babeinthewoods | Feb. 27th, 2013

Feb. 27th, 2013

No.

That's my pat answer to all of your questions.

NO, I don't wanna fuck.
NO, I don't wanna be your "play partner".
NO, I don't ever travel to your city.
NO, I don't wanna be your mistress.
NO, I don't wanna be your one night sub.
NO, I don't wanna be your online toy/sub/slut/protoge.
NO, I don't want to hook up with you in your hotel room as you blow through the area on business.
NO, I don't want to help you and your wife/gf/bf/husband/random play partner put some spice back into the relationship.
NO, I don't want to kneel for you without even knowing your name.
NO, I'm not interested in hearing all about how hung you are.
NO, I'm not interested in your cock shots.
NO, I'm not interested in your money shots.
NO, I'm not going to send you MY junk shots.

YES, there is harm in "just putting it out there".
YES, I'll likely be snotty if you ask me any of those questions.

I have a profile. I do have it filled out. Clearly, there's an extensive and wordy "About me" section, so the chances that I "forgot" to fill out the section full of drop down menus is...well...slim...and none. Also, I think Slim moved, so the chances are NONE that I overlooked that part of my profile.

It says "Not Applicable". It says I'm not looking for anything. I'm not looking for a Master/Mistress/Dom/Switch/sub/slave or playpartner. The reasons for that are my own. They're none of your god-damned business, frankly. The fact that you don't see anything specifically telling you I don't care for random offers to bang strangers should not be interpreted as an invitation to offer. Play to your audience, wouldja?

I don't care that you're into sex without committment. I don't care that you're here for three days, staying at the and wanna hook up. I don't care that you're lonely. I don't care that you're not into "all the talk" or the "pain of getting to know someone". I love the talk and pain of getting to know the people I'm fucking.

I really don't care that you "love" your wife and you respect her too much to expect her to understand you or that she's got some affliction that prevents her cooter from accepting penii. I'm a Sagittarius and that means I'm greedy in a lot of fairly basic ways. I don't split my attention between dumbsticks, so the basic courtesy I expect in return is that the dumbsticks don't split their attention between multiple hoo-hoos.

I don't travel to fuck. That's right, even for you. Nope. I won't consider it. Believe me, if I'm travelling to you, it's because we're friends and would spend vanilla time together. If I really felt the urge to degrade myself with a bit of casual sex, I'm sure I could find more convenient ways to indulge that urge without boarding a plane, train, crossing a border or driving to another time zone.

I don't wanna bare my bits for someone like you.

I don't kneel for strangers and I certainly wouldn't let them tie me up or use a potential weapon on me. I don't go to private places with people I don't know for the purposes of having a one night stand. I despise the concept of "no-strings". I love string. I love knots in string...but I'm damn well going to know a lot about you before you put knots in string around me.

I loathe the term "play". It isn't play to me. Play is something pretend, in my head. What I do is have dirty, orgasmic, mind-blowing, earth shattering sex within a relationship that grows and develops. I don't think it's cool to throw my cat at just anyone, and even if I did, I'd expect DINNER (because if you expect strenuous activity out of me, you'd best give me some calories to burn off) and conversation before hand. I also expect cuddles and kisses and aftercare after we're done. I'd also expect to at least be your friend in real time...but ideally we'd be pursuing some sort of socio-sexual conglomeration.

Also, I have to stress that I don't do online. At all. EVER. Yes, even for you. Yes, I'm sure. Why? Because spanking myself is a little silly, dontcha think? Also, because I'm lazy. You'll ask me if I did and I'll lie and say "yes". What motivation would I have to actually do something for a 2 D person a bazillion miles away? I much prefer the motivation of a three dimensional person within arms reach, because I'm needy, pushy and demanding that way.

It's cool that nameless and faceless encounters gets you off. It's cool that you and your wife have an "arrangement". It's cool that you enjoy intimate acts without intimacy.

Please. Enjoy yourself. I'm all for joy...but don't proposition me.

I'm not interested.

I'm really not interested.

Long story short is that I like myself too much to put out for nothing. No interest. No caring. No intimacy. No effort on your part. Why should I put in the effort of giving you a life-altering sexual experience, if you can't put in the effort of a civil conversation?

No, I still don't care that your cock is the size of a baseball bat.

No, I still don't care that your tongue is long enough to double as a red carpet.

Nope...it's still not at all interesting to me that your gf is a double-jointed circus freak.

No, that doesn't make me closed-minded or frigid. It doesn't make me "not kinky" or "vanilla". It makes me "picky". Trust me, if your idea of kink only extends as far as "free love", we wouldn't be a match. I need someone waaaaaay more adventurous than just anonymous one night stands. To be really blunt, I'm way too kinky for you, likely.

I'm choosing to hold out for someone who likes me as a person. I'm not the kinky icing for your vanilla cake, asshole. I'm the fucking cake, too. Just call me an old-fashioned slut.

Now...after all this, think about it carefully...still wanna ask me if I want to fuck you?

So, here you are.

You bought your boxed set of 50 Shades of Grey and you devoured them all in a week (which isn't surprising considering they're written at a Grade 6 level).

You're burning for more spice. More kink. More steamy, steamy sex in your otherwise humdrum life and your brain is filled with questions.

So, you turn to your search engine of choice and you ask it to tell you more about this strange "BDSM" thingy you've just discovered. To your shock, wonderment and surprise, there's a place where you can go talk to people about this discovery you've made...that you yearn for your very own Christian and that Ana was written with your secret desires in mind.

Whoa! Settle down!

You need a map to help you navigate your way through this forest. You don't know where the landmines are.

Before you click on that plus sign and start your topic, it might be good to know what to expect from your responses.

Let's take a look at some of the groups that you 50 Shades newbies will join, shall we?

Sample Question

Excuse me, do you have the time?

Kinky and Geeky (74,164 Members)
A: Time is relative, everyone knows that. The real answer to your question is 42. Btw, what comic book character would you fuck?

Novices and Newbies (61,039 Members)
A: You need to learn about time before you can tell time. Find a time mentor and learn everything you can about time. Perhaps there are time relevant events that you could attend in your area? Best of luck learning about time. Remember that time is something different to everyone and not everyone will have the same concept of time that you have. Try to find someone who sees time the same way you do if you want to be successful.

Submissive Women (47,599 Members)
A: You have to trust your Dominant about what time should mean to you, but if you can't trust his opinons on time that's a red flag. Get out while you still have time!

Sluts, Cunts and Whores (45,160 Members)
A: It's time to fuck.

Under 35 (44,761 Members)
A: Are you saying I look old?

Classified! (39,119 members)
A: PM me pictures of your vagina and I'll tell you what time it is.

Sadists and Masochists (29,137 members)
A: Why are you yelling "Red"? I thought "time" was your euphemism for "make the pain worse"...

Masters and slaves (29,048 members)
A: Masters decide what time it is. Anything less is topping from the bottom and cause for immediate release from your collar. Go away. You're dramatic.

The Comfy Chair (24,867 members)
A: Don't worry. You'll get more comfortable with time. Want a hug?

