Weekend Onesie: At What Price?

Weekend Onesie:

At What Price?

This week, we reached a milestone of tombstones. 

A half a million dead because we, one of the most developed nations in the world, failed to get our shit together and do the right thing.

Yay! America! 

Still #1.

This is the price of freedom.

People act and vote against their own self interest all the time. It's their right to do so, protected by our constitution.

Stupid? Oh, hell yeah.

I just shake my head at all those folks living in crappy trailers in shitty little towns in the south all up in arms about the government controlling their lives, creating a welfare state... all the while they're surviving on state subsidies and food stamps.

The disconnect? I think it's a form of self-preservation.

I mean, people tend to want to be proud of who they are so they can live with themselves - so that kind of denial is a sort of self-preservation. Also... the whole shaming and pointing the finger at others for the very thing you're doing? That gives one a sense - albeit a false sense - of superiority. 

And no one has a need to feel superior more than Americans. 

We've been marching around with that chip on our shoulder since the day we landed at Plymouth Rock. It's in our cultural DNA.

But, back to the finger pointing - about the welfare state? Yeah... you know what that's really about, right? Us vs. Them? The 'them' in this case refers to urban folk - which is an institutionalized racist codeword for POC.

Now, there's a whole thing about southerners having lost all their free labor which destroyed a way of life that never should have been in the first place if they had any morals which plays into that anger.. but that's for another post. 

Again, getting back to the freedom to vote against your own self-interest...

Well, in this country... we are, indeed, guaranteed the right to be stupid. Guaranteed the right to do the wrong thing.

Yes, it's wrong to put others at risk simply because you don't want to cooperate. Let's face it... wearing a mask? It's not that much of a hardship. But, because it has been politicized and defined as the government trying to tell us what to do... well all those folks that constantly vote against their own-self interest, they got all up in arms and decided to defy what those of us who live lives guided by common sense saw as something that was in our own best self-interest to follow. 

But those who comply? We're the cucks. 

We're the problem. 

Not those spreading the disease by gathering in bars that were or should have been closed. Not those that flood the streets sans mask every time their favorite sports team wins some stupid trophy. Not those gathering and travelling when people in the know - people like Dr. Fauci - people who are guided by science (Yes, Meghan McCain, it is true!) - were telling us that was not a good idea. 

And anti-vaxxers? 

Well, that is a whole 'nother level of stupidity... but also guaranteed in the constitution. 

Personally, I am aghast that half a million people's lives have ended and none of these people - including many politicians - seem to acknowledge or grasp the magnitude of that rather morbid accomplishment. 

I watched Biden's speech. I was with my mother and my ex. Had I been alone, I would have cried. It was a moving speech... maybe a little too personal, maybe a little to self-referential, maybe a little too emotionally-manipulative. I dunno. It was effective. 

And it was chilling. 

Let freedom ring...

...but at what price?

We live in a divisive society. A certain faction of our government and a certain faction of the financial complex have teamed up, having recognized that it is in their best self-interest to keep people - particularly people of a lower economic status - pointing fingers and hurling insults at each other. 

Incidentally... this is also why the LGTBQ bill is suddenly such a hot ticket item. It's divisive. It keeps people riled up. It distracts.

It keeps the poor, the common folk, busy... and if they are busy, they won't recognize that our constitution guarantees them a say in how things are run. For if that faction should wake up and realize they are fighting the wrong battles and they do indeed have the power to change things... well, that would mean those in power - the wealthy, the titans of our financial complex, and those politicians kept in place by those one percenters... would, most likely, lose some or all of their power. 

So, it's really in the 'best' interests of those individuals and the likes of Fox News to keep people ignorant and riled up. It's a means of maintaining the status quo. 

And we all 'like' the way things are? Right? 

I mean, that's why we resist wearing masks and social distancing and actually acting in our own self-interest. 

Because we don't like change. 

Well, something tells me that the half a million people that lost their lives - more than the lives lost in WWI, WWII and Viet Nam combined... something tells me that they aren't too pleased with how that all turned out for them. 

Something tells me they are definitely not okay with the way things are.

And, while it is the freedom they ended up dying from... I don't think it's the freedom they held in their hearts while their hearts were still beating.

And those that paid with their lives on battlefields in the name of freedom? All those brave soldiers? 

Something tells me that this freedom... the one we all appear to be justifying and allowing to rule the day?

That is not the freedom they died for, either.

--- ---

Wishing you all the best.

Stay safe. Stay healthy. Stay strong.

And... wear a damn mask!

- uptonking from Wonderland Burlesque

This Is Not America - David Bowie / Pat Metheny Group

TMI Questions – Classic Edition: Lotto Fever: What Would You Do or Not Do?

