single woman holiday musings

I am lying on my bed watching Stav - his eplosive Greek giggle at his own jokes charms me. Nebraska is in Nebraska, which suits me just fine. It STILL occurs to me, every holiday, that I DO NOT HAVE TO GO ANYWHERE OR DEAL WITH A MOTHER IN LAW yay.

I can't imagine telling Nebraska about this blog. I can't imagine a lot of things in the category of happily ever after anymore. He can. He tells me every day how happy he is, how much he adores me, how much he wants to pamper me and care for me, how much he is looking forward to the rest of his life now that he has met me.

:/

I really wish he would stop talking. I'm just like, uh huh well um I guess you could buy me jewelry and stuff, trying to shut him up / cool him off. But it has the opposite effect. He's making noises about engagement rings and I'm just like omg dude that would have to be a rock so big I could barely lift my hand (followed by the longest engagement in history). And he is just like, I KNOW!

I run a lot of miles to twerkclass music. Black girls singing about jewelry. "I'll have you spending all you got lalalaaa" type stuff. Worldview: my phat ass is worth whatever you got just to touch it. And when I roll with that attitude, you'd think that'd be offputting, but nooope. Men want to be owned.

But I branded a man once, and that didn't turn out so great. It did lead to really great sex, though. Hmm 🤔

So that's the recipe maybe (?) =  I don't give a shit about your mama, I don't pack your lunch, I just demand jewelry and velvet dresses and orgasms. And I keep getting that.

My dominatrix name: Mistress Armscrossy. (lol)