Poly & Kinky (23,907 members)
A: Questions like that show exactly why monogamy is a construct of societal conditioning and has to be eradicated.

Anal Sadists and Sluts (A.S.S.) (21,620 members)
A: My watch is in my ass. Would someone reach in and find it for me?

Submissives/Slaves/Bottoms Without Dominants (20,210 members)
A: I know you can feel lost without time, but the trick to finding out the time is to show that you don't need the time. When you're capable of being fully functioning without time, time will magically appear for you.

Ask a Female Questions (19,453 members)
A: Not all women are into time and I'm not feeding your sick, perverted wank fodder fantasies by giving you the time. Ugh. AND you have a "clock pic" avatar. What a creeper!

BDSM Theory (17,154 members)
A: While time waits for no man, wouldn't it be better to ask what the true nature is of time before you try to apply it?

Mental BDSM (16,564 members)
A: What time do you want it to be? Yes, that is a trick question...

Fuck or pass. (10,850 members)
A: Fucks time.

Fet Life Rants! (7,470 members)
A: Rule 8 violation! You're banned. Now we're gonna talk about you.

BDSM fans of Classic Rock (1,424 Members)
A: The only time that mattered was the Sixties.

Critical Curmudgeons of Kink (568 members )
A: According to recent studies, time is able to be predicted by a portable device that both measures and presents its findings. Its available to the public.

Sydney NS Kinksters (175 Members)
A: Anyone wanna hook up in my hotel room this weekend?

That's right. It's not what you pictured when you signed up with your clever screen name. It's okay...the real fake world of BDSM you find on fetlife is way more entertaining than the fake fake world of BDSM you found in 50 Shades.

You'll get used to it...or you'll need therapy.

Charlie Mackenzie: *Hey Mom, I find it interesting that you refer to the Weekly World News as, "The paper." The paper contains facts.*
May Mackenzie: *This paper contains facts. And this paper has the eighth highest circulation in the whole wide world. Right? Plenty of facts. "Pregnant man gives birth." That's a fact.*

*-So I Married An Axe-Murderer, 1993*

My entire life has been overshadowed by the Weekly World News and its cavalcade of "facts".

My earliest memory is of reading a headline on its front page. I was about 6 and well past the "sounding it out" stage of reading development.

**Pregnant Woman Denied Foodstamps! Forced to eat cat food! Gives birth to litter of kittens!**

I shit you not. Plenty of facts.

One of my favourite recurring characters was that of [BatBoy][http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bat_Boy_(character)], the half batling who made multiple appearances on the cover.

I loved BatBoy so much that my father, god bless his pointy little head, had his image screened on to a t-shirt for my Sweet 16.

My father and I loved the Weekly World News, its facts and its circulation that was enough to allow it to proclaim its position as the 8th highest circulating newspaper in the world. We'd seek out new issues and laugh over headlines. Some we actually still quote to this day.

So...why has my life been overshadowed by something that obviously brought me so much joy over the years?

When I was 8, they ran a headline: *Scientists Predict End of the World December 12, 2012*.

My date of birth is December 12, 1972 so naturally both my developing love of the Weekly World News AND the fact that my birthday was displayed on the cover caused me to notice that issue.

I made my mom buy it once I did some quick gazzintas and gazzontas and realized that the end of the world would happen on my 40th birthday.

For the first time ever she gave in to me (Not, I should note, without an exasperated "oh for the love of GAWD!" and the suggestion that she needed to kill my father for encouraging this silliness of her progeny). I had my coveted copy and read the article with fascination.

I kept it for years.

Every time The Paper would run another END OF THE WORLD ON 12/12/12 article, I'd add that edition to my collection.

It became part of my identity that for most life would begin at 40, but for me the world would end at 40.

Seemed par for the course in the land o' babe.

And here we are. Just over a month away from the event in question.

I'll turn 40 in just 33 days.

Or will I?

So many predictions for the end of the world have come and gone with much anticipation and very little follow through.

Remember the Great Earthquake that Nostradamus predicted would reshape the West Coast on Mother's Day, 1988? Nothing.

Remember Y2K? Nothing.

Remember the dozens of times that Revelation was upon us? Nothing.

Despite the fact that I've laughed at the predictions of the 8th highest circulating newspaper on the planet and used their lore to create a babe-mythology...I'm a little worried. For the last 32 years, I've watched end of the world predictions come and go with much fanfare and no money shot.

Also, I've met my luck. I've met my luck, god dammit.

If anything is true, it's that the life of babe is punctuated by moments of sheer absurdity.

The world ending on my 40th birthday as predicted by a supermarket tabloid would certainly fall under the heading of "absurdity".

Absurdity that is very, very, very apropos to a babe.

Maybe people should be taking this prediction a little more seriously...after all, they did have the 8th highest circulation on the planet...chances are good that they'd eventually have to have gotten *something* right...

5 weeks ago today, Canadians everywhere sat down to their meal of choice for Thanksgiving.

Leftovers were had.

Leftovers were thrown away.

Leftovers were discovered buried deep in the back of the refrigerator and quick calculations were made. (Length of time in the fridge x original item)/cost of the container you stored it in=who cares how much that Tupperware cost? I'm not washing that fucking container!

And, eventually, life in Canadia returned to normalcy...or, at least, as normal as a society that revolves around a coffee dispensing, dead hockey player can be.

We regained our normal Canadianity without all the shiny, happy, hopeful Thankfulness.

We regained normalcy just in time for our neighbours to the south to go on their annual campaign of bat-shit craziness over "Thanksgiving".

And we lauuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Well, we point and laugh, but you all can't see us through that one way mirror you set up at the 49th parallel so we can see you and you can also see you...so we tell you that we don't point.

But we do.

We just don't get it.

By the time we've lost the glow of the patina of thankfulness, you people are just warming up into full on shiny, happy siliness that turns into a month long drunk driving season bookended by two eating holidays and an orgy of spending.

We just don't get you.

We've met you all.

We're Canadians and even we can't handle that much fake joy crammed into one short time period (And if you choose not to believe me, try the Calgary Stampede sometime). How do you do it?

And how do you do it knowing that you're so damned late to the Thanksgiving party?

Yes...I know. Yours is the "real" Thanksgiving and ours is the silly replica that gets celebrated by people who can't read a calendar...but isn't it difficult to operate under that constant pressure to be happy and joyful?

Doesn't it eventually hurt to have a holiday erection caused by so much turkey viagara?

Eventually, don't you want to take off your holiday spirit and hang it up in a closet for an hour or two so you can be bitter and jaded like your neighbours to the North get to be while you're busy being chock full of the mandatory joy of the season?

You won't have your Thanksgiving for a week and I'm already exhausted from the non-stop innundation of Thankfulness and spirit of the season on the other side of the border.

Y'all gotta tone it down a bit. You sort of seem like the Whos in Whoville...and that's coming from a Canadian...yanno, the people who worship coffee at the altar of the dead Hockey player.

If we think this is nuts...

This morning I checked in with the thing I love to hate second most in the world (Don't worry, I will get to the thing I love to hate first most in the world very shortly), Kinky and Popular.