TMI Questions – Classic Edition: Lotto Fever: 

What Would You Do or Not Do?

Who hasn’t fantasized a little bit about this?  Thing is, in order to win, you have to play – and I have much better things to do with my money than throw it in a wishing pool.  I understand the hope this kind of thing can hold for others, but I’m too realistic and too unlucky to entertain such a fantasy.

Still… all that money.  It would instantly solve everything, right?  Easy street?  Well, based on the few stories I have read about actual lotto winners, that is typically not the case at all.  Mo’ money, mo’ problems.

I would like to think I’m smarter than that.  But based on my answers to these questions… what do think?

Yeah… probably not that smart.

Keep in mind that what you could do really depends on the amount of money you win.  I am going to assume I have won a gazillion dollars and can do whatever I want, for as long as I like.

TMI QUESTIONS:

Questions designed to reveal Too Much Information

Link: http://tmiquestions.blogspot.com/

TMI Questions – Classic Edition: Lotto Fever: What would you do or not do?

For your family?

I would get a full-time nurse to care for my Dad, so the pressure would be off my Mom.

I would erase the debts of certain family members and pay off their mortgages – this includes my ex, who is part of my family. In fact, I would make sure that my ex and his mother had everything they needed to be comfortable for the remainder of their lives. 

For me, money equals stress relief.  As in, decrease the drama of every day so that the people that mean the most to me have a better chance at obtaining comfort and happiness.

I don’t think I would actually buy anything for anyone.  Maybe a new car for the ex.  That’s about it.  I’m not very materialistic and don’t want to support that kind of mindset.  I suppose if they asked me for something specific, I would entertain the idea.

The only other thing I would like to do is have a kick-ass family reunion for my mother.  It would be outdoors, catered and there would be beer, because that is the one way to get my cousins to show up.  I would hire a band, too, so there could be dancing.  Do it up right, just one time… and that would be it.    

For your friends?

What friends?  Seriously.  I was talking with the boyfriend last weekend and came to the realization that I have only two real friends (and that includes the boyfriend), who are not family members.  Acquaintances?  Five – six, if I count a good friend of the ex’s. 

So, for the friend who is not my boyfriend, I would pay off her mortgage, put a new roof on her house, and start college funds for her two kids.  Again, stress relief.

For the boyfriend?  Only what he wanted – and pretty much anything he wanted.  He and I are of a similar mindset and I trust that he wouldn’t suddenly morph into someone he is not.  I would want things for him, but he is pretty content with his life, and I need to be respectful of that, or I risk messing up the relationship.  I would eliminate any and all debt for him.  That said, a lot of things that I would do for myself, involve him, and those are the only things regarding him that I am willing to talk about in this post.

My acquaintances?  We would have a lovely dinner party in a great restaurant near a nice hotel where everyone would have a room. There would be child care provided and we would have all night to talk and make memories.  It would be small and intimate, so the conversation would be robust as the martini’s flowed. 

My ex would be there. He’s my friend and a family member.  So would my youngest sister and her husband, as they are my friends and family. 

The boyfriend would so be there, though he might be in a bit of a funk because the ex was there.  He could opt out, if he absolutely wanted to, but I would not have nearly as much fun without him there.

That leaves two straight couples, a gay couple (now more friends with the ex, than with me), a wonderful musician/actress friend of mine, and a female friend of my ex’s (though she might not come, since I’m hosting). 

Wow… that makes thirteen.  Hmm. 

There would be a pianist who would play quietly in the background, taking requests and allowing guests to sing a tune if they wish.  I would also fly in Janis Ian to do a short set of songs that I would choose in advance.  Her style of intimacy would set the perfect tone for the evening and I have a feeling she would be a great dinner guest.  She could join us for dinner and that would make fourteen (whew). 

Depending on the cost, this dinner might become an annual thing.  

Oh, and for all my blogger buddies… I would love to create a blogger’s conference at a hotel with a good restaurant, where we could get together, meet face to face and learn about each other.  There are some fascinating individuals who blog with whom I would love to have some honest conversations.

It would be a blast with a special musical guest each evening.

For yourself?

First, I explore ways for this found money to make more money, so that I never have to worry about money again.  Then I would sit down and carve out a realistic budget before I spent a penny. 

I think they actually let you choose payments of the lotto winnings, but, hey… that would mean trusting the government to do what they said they would do and we all know how that plays out.  So, I have a feeling that a lump sum, taxes and all, would be the way I would go.  Again, I am assuming I have won a gazillion dollars, so sky is the limit.

My goal would be to do nothing but write for an entire year. I would make sure that my winnings would provide me with a means to do that.  And I’d make a concerted effort to find a publisher for the novel I’ve already completed.  If, at the end of three years nothing came of it, I would give up that pipe dream.  Life is too short.

