remember during your first visit to New Hampshire? How you said that I saved your life when you were so alone in Rwanda? You saved me, too. Seeing your light grow, your hope grow, gave me hope and gave me light, too. You saved me. We saved each other. Part of the pain I feel right now is not just because my best friend is going away so soon, but also because I saved you once before...but I can't save you from this. Not this time. I'm powerless now and my hands are empty and I'm grasping and flailing at air trying to find some part of you to cling onto to hold you here and make you better, and I can't. I can't. I can't fix this, and I can't save you and now you're going away from me, and it'll be so long before we see each other again. So much is going to happen between the day I lose you and the day I see you again, and we'll have so much to catch up on...but I don't want to have to catch up. I want you to be able to stay and see it all. I want you to be able to see Phoenix grow up, to see my hair go mostly grey...so much, Bobby, so many things to share. Most of all, I'm going to miss sitting next to you, knitting while you read, both of us side-by-side warm and comfortable and quiet and happy...I miss that already. I miss my best friend.

So many times I'd say to you, when I was feeling small and childish, "Friends forever, right?" And you'd always reply, "Yep. Forever." And then, when I'd inevitably say, "And a day after that?" You'd say, "Yep, and a day after that. Then after, we'll just have to see how it goes."

I'd give so much to hear you say that one more time. Even if I don't ever hear your voice again, though, I want you to know...you are my Best Beloved. Best friends forever, Bobby. And a day after that. And then you and I, we'll just have to see how it goes from there.

Meme time.

Sun, 25 Mar 2007 16:52:26 GMT

What does your drawing say about YOU?

How tired are you really? Measure your fatigue level.

For lack of anything else to say, Friday Cat Blogging.

Fri, 23 Mar 2007 16:33:23 GMT

I've not said a word these past few days, because I honestly haven't had a thing to write about. Nothing noteworthy at work or at home, just been playing a fair bit of Mario and Luigi: Partners in Time and Cooking Mama on the pink DS Lite that my Master got me as an early birthday present. *feels so girly*

Despite having nothing to say, I've been wanting to update, so I've decided to take part in something of a tradition among many bloggers: Friday cat blogging. Instead of writing incessantly about their cats, some people decide to abstain from writing anything at all about them until Friday each week. I've yet to upload any of my recent Owen pics, but he's been pretty busy eviscerating the shiny stuffed fish at the end of his toy fishing pole. We're not complaining about it, though, as we're still just proud that he let all his ass-hair grow back after licking himself bald from the waist down this past summer. He's got secondary flea allergies, allergic to the bites, not the fleas themselves, and the irritation was bad enough that he barbered himself naked.

Those seeking cat photos will not be left empty-handed, though. I do have a few for you:

There. Don't you feel better? I know I do.

Super Team Dildo Nunchuk Ninjas, GO!

Mon, 19 Mar 2007 01:31:12 GMT

I'm a crafty kind of girl. When I get an idea for a new project, even if it's something I've never done before, the way to make/do it tends to pop into my head all at once, fully formed. Ultimately, I may have to make alterations to the final plan, but I'm rarely stumped as to what I need to do. Last night, my crafting skills were put to the test.

spencer_drake, my Master, and I were all eating lunch at the local KFC when the conversation turned from the humorous things one can do with frighteningly large sex-toys, to Spanky stating "You know what would be awesome? Dildo Nunchuks." All of a sudden, our eyes all met. The idea rose from our heads all at once - we HAD to make them, and we HAD to beat the snot out of our housemate Zombie with them.

Here's the longish, mildly drawn-out story of how it all went down.

See, here's the thing. Zombie is one of the most uptight people we've ever met. Jokes directed towards him tend to rile him incredibly, and it's hilarious. He spends most of his life in a state of near-permanent horror, irritation, and discomfort at the happenings in the world and people around him, and he's made even -more- uncomfortable by the presence of anything phallic. It's one of the biggest cases of insecurity-within-one's-own-sexuality that I've ever seen. If it weren't so damn funny, though, we wouldn't prod him so much.

After eating lunch and playing some pool, we ran off to the adult video store. We strode in there, determination in our eyes, and I began my search for the perfect pair of plastic tallywhackers. We examined a bunch of them, and there weren't any that I thought were totally ideal, but a couple that were close. In the hopes that the proprietor of the store had a better choice for us, I approached him. "I'm looking for a dildo - well, two dildos - thick, girthy, not too bendy, with some good length. It's got to have some weight, one that'll make a good heavy smacking sound if you whack someone with it." The man came out from behind the counter and approached one of the dong-covered walls. He strode self-assuredly to a set of Doc Johnson's Classic Dongs in various lengths, and indicated that I should give the 8" a try. It was the same one I had gravitated towards before, but it had seemed a little too squishy for my needs. He took one out of the package for me, and let me handle it...yes, it was a little on the squishy side - fantastic for sexplay, not quite perfect for what I wanted. However, the bit of flexibility made for a good stinging feeling and a nice smacking noise, and I figured that I wasn't going to find anything better unless I went online.