Picture, picture, picture...video, video, video...writing that made my feed...writing that made my feed twice...writing that made my feed so many times that I wanted to claw my own eyes out because it's about taking a dump in a public washroom...

And there it was.

The [obligatory complaint about people complaining about Kinky and Popular][https://fetlife.com/users/214838/posts/1268724].

Now, to be fair, the writing is intelligent and puts forth a decent premise: Of course Kinky and Popular would be populated mostly by the things that speak to the majority because, in the words of the author, *"generally speaking, more people will be into blowjobs (1349 kinksters into or curious about at the time of this writing) than will be into testicle flogging (no fetish at the time of this writing). This is not to celebrate one while denigrating the other, or to say one is “truer” kink than the other; this is simply how things are. The more specialized your interest, the less well it will do in a popularity-based system."*

So, yes. If your interests are more esoteric than the "usual" kinky goings on, then you're going to see less and less of it represented on the page...or find fewer groups to engage in...and by extension of logic, you'll find far fewer actual human beings to engage in them with.

The more "out there" you are, the fewer people will statistically be able to join you in enjoying your kink.

On the other hand, finding people who enjoy a good restrained blowjob given by a suicide girl to an Abercrombie model...that's like shooting stupid fish in a boring barrel. Too easy.

Kinky and Popular is merely the Homecoming court of kink. The prettiest people who are appealing to the largest cross section of the society will get crowned over and over.

*Obligatory break for a Mean girls reference here:*

*“I voted for Regina George because she got hit by a bus.”*
*“I voted for Cady Heron, because she pushed her.”*

And that very neatly brings me to the thing I hate first most:

Kink itself.

Okay...people who know me absolutely know where I'm going with this. Others are saying "But, babe, look where you are. Fetlife. You're being special again...like *stop eating paste* special".

I know.

I'm a sick, twisted, sexually open kinky fucker.

Literally.

What I hate is kink as a subculture, and the hating on K&P just solidifies it. It's the sexual version of the Mike Meyers character that tells us "If it's not Scottish, it's CRAP!"

It's gotta be more kinky...more against the grain...reinvent the wheel more than the thing that came before it or it just ain't kinky.

"Oh...you only like to be tied up and banged by your Master who's married to *his* Mistress while your husband the puppy brings treats to them both while being cheered on by anarchist cheerleaders?" Sorrrrrrrrry, that's so passe. You're not kinky."

It's gotta be bigger, better, faster and more.

It's gotta be the Norweigan Black Metal of kink for kink to "count".

We take everything that's out there, turn it on its ear and then make it "better" by doing it the kinky way.

We've stripped emotionality from pairbonding. It's cool and admirable to have interpersonal physicality with people we don't bond emotionally with...and push the envelope further and further with that person (or those persons) in a physical way.

THAT'S cool. THAT, my friends, is kink.

So, I'm going one better than loving the K&P for shock value because so many people are into hating on it.

I'm openly going vanilla. Vanilla is the new taboo.

I'm gonna openly hold hands with the one person I'm having sex with and tell anyone I can find that he's my "boyfriend" and we're "in love" just to show everyone just how avant garde I can be.

I'm gonna preach the word of kissing and cuddling and emotional attachment and weather the looks of withering scorn while I do so knowing that I'm too "out there" for you to comprehend.

I'm gonna love pictures of girls in their birthday suit and call it kinky...because I don't see any rope, any piercings, any tattoos, any latex or any fucking machines.

"Holy shit! Look at this twisted picture! That's a chick with no clothes on **AND SHE'S NOT SUCKING A COCK!!!!!!!!!!!**"

And I'm gonna do it all knowing that I've done something I never imagined possible...I'm gonna shock the shit out of the unshockable by NOT being bigger. By NOT being better. By NOT being faster. By NOT being more.

By finding the last taboo left in the known kinkiverse...being a gooey, cuddly girl who can say "Dude...I'm too much for you to handle...I'm *VANILLA*. You're not hardcore enough to be vanilla."

Edited to add: Someone has *GOT* to fill me in on this alleged reference to 30 Rock I've apparently made. Seriously, I've never seen it. Lemme in on the joke?

Name of Sexually Transmitted Infection: FEELINGS

**WHAT ARE FEELINGS?**
Feelings is a sexually transmitted infection (STI) caused by the basic human instinct to bond with another. Feelings develop after continued interaction unless you take the proper steps to ensure that you're immune from Feelings.

**HOW COMMON ARE FEELINGS?**
Feelings are common in all humans. Over the past decade, the percentage of persons who develop Feelings has declined due to rigorous societal pressure to not develop Feelings.

Transmission occurs when one or both people in a relationship begin to care about the needs or the life of their partner.

**WHAT ARE THE SYMPTOMS OF FEELINGS?**
Most individuals infected with Feelings begin with very mild symptoms. Because of this, most people infected with Feelings are not aware of their infection until it is too late. When symptoms do occur, they typically appear as one or more instances of exhibiting concern for the well being or happiness of the person they are involved with. Either party can experience euphoria, an interest in seeing their partner more frequently and learning increasingly more personal information about their partner. Experiencing these symptoms is sometimes referred to as having an “outbreak.” The first time someone has an outbreak they may also experience symptoms such as sweaty palms, a quickening of the heart rate or the inexplicable desire to listen to upbeat, radio friendly pop music.

Repeat outbreaks of Feelings are common. Symptoms of repeat outbreaks are typically more severe than the first outbreak of Feelings. Although the infection can stay in the body indefinitely, the number of outbreaks tends to decrease if the infected party or parties continue to allow the Feelings to develop and grow.

**HOW DO PEOPLE GET FEELINGS?**
People get Feelings by being human, and engaging in interpersonal contact with other humans. Having sex is shown to trigger dormant Feelings in humans. “Having sex” means anal, vaginal, or oral sex. The virus can also be released from non personal contact via the internet. Feelings can attack anyone at any time. Transmission can occur spontaneously between two people who have no history of Feelings or show no outward signs or symptoms of having Feelings.

**WHAT ARE THE COMPLICATIONS OF FEELINGS?**
Feelings can cause painful emotions in many adults and can be severe in people with suppressed emotional capabilities. If a person with Feelings is not aware that they have the virus, it can fester unacknowledged for a long time, leading to an explosive display of "drama". This is particularly problematic if it is a sensitive location such as in the kink community. This can be avoided by immediately cutting off contact with the infected person, treating them like they are a pariah. If there is no contact between infected and non-infected people, then the chances of transmission reduce exponentially.

Some people who contract Feelings have concerns about how it will impact their overall health, sex life, and relationships. It is best to talk to a self-appointed kink community expert about those concerns, but it also is important to recognize that while having Feelings is not curable, it is a manageable condition. Since a Feelings diagnosis may affect perceptions about existing or future sexual relationships, it is important to understand how to talk to sexual partners about STIs such as Feelings.

**HOW ARE FEELINGS DIAGNOSED?**
Anyone can diagnose Feelings by visual inspection if the outbreak is typical. Strangers on the internet can also extract the virus from a two sentence post and test it. Sometimes, Feelings can be diagnosed between outbreaks with a good friend over a drink. A person should discuss such testing options with their chosen group of internet strangers who claim to be experts in any of the following fields: "being twue", "doing it *right*" or "polyfuckery".

The best way for Feelings to be detected is for someone to know their body and their responses to interpersonal interaction. If you begin to exhibit any signs of having concern, care or tenderness toward the well-being of another then it's likely you're experiencing an outbreak of Feelings.

**IS THERE A CURE OR TREATMENT FOR FEELINGS?**
There is no treatment that can cure Feelings. Repeated doses of currently popular alternative sexuality dogma, however, prevent or shorten outbreaks during the period of time the person drinks the kool-aid. In addition, daily suppressive therapy (i.e., repeated exposure to people who advocate against the place in kink for emotional connection) for Feelings can reduce the likelihood of transmission to partners as well as shorten the duration of any rogue outbreaks.

**HOW CAN FEELINGS BE PREVENTED?**
Correct and consistent use of emotional distancing, defense mechanisms and a refusal to get to know your partners can significantly reduce your liklihood of developing Feelings. However, outbreaks can occur in dynamics where both parties are using all the recommended sexual protections listed above.

The surest way to avoid transmission of Feelings, is to abstain from interpersonal contact, cease to be human or to have yourself lobotomized.

Persons with a history of Feelings should abstain from sexual activity with partners when symptoms of Feelings are present. It is important to know that even if a person does not have any symptoms, he or she can have Feelings. Sex partners of infected persons should be advised that they may become infected and they should use all appropriate barriers and defense mechanisms to avoid being infected with Feelings.

GAH!

So, much as I'm wont to do, I wrote the other day.

Something that was funny and really just intended to make TheSugaryOne laugh on a morning when she maybe needed a good, old fashioned chuckle.

And, as has happened so many times before, the fucker went Kinky and Popular. Every time this happens (and really it's happened MANY times now) I'm shocked because I only have THIRTY FUCKING FRIENDS.

That's barely enough to get a good, silly conversation in comments going let alone catapult me into the silliness of K&P over and over...and yet, it happens. Ironically, most of my friends never love or comment the shit that goes K&P. Strangers I've never heard of just sort of swarm all of a sudden and there I am again.

Truthfully, this rant isn't about me being on Kibbutzing and Pedantic...*again*. It's about what happened when I looked there this morning.

I found [THIS][https://fetlife.com/users/1121098/posts/1294477#comments].

It was sitting alongside my silliness and it is titled "REALLY, ladies????". I took a peek.

And immediately I wondered what the holy, flying, ever-loving, effing fuck????? How on earth could my silly essay describing feelings as an STI the kink community wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole be sitting next to this mean, mean-spirited, victim blaming pile of holier than thou crap?

For those of you who have managed to miss it, allow me to recap:

The author calls out "ladies" (and the author would say "you know who you are", except they're apparently too stupid to know that they're the object of the author's derision) who live in their "hurt".

Essentially, the author has great disdain for everyone who isn't the author themself because the author is quite perfect and living life the right way.

It's the most self-congratulatory piece of twuism I've ever had the misfortune of reading.

And it's *LOVED*. I mean...uber loved. At the time I write this, it's received 218 comments and 557 loves in one day, putting it right at the top of the K&P pile.

With few exceptions, the comments say things like "Bravo" and "Well done!" in total sheepish agreement with the premise that women are weak willed creatures who choose to live in hurt rather than getting on with life.

To make it even more nauseating, a sad percentage of the commenters copy/pasta the most egregiously trite "I am WOMAN, hear me RAWR" part of this misogynistic essay:

*We are WOMEN. We are all magic, and mystery, and moondust. We have the power of CREATION in us. We have potential for great and powerful things. Will you waste your potential over a lost relationship? Will you board up your heart, then aim anger toward those who have the nerve to arrive without a crowbar? Or... or will you choose to become more? To become stronger and better? To elevate and grow? To ensure not your survival, but your happiness?*

I don't know about you all, but I'm so not the protagonist of a song that Stevie Nicks wrote fueled by cocaine, witchcraft and an overwhelming desire to jump the dumbstick of Lindsay Buckingham.

I'm not made of magic (with or without the "k"), mystery OR fucking moondust.

I'm no goddess (despite the fact that the one I crave and adore describes me thus from time to time and I think he may need corrective lenses).

I'm not some Helen Reddy parody of a gal.

I'm babe.

I'm made of snips and snails and puppy dog's tails. I'm also made of sugar and spice and every thing nice.

I'm equally capable of being hurt as I am of hurting. I'm neither blamless nor solely to blame.

I'm a person. Flesh and blood. Capable of mistakes and misteps as well as of great empathy, sympathy and forgiveness.

I'm not the nauseating creature that this author paints among "victims" as even though I've been hurt mightily in the past. I'm also not the Valkyrie who takes the transgressions to harness my superpower of Estrogen and Ovaries.

I'm just a gal who can't believe that I'm sitting side by side with someone who views the world with such a fun-house mirror perspective, and I hope that there are more of me than there are of her.

Suddenly, being "popular" seems to be a little insulting. If I managed to touch the same crowd that writing did, maybe I'm completely off the mark.

There's a writing on K&P this morning that got me thinking.

[DRAMADRAMADRAMA! - the cry of the coward][https://fetlife.com/users/1601415/posts/1329061#comments].

It makes sense, and therefore I can't understand why it would have made it right to the top of the K&P pile, but there it is...saying something I've long espoused.

*Just because something is unpleasant or unfortunate or makes people need some support doesn't make it "drama"*

And then it goes one better:

*REAL LIFE isn't drama. And REAL LIFE happens to everyone. And labeling it "Drama" is just a coward's excuse for avoiding it.*

I wanted to write a hearty BRAVO!!!! to the author. I wanted to give a standing ovation.

I couldn't, though.

I had to write here.

I have to wonder why the constant chorus of "ACK...DRAMA...NO DRAMA!!!!!! GET YOUR DRAMA OUTTA MY FACE!!!!! I'M EASY GOING AND DON'T ABIDE BY DRAMA!!!!!!!!!!" in a sub-culture that's made up of people who seek out the "extreme".

To recap, those who eschew the mundane, the boring and the expected label the effects as undesireable. If you're really that milquetoast, is the extreme really for you? Shouldn't you be doing something far less interesting if you can't handle interesting? I hear that kite flying is a rewarding hobby and since you do it alone, chances are good that nothing will happen that will cause you to have to think. Or react. Or dig down deep and find enough empathy to say "Fuck...that *SUCKS*".

What the holy, flying, ever-loving, effing fuck????

Did I miss a memo?

Did I somehow fall down, hit my head, pass out and wake up in Crazy?

That makes no sense.

As the author of that other piece points out, it's so often "real life" labelled as "Drama".

Breakups, bad experiences, job losses, transportation issues, children, spouses...life. Drama, drama, drama...and this sub-culture won't abide by it.

In fact, I've even seen people say "I love you" is "drama".

I have no idea how to reply to that. Love is drama? Life is drama?

Hell, I was once broken up with for being dramatic. Okay, more than once. The most memorable was this past Christmas Eve when I told my "partner" that I was very ill, in bed, with a fever of 104.6F. Apparently sharing with my "boyfriend" that I was sick was "drama".