From there, we ran off to Home Depot and purchased a short length of chain, two eye-screws, a package of quick-links, and some epoxy glue. We were in gigglingly high spirits all the way through the checklanes, and we skittered giddily to the parking lot. As soon as we got into the car, I set to work. I screwed the eyelets into the ends of the wiggly rubber wangs, unscrewed them, and then replaced them once again after mixing some epoxy and coating the screw-threads with it. Unfortunately, the quick-link openings were a little too small, so I had to wait 'til we got home to finish the project.

Upon arriving home, I went straight for the garage, while Master and Spanky headed inside. I grabbed a couple of pliers, pried the quick-links open just enough to get them onto the eyelets, and attatched the chain. Voila! Dil-chucks! I ran back inside, and the waiting began.

Zombie was still asleep when we got home, despite the fact that it was already nearing 6 pm. Though the temptation to sneak in to his room and wake him up with a good dick-hit to the face was strong, we didn't want to be -total- assholes about it, so we waited...and waited....Finally, around nine o' clock, the MrKyttie finally arrived home from Texas, and the whole household arose from what they were doing to run down and greet him, Chris included. In all the commotion, Spanky was able to sneak off and snag our beautiful creation.

She came up behind him..."Hey, Chris!" He turned, and encountered a flying hodaken, SLAP! Right in the chest. He screamed, high, shrill, and loud. The long, red, dick-shaped mark from the blow stood out in sharp relief against the pale and pasty, hairless expanse of his chest. As Spanky's arm arced forward for another blow, Zombie grabbed reflexively at the fleshtoned pole flying towards him....His eyes widened in recognition and horror as his fingers grasped around the veiny member, and he flung it across the room desperately, fear radiating out of every pore. That's when the real fun began.

Ever since then, we've been taunting him...tormenting him, teasing him with the possibility that at any moment, this house could turn into The House Of Flying Jibblies again. The paranoia, it's building...last night, he slept clutching an empty katana sheath, in case of a cack attack. He's already been cocksmacked with it twice since then, with threats of more on the way...he just doesn't know when they'll happen, or even, who it'll come from.

Yes, we all agree, it's one of my greatest creations, a glorious, crowning achievement. It's truly a triumph of form -and- function, sex-toy and weapon all in one. We're already planning on making more. From this, who knows? Maybe someday, I will find myself ruling a cadre, an army, of Super Dildo Nunchuk Ninjas. I could take over the world! This could indeed be heralding the dawn of a new era for all mankind!

At the very least, the huge dickshaped red-marks and bruises on Zombie's body make for a few good laughs...that and his shrill, horrified screams.

And oh, yes, pictures -will- be posted at some point soon. The dong-chuks are too damn fun to let them lay idle for long.

Snow and Nerves.

Sat, 17 Mar 2007 06:10:58 GMT

It's 2:03 in the morning, which usually wouldn't be considered late by my standards. However, I've been going to sleep by nine or ten at night for the past several weeks, and my body's adjusted to that schedule. I even enjoy it, too, though it makes me feel slightly old. Tonight's different, though, because the MrKyttie's on his way home from Texas.

I know he's a good driver, and I know he'll be home safe. The fact that it's snowing heavily, and has been since shortly after noontime on Friday, has only the faintest bearing on my inability to sleep tonight. I haven't seen him since Christmas...that's a long time. In less than twenty-four hours, I'll be going back to being shared by my Mr. and my Master under the same roof, from being solely under my Master's domain for the better part of four months. (Mr.Kyttie's Air Guard school started in November, but he was allowed home for Christmas - a ten-day visit.) I'm excited, but nervous as well.

It'll be an adjustment, you know? I've gotten used to the routines we've developed while the Mr. has been gone, and it'll take a few weeks to get used to having -both- my men home. Not only that, but it makes me ache that my Master will likely be lonely at night with the empty spot in his bed (after all, it's only fair that my husband gets to sleep next to me exclusively for the next x-amount-of-time to make up for the time he was gone,) and I also worry that the Mr. might get a little territorial for a week or so while he re-stakes his claim as my husband. They'll re-assert their roles with one another and with me, and we'll be back to quiet harmony again in no time. I know that to be true. Adjustment periods make me so wibbly in the tummy, that's all.

Now...if I could just figure out a way to make time go faster, I'll be -really- happy. I can't wait for him to get home and get out of the car! I want to kiss him SO BADLY!