Uhm...okay.

This trend, obnoxious on the surface and terrifying underneath, tells us that here in the Kinkiverse we're not supposed to be "real people" with "real life issues". That having a life with all the twists, turns and pitfalls that will happen in a real life makes us undesirable and something to be shunned at all costs because real life will ruin the illusion that this "lifestyle" is.

For the record, and I've said this before, I don't dislike drama.

In fact, I fucking love drama and I remove anyone from my life who joins the Hallelujah chorus of "NO DRAMA!!!!!!!!".

Life is messy.

Life is dramatic.

It's what makes life interesting.

Drama is what moves a story along. It's what engages us.

Would you go to a movie where the heroine does nothing but enjoy her soy-latte and her fat-free scone?

Hell no.

That's just a moment. A boring moment at that.

The real story is how she got there. How she had to fight the fire breathing dragon, avoid the pirates and outsmart the troll underneath the bridge that fell apart as she crossed it to get there.

That is the story.

The drama.

The life lived messily.

Life is meant to be LIVED, and by living you're bound to make mistakes. To trip. To fall on your face. To take chances, and sometimes fail miserably but also sometimes to succeed in ways that you never imagined.

Life is mess, and if your life isn't messy I don't really want to know you because it tells me that your "drama free existence" is a figment of your imagination. A house of cards built on a foundation of sand.

It's a fun house mirror reflection of life because no one is perfect. No one's life is that even, balanced and without incident unless they're avoiding life.

Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.

In this world, the con you're being sold is that you should be able to take risks, push the envelope and shout at devils without any repercussions at all. And the cotton candy is free, too.

So, I'll take the drama, and I'll pass on the "easy going" fakers. I'll take the bad, the messy and the downright "dramatic" because it leaves the door open for the happy, the amazing, the beguiling and the interesting.

I like interesting. I like to be engaged.

And I fucking LOVE drama, drama queens and the mess they openly acknowledge exists in the world.

Fucking fucking goddamn fuck!

I will never learn my lesson, will I?

It's my day off. I spent yesterday cleaning the domicile of the babe and the progeny, and already bought the week's foodstuffs. My day is mine.

How I chose to spend it was thus: Eat a bagel, drink a coffee, play some Bubble Safari and browse fetlife. I've been woefully remiss in giving good ole fet its required daily allowance of babelicious wit and wisdom of late.

I read through my usual suspects in the line of forums. There was some good stuff there. I snarked and snorted and even *fainted* once.

Then I misclicked. Jesus H. Jumped Up Christ on crutches, I misclicked.

Instead of clicking "Fetlife" for my homepage, I clicked on Kinky and Popular.

Y'all know how much I love to hate to love Kinky and Popular with its Hipster Kink and smattering of Twue-Dogma. One writing caught my eye just with its title

[How About We Not Piss the 'Nillas Off huh?][https://fetlife.com/users/7487/posts/1379657#comments].

With a title like that, who could resist taking a look?

Guess what I found?

A writing, 20 hours old, with 218 loves and 48 comments...and why, I simply can't tell you.

It's actually hurting my brain.

The gist of this writing is this: We shouldn't piss them off because they don't understand and they hate.

Better yet, repeated several times in this epically long mess of an essay, *THEY HATE HARD*.

Now, fair enough, we're not supposed to be doing this for acceptance. We're supposed to be doing this for personal fulfillment.

On the other hand, it's filled with just as much "'Nilla hatin'" as it claims Nillas hate on us.

*They are belligerent and angry and will hate til their dying breath. Nothing you can say or do will convince them that we are anything but a bunch of abusive deviants and predators and the lowest scum of the Earth. I don't know why they're like that, they just are. They complain about sex shop window displays, boycott Sexapalooza, try to get the press all up in our faces outside of our events and shows in the local community centers.*

But wait...why are they like this?

Is it possible that they're pushing their beliefs in our faces because **WE'RE PUSHING OURS IN THEIRS**?????????????????????????????????

Not a day goes by that I don't see a thread (or several) asking some variation on the theme of "How should I tell my parents/children/boss/neighbours/aunt/uncle/minister that I like bondage/impact play/being a puppy/being a slave/wearing latex/being gangbanged by a group of bikers wearing gorilla suits?"

Uhm...can ya see where the Nillas might be getting the wrong idea and might get the hate on?

Can ya?

I'll give you a second. It'll come to you.

For the slow thinkers, I'll tell you.

It's because we're forcing it on them. Forcing them to know. Forcing them to tolerate. Forcing them to understand.

Forcing them to be involved in our "lifestyle" without their consent by demanding that we're accepted for what we do privately without accepting what they do privately.

Force. And worse than that, forcing them to know, understand and tolerate that which isn't relevant to them. Forcing them to validate us by understanding our need to shout our private activities from rooftops without validating their need to NOT understand.

To NOT tolerate.

To not know.

We don't extend the same courtesies to them that we expect from them and then we put the label "hate" on it because it's our widdle feewings that got hurt when we weren't accepted for that which scares the bejesus out of those who don't do it.

We hate on them for not understanding what they don't NEED to understand. Or, worse, putting on that look of smug superiority and saying something like this:

*Those that hate, hate HARD. And they can still fuck up a lot of people we care about. So lets go out there and have our fun. But as tempting as it is, lets leave the vanillas out of it until they have their moments and they come to us.*

Until they have their moments and come to us? Until they come to their senses and behave exactly the way we do? Until they beg us to tell them more about things that really fall under the heading *OVERSHARING WITH THE PUBLIC*?????????

What pisses me off about all this is that the underlying theme is that it's okay if we don't understand or accept what floats the boats of the vanillas, but it's also okay to expect they understand what makes our worlds go 'round.

THEN I made the mistake of reading the comments underneath this weirdly lauded piece of writing and one of them absolutely validated every single thing I've said here:

*I also like the ideas but I have to say sometimes the look of horror on a nillas face is just to hard to pass up...*

So, it's fun to torment THEM, but it's not okay for THEM to torment US?

Have I missed something? They're supposed to give us their wholesale understanding, tolerance and acceptance while we're giggling because we horrified them with a shocking public display of...whatever the fuck it was we did to prove a point that no one can name?

It's hypocrisy.

It's vain.

It's chock full o' hubris.

And then we wonder, scratching our heads as we wonder, why they're not tripping all over themselves to validate our choices? Are we that fragile that we aren't secure unless we're validated by those who don't practise the mystical awesomeness that is alternative sexuality?

I've got news for ya.

You're never going to get validated by those who DO, so if you're waiting for those who don't to pat you on the head and give you the warm fuzzies you're in for a helluva wait, Sparky.

I was talking last night with TheSugaryOne. One of our usual conversations where we laugh and laugh and say things that were quite bemusing to both of us.

I told her that I had to write this. I told her that this title had been rattling around in my head for a long time but that I'd never taken the time to flesh it out into reality.

Truthfully, I'd been thinking the title for a long time, but had no idea what words to put with it. Suddenly as I was talking, it came to me with a thud and a crash. I had to put hard, hot pink, acrylic nails to keyboard and set it down in stark black on white text:

Every once in a while, when my TOU violations were but itty-bitty versions of the full-sized adolescent humans they are today, I'd go into their rooms and examine the toyboxes.

Just me, a garbage bag and a sense of determination that anything not useful would be thrown out.

Broken toys, pieces of toys with no main parts, sharp edges, jammed buttons and nutella in the gears were all good reasons to throw away crap that was taking up space in their lives without enriching them.

I'd clean out the clutter of their physical space, getting rid of everything that I could tell they couldn't put to good use, wouldn't put to any use or that could harm them. Things they'd outgrown was a prime reason to throw something away.

"You're too old to play with this, Curdleator."

"Sorry, BooBerry, you'll hurt yourself if you keep this around."

I was merciless. If it wasn't necessary, it didn't need to take up space.

Oh, sure...there were some things that were sacred cows. Some things that had to remain, no matter how old and decrepit they became.

TheCurdleator had a teddy bear that I'd passed on to him the day he was born...that had been given to me the day I was born. Theodore was absolutely beyond reproach no matter how nasty he looked.

TheBoo was the proud owner of a doll my parents had had made for me when I was a girl...Violet had a get out of jail free card, too...no matter how tattered and torn she became.

Some things you keep because they have meaning. The rest...it can go.

Oddly, though, despite the fact that I'm ruthless and beyond cruel with refusing to hold on to physical mementos, I'm guilty of never-ever-ever-ever-EVER cleaning out my emotional toybox.

Of never clearing out my mental deadwood.

Of letting my broken toys just hang out there, cluttering up my mental toybox so that I can't put anything else in there.

I steeled myself today.

I breathed deeply.

I exhaled deeply.

In with the butterflies and out with the bees.

I blew a thick layer of dust off the lid of that toybox today and then opened it up.

Oh no. They were all in there. Crammed in together, cheek to jowl, all the broken toys I'd thrown away after they had hurt me.

They were exactly the way I'd left them the last time I'd played with them and they'd harmed me with their sharp corners, missing pieces and unfinished edges that left rashes of tin splinters because they were manufactured before toys were made to be safe.

They'd never been magically fixed. No one had come and made them whole, again. Where they'd been missing parts, they still missed parts...and in fact they'd degraded a little bit. Missing empathy or compassion now looked like egotism. Chronic tardiness and broken promises looked like wanton disregard. Sexual issues seemed indicative of other things like basic incompatibility.

And, like I did in years past with the rooms of the progeny, I filled that garbage bag with all the broken toys I'd not played with in too long.

Ex-hub and his refusal to grow up while I raised two kids? Gone. No longer needed.

Ex-bf with the bass and the heroin addiction who wrote beautifully fucked up songs about me? Gone. No longer relevant.

Ex-bf who spent the night with me before he got married to another woman and forgot to mention he was getting married? Gone. Shouldn't have been a toy in the first place.

Ex-bf from Jr High and High School who casually broke my heart after years of happy togetherness? Gone. Gone. Gone.

Just not necessary.

I left a few memories in there. Rex Adler, Radio God, was allowed to stay. He has a place of honour in my memories. You know why if you know me at all. One or two others as well. Plus the most recent. I'm not sure he's broken beyond repair, even though it looks pretty bleak right now.

The rest I threw out, though. I need the room.

Then, just before I tied up the bag, I took a look in the toybox and sighed.

I reached back in there.

I rummaged around and pulled out the memory of GuyThing. I shook him out and took a look.

I frowned.

Then I put him in the bag with the other toys that I'd never pick up again.

Then I tied the bag and put it out at the curb.

I think I did pretty good for my first crack at cleaning the toys out of babe-land.

Subtitled: An open letter to BoyfriendBoy

Dear BoyfriendBoy:

Gosh. It was lovely to hear your voice today after what...37 days?

Sure. It's true. I actually did want to speak with you. I wanted to apologize.

Pardon me, BoyfriendBoy, I have to ask several people to pick their jaws up off the floor.

Yes, darling, it's true. I wanted to apologize to you. I committed a classic blunder. I didn't get involved in a land war in Asia, nor did I go in against a Sicilian when death was on the line...but a classic blunder I did commit.

I didn't get my BoyfriendBoy to babe decoder ring, and so I misunderstood you.

I can see now that I had no reason at all to think I could or should expect anything from you. Not your time, not your interest, not your interaction, not your compassion, not your attention. Nothing. I had no reason to think that you were willing or able to be physically and emotionally present in the relationship you instigated and escalated.

Furthermore, I should have listened to you better. I should have heard the things you said that made it clear that you weren't interested in the work of a relationship...only the rewards of it. I should have listened to the things you said that conformed to my fantasies of what could be with a grain of salt.

I should have listened, and that I didn't is all my fault.

I shouldn't have been so starved for just the idea that someone could love me that I'd disregard anything that didn't fit into my delusional love bubble.

While I was willing, more than willing in fact, to own my mistakes in our relationship it is important for you to understand that you misstepped as well.

You didn't, it would seem, understand the difference between having a girlfriend and having the girlfriend experience, and that is what caused a lot of our strife.

Having a girlfriend is work. You have to put in effort. Energy. You have to be there when things are good and when things are not so good...for her and for you and for both of you.

You have to be interested.

You have to invest time and effort and emotion.

Sure. Sometimes you're busy. Sometimes you have other things to attend to.

And so does she.

Having a girlfriend is part of your life, not something that gets in the way of your life. It's not something you can invoke when it's convenient.

Having a girlfriend is inconvenient sometimes. So is having a boyfriend. You have to plan for time together. You have to think about someone other than yourself.

The payback to the fact that you have to put effort, time and energy into having a girlfriend is that you have a girlfriend. Someone who will still be there in the morning after you wake up flailing your arms in night terrors. Someone who will laugh at the jokes she's heard several times like it's the first time ever. Someone who will look deep in your eyes and tell you she loves you on a day when you're down because you were the person she could count on when things weren't so awesome.

If you can't do that, or aren't willing to do that, what you want is the girlfriend experience. You pay extra for the hooker to pretend she cares about who you are as a person, share pillow talk, and have multi-positional gymnastic sex...but in the end you're paying someone to pretend and then go away when it's not convenient for you to have her around.

So, BoyfriendBoy, after all that time you came crashing back into my life with a thud and a bang. You expected me to be instantly prepared to speak with you frankly and openly even though you made it seem as appealing as having a root canal with your tone, demeanor and your attitude.

You demanded answers to questions you had no right to ask after more than a month of absolute silence and got bitchy and miserable when I was unwilling to give that information.

And why is that?

Because I was your girlfriend.

Was.

I stopped being your girlfriend because you made it clear that you were only interested in having the girlfriend experience.

And now...now that I'm your ex-girlfriend...I'm under no obligation to fit your needs into my life despite the fact that you're suddenly prepared to have them met by me. I'm under no obligation to prioritize your whims and desires.

I'm under no obligation to stroke your ego or soothe your soul for any reason because you couldn't be there for me when I was supposed to be your girlfriend.

For that, at this point in our relationship, you'd have to pay extra and get the girlfriend experience.

For a little extra money, I might pretend I can give a crap about your little and loud complaints. For a little extra money, I might look you in the eye and pretend to listen.

For a little extra money I might smile at you through all the hurt and pain.

The unfortunate thing is, I'm not a hooker, even though that's how you treated me when we were together-so now you don't get the girlfriend experience, you get the ex-girlfriend.

And she doesn't care that you can't see that you need to own as much of what happened as she does.

About 48 hours ago, the phone o' the babe rang.

This, in and of itself isn't unusual. TheReaper, TheBoo, TheCurdleator, TheSugaryOne and others ring the phone o' the babe with regularity.

This time, when the phone rang though, the babe did not answer it with a cheerful "Heya babycakes, what's shakin' bacon?"

For the record, that IS how one answers the phone in babeland.

Oh no. I rejected the call.

In fact, I treated that call as though I had looked at my phone and saw a big, hairy-legged spider on it.

I jumped, screamed, panicked, flailed and threw it across the room as a matter of fact.

So, who was on the phone?

BoyfriendBoy.

After 31 days of absolute no contact, he called.

That's a full calendar month for those of you who prefer to think in terms like that

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No voicemail.

And so it happened. The first post-breakup contact from BoyfriendBoy.

Now, as some of you may know, this was both a wonderful relationship and the worst one imaginable.

When we were alone together it was easy to believe that I was beautiful and desired. That I was his. That he craved me.

That, as he said without any provocation from the babe, he loved me.

When we were with others, though, it was impossible to not think otherwise. I was not allowed to make physical contact. I was treated like one of the guys. I was the acknowledged booty call. He wouldn't add me to FB or any other social networking site. He didn't initiate date nights. He couldn't even muster up the compassion to text a fucking frownie face when I told him that I was in bed with a raging fever two days before Christmas.

And, so, in a blaze of unhappiness and anguish, it extinguished.

That call got me thinking, though. It got the wheels spinning.

That call is a practical application of Schrödinger's cat, the 1935 thought experiment where Schrödinger describes how one could, in principle, transpose the superposition of an atom to large-scale systems. He proposed a scenario with a cat in a sealed box, wherein the cat's life or death depended on the state of a subatomic particle. According to Schrödinger, the Copenhagen interpretation implies that the cat remains both alive and dead (to the universe outside the box) until the box is opened. Schrödinger did not wish to promote the idea of dead-and-alive cats as a serious possibility; quite the reverse, the paradox is a classic reductio ad absurdum.

In 1957, Hugh Everett formulated the many-worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics, which does not single out observation as a special process. In the many-worlds interpretation, both alive and dead states of the cat persist after the box is opened, but are decoherent from each other. In other words, when the box is opened, the observer and the already-dead cat split into an observer looking at a box with a dead cat, and an observer looking at a box with a live cat. But since the dead and alive states are decoherent, there is no effective communication or interaction between them.

And so, there I am. Having not answered the call, the cat remains both alive and dead, if one chooses to adhere to the Copenhagen interpretation of entanglement.

On the other hand, if one chooses to be a student of the many worlds interpretation, there are many worlds: one where I answered the phone and the cat died, one where I answered the phone and the cat lived...and one where there's a bunch of scientists in Copenhagen discussing dead and alive cats at the same time.

Should I have answered the call instead of treating it like it was radioactive waste?

I dunno.

Part of me wants to know if there's a dead cat in a box sitting in the room with me, but the other part wants to believe in the live kitty, happily sleeping.

Fucking Schrödinger.

Settle down.

Don't get your panties in a twist. It's not about what you're assuming.

This evening TheSugaryOne and I had one of our conversations. A typical, balls out laugh fest about anything and everything under the sun. We have them daily or else we start to get a little twitchy and sketchy.

Yanno. It's where we go to recharge our mental batteries. No subject is off-limits, taboo or free from our keen (if sometimes cruel) insight. We talk and bust a fucking gut laughing at whatever has set us off on that day's Schadenfreude-a-thon.

Tonight, it happened to be the topic of sexual issues in relationships.

We were discussing two people we know, who recently ended a short-long-term relationship. We don't know what the hell happened, nor do we exactly care because we're not close, if ya know what I mean.

We know them, they know us, and it's NO secret at all that they were sexually incompatible.

There are three sides to the story of the sexual incompatibility, and in our group it's been Monday morning quarterbacked to death. He has his side, she has her side and there's the side that outsiders can see if they bother to open up their eyelids even a fraction of a smidgen.

His side: She "couldn't" do .

Her side: She'd bent over backward, moved heaven and earth to make him happy.

Reality: I don't know how to say this, but he failed miserably.

No, he didn't fail miserably in that she "couldn't", he failed because he fell victim to one of the classic blunders. The most famous is Don't get involved in a land war in Asia. Only slightly less well known is Don't go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line.

Third classic blunder is don't expect the foreigners to conform to your standards on their home turf.

I can feel it. I'm losing you. Indulge me a moment.

Back in the 50's, Lederer and Burdick wrote a fictionalized account of Americans "helping" in Burma. There were two sorts of Americans. There was the "ugly" American-the poorly dressed, rough around the edges idealist who genuinely wanted to help the Burmese through foreign aid...and there were the "Ugly Americans"-the bureaucrats who exhibit a range of blundering, corrupt, and incompetent behaviors, often concentrating on impractical projects that will serve more to benefit American contractors than the local population.

Eventually, this became the launchpad for the term "Ugly American", a boor who comes in with no regard for local customs or interests but instead insists on using a cookie cutter and formulaic approach to problem solving. It evolved to "Ugly American Syndrome"...the point where it's a perjorative term used to describe anyone who expects the problem to conform to the solution (ie. ethno-centric Americans who travel and expect the host culture to conform to them).

And that brings me to the "Ugly Sex-Partner Syndrome".

Back in our gab-fest we discussed the much deconstructed sexual issues of Person A (who couldn't do "it", but tried her hardest to satisfy) and Person B (who believes in his heart of hearts that he did everything in his power to "fix" her).

Oy.

I drew a comparison.

I used to go out with Person C...we'll call him BoyfriendBoy. BoyfriendBoy had a certain act that he considered a "deal breaker"...one I found rather challenging my entire twisted, kinky and fucked up sexual timeline. Just something that I can not seem to bring myself to accomplish no matter how hard I tried.

Many a partner tried and failed to get me to jump the anal hurdle. I have an unblemished record. Despite being made out of sex, fucking like a banshee and giving head like I fucking invented it NOT ONE MAN HAS EVER BREACHED THAT THRESHOLD.

Why?

Dunno.

I have no gory past relating to it...with the exception of the string of failures that all come at it in the exact same way with the exact same results.

Failure.

Utter, total, abject failure.

And so, I told TheSugaryOne, Person B is no different from BoyfriendBoy. They both think they're spectacular at the thing that is the issue because they're basing this on the fact that they've met only success to this point.

Making me cum doesn't make you a fantastic lover. That's like shooting fish in a barrel. I'm so orgasmic that I pity women who are ONLY multi-orgasmic. I cum like Vesuvius. I cum like a rabid werewolf in heat. I cum like a crack-enhanced succubus.

Making me cum is not indicative of your prowess of a lover, nor does it indicate your lack of prowess.

It means you were successful with someone who isn't challenged by this act.

Success is measured by how you manage to get around the obstacles...the people who don't have the magical "easy" button.

How you adapt.

How you roll with the punches.

And failure is measured by the steps that BoyfriendBoy and Person B took in solving the problem. Like the Ugly Americans, they didn't change the language of the message or learn the local customs, they merely spoke at the problem slowly and loudly, expecting the problem to understand them.

In the book, a Burmese journalist writes: "For some reason, the people I meet in my country are not the same as the ones I knew in the United States. A mysterious change seems to come over Americans when they go to a foreign land. They isolate themselves socially. They live pretentiously. They're loud and ostentatious. Perhaps they're frightened and defensive, or maybe they're not properly trained and make mistakes out of ignorance."

When they failed, it could not be the problem of the ones who took a tried and true formula and assumed that it's a one size fits all solution. No, it's the failure of the one who wasn't able to understand them, no matter how slowly or loudly they spoke...even though they didn't bother to get a Berlitz guide, learn a few local phrases and enough of the customs to not be crass. Instead of making the issue the fact that the solution ISN'T one size fits all, they take offense to the fact that what they know to be successful hasn't ensured success.

Their egos become tied up in the success and any lack of success translates into "failure"...since it's been "successful" in the past, but isn't now, then the onus of responsibility must reside with the one who doesn't respond to the inside the box solution.

You taking notes BoyfriendBoy and Person B?

It's not just BoyfriendBoy and Person B, though. You see it all the time on here.

Somebody asks a question and it'll go like this: I can't get my bf/gf/sub/slave/Dom/Master/play partner to and I'm confused. It's been easy with everyone else but no matter how often I , it's not working. What's wrong with him/her?

And I sigh...because no one wants to hear that their successes don't indicate ability as much as they'd love to think it does. No one wants to hear that they're being obnoxious tourists. No one wants to know they're being Ugly Americans while on vacation.

The fact is, when you succeed with the challenges, when you overcome the obstacles, when you adapt the solution to the specific situational issues of the problem and succeed, THAT'S when you can shout from rooftops about your ability in .

Until that day comes, you're just lucky that the natives know enough English to understand YOU.

I know.

We're all being affected by the new rules.

The Big 4.

It's madness, I tells ya...utter madness.

Not only are we not allowed to do three things that we were never able to do before (pedophilia, bestiality and incest) but now SCAT is bad, too.

Scat.

You heard me.

Scat.

I don't get it.

It might not be everyone's cup of tea, but for the love of Odin...it's an American art form. There have been countless practitioners of it and some of it is good. It's pure improvisational expressionism. Ella Fitzgerald built an entire career on nothing but scat. She got a lifetime achievement award for scat!

Show me anyone who doesn't smile at a good Ski bi di bi di do bap do do bam do, and I'll show you someone with no heart.

Someone with no soul.

In fact, I'll bet some of the honchos at Visa are closet scat fans.

It's true, though. Scat singing has never been universally accepted, even by jazz enthusiasts. Writer and critic Leonard Feather offers an extreme view: he once said that "scat singing—with only a couple exceptions—should be banned". Many of the finest jazz singers, including Bessie Smith, Billie Holiday, Jimmy Rushing, and Dinah Washington, have avoided scat entirely.

That doesn't mean that scat isn't without its merits. That it shouldn't be there for those who do love it and appreciate it and have it speak to their souls. That it shouldn't be there for the appreciation of future generations.

Back in 2007, when the controversy erupted over giving Kazan a lifetime achievement award at the Academy Awards, Robin Williams implored "For the love of god, people...let Lainie SING!". I second his sentiment now that the great Scat Controversy of 2013 is upon us.

For the love of god, people...let Ella SING!

What's next?

Banning beatboxing? Now, THAT I could get behind if Visa were to impose that as a restriction.

You didn't ask for it.

You didn't even know you were jonesin' for it.

Doesn't matter. Here, straight from the Home Office at Sydney University, are the Top Ten Dead Giveaways A Writing Was Written Just So It'd Go K&P:

10. It sets down "Universal Rules" for something that has no rules. The only possible exception to this is the 128 Slave Rules. Doesn't matter, that shit just never fails to crack me up. Pure comedy gold.

9. It addresses "community issues" despite the fact that there is no community, does nothing to fix whatever's wrong in the imaginary place and probably doesn't even outline the most tenuous of possible solutions for the imaginary problem in the imaginary place..

8. It's in answer to something else on K&P.

7. It's written in the form of an "Open Letter". Bonus K&P points if it's an Open Letter to the Community about the issue of rules for something that can't possibly have rules.

6. It gives some humorous viewpoint on "brats" or "What one shouldn't do to Master".

5. It gives unsolicited advice on how to identify a psychopath, how to find a suitable partner or how to find Waldo.

4. It tells you emphatically and categorically what Dominance/Mastery/submission/slavery/ice cream is and brooks no debate on the subject.

3. It rages against the 'Nillas.

2. It's an itemized list. Mega-awesome-K&P-bonus points if it's an itemized list about Red Flags.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd....the number one way to tell without a doubt that a writing was written with the sole intention of it going Kinky and Popular is.....

douchy drumroll that no one can hear for effect

1. It's written by babeinthewoods!

(D'oh!)

Effective immediately, the Board of Directors of babeinthewoods inc. (hereafter to be known as "The Organization") is launching an aggressive recruiting campaign to fill a vital role within The Organization.

This position, lateral to the Chairwoman of the Board (a position currently filled by babeinthewoods), would commence as a permanent part time position. Should both the successful applicant and The Organization choose to exercise this option in the future after the initial probationary period for both parties, the position has the possibility of being expanded to permanent full time.

Main duties of the position include successful implementation of strategies that will enable the growth of The Organization. The position is equally balanced between mental development of the needs of The Organization and the physical work thereof that may be performed while sitting, standing or lying down. The ability to lift 100 lbs and mental agility will be considered an asset. This is not a desk position-it is important to note that duties may need to be performed at any time of day that is suitable to the candidate and The Organization in any place the two deem would be appropriate. This is not a "work share" position or one that is capable of being filled via distance or teleconferencing. The applicant must be physically in residence locally, be available for agreed upon meetings and show reliability in follow through.

The ideal candidate will be mentally, physically and emotionally present to perform the required tasks of this position. Effective communication skills and the ability to give and receive constructive feedback is essential. The ideal candidate will work with the Chairwoman of the Board to assess the needs of The Organization and implement strategic initiatives to successfully meet those needs in an environment of constant learning and development.

The Organization has a comprehensive benefits package for the individual that epitomizes the requirements of this position and has a remuneration scale in place that rewards effort and success.

Please note: The Organization has no need for any casual or on call staff at this time, and doesn't anticipate the implementation of such a position at any point in the future. Any applicants indicating they are looking for a temporary, casual or on call position will be discarded and only those who have been selected for interview will be contacted.