I would get myself out of debt.

I might purchase a new, modest car – nothing over $50k.  My self-worth is not tied to my car. Cars are transportation, nothing more.

I might buy some new clothes and get rid of everything I have now, save for a few favorites and my jeans.  I would definitely get myself a nice suit.  My tastes are pretty modest and my clothing needs fairly limited.  Not a designer brand kind of guy, so that whole label game doesn’t appeal to me at all.  Nice, classic, simple lines.  Lots of dark colors.  A few stripes.  Comfort and fit above everything else.

I would like a new pair of hiking boots.

I would buy myself a new bed.  And hire someone for two days to clear my house of excess furniture and stuff and donate it all.  I wouldn’t replace it.  I just want it gone.

New windows for my house.  A coat of paint, too.

And I would travel – with my boyfriend, my youngest sister and brother-in-law, and with my female friend.  Italy, Germany, Brazil, Japan.  Paris, Quebec, New York City, San Francisco, Seattle, and Sedona. I want to see the temples of the Incas.  My ex wants to visit the pyramids.  I’d make it all happen.

As total vanity projects go, I would take ‘a reasonable amount of money’ (LOL) and mount a small, original musical. Hiring people who were interested in working hard, sharing credit, and fixing the things that are wrong with it would be priority number one.  Everyone gets paid, everyone works hard.  I have always wanted to be part of a cultural phenomenon – even on a small, local level.  I’d give lots of tickets away and after it caught on, charge very little – just enough to make payroll.

And after that?  I would be done with theatre forever.  I would just need to prove to myself that with the right people involved, I would be capable of pulling such a feat off.

Other than that, I would keep as low a profile as possible.  My life would remain quite modest.  So would my ambitions.

For charity?

My local animal shelters get a share.  Dogs and cats, etc.

I will not be adopting anymore animals in my lifetime, but I still care and would like to see to it that those that are not wanted have a place to thrive.

I would also donate to wildlife rescues and the like.  They do some amazing work – with owls and other birds of prey, squirrels, bunnies, etc.

That is, actually, where all my money will be going when I’m gone.  I mentioned a few years ago that I had no one to leave it to, and the nieces and nephews haven’t shown much interest in me, so screw them.  I will be outliving all my siblings (if I have anything to say about it) and other loved ones, so the animals will get it all.  Maybe it’s a drop in an ocean, but it may make a bit of a difference.

For revenge?

I don’t believe in it.

But I also don’t believe in rewarding bad behavior.

That’s why my oldest brother and my oldest sister get squat from me. They can come to the family reunion and that is it.

If they had shown up and done even the bare minimum for my parents as my Mom has struggled with my Dad’s Alzheimer’s, I might feel differently.  My oldest brother, who makes more money than any of my siblings, has visited once in the past six years and contributed nothing. My oldest sister?  Five times in six years.  And when she does come, she does nothing but make my mother wait on her hand and foot.  There’s no excuse and I don’t want to hear any.

My two youngest sisters?  They are doing their part. They get rewarded.  My youngest is one of the smartest people in the whole world.  She is also a lot of fun.  The second youngest has the biggest heart of anyone I have ever met.  She’s so good and kind I tear up just thinking about her.

I would like to spend a week writing letters to a select number of people whose behavior and actions have caused me a great deal of pain in this life.  I would have these letters hand delivered with no return address.  I would never want to hear from them.  I would just need to know that my voice had been heard.   One week only.  And then I would be done with the past.

For pure evil? (No backing off this one!)

I would buy enough stock or buy enough influence in two companies and have two of my ex-bosses shown the door with no explanation.

I would hire a group of people who would go around kidnapping people who abuse animals.  These abusers would be taken to a camp of sorts where they would have to endure the same conditions and situations they put the animals in their care through.  Michael Vick would be among the first to disappear.

I would purchase production companies that create reality television and shut it all down. 

I would move to Anoka County and mess with Michele Bachmann’s already cray-cray head.  A big Pride parade.  LGBT youth centers.  LGBT senior living buildings.  Drag queen bingo.  An atheist’s center that would host international events.  A non-profit dedicated to the separation of church and state.  Hit her right where she slithers.  

I would hire a team of stealth assassins and hand them a hit list of celebrities, politicians, and obnoxious rich people.  I wouldn’t want to know any details.  They just need to get it done.

That hit list would be pretty long.

But then I would remind myself that whatever you put out there in the universe comes back to you three fold and I would cancel all of it – every bit of it. Because I am a chickenshit and have better things to do with money.  And those people, they have chosen the lives they live and will have to deal with the consequences.  So, no kidnappers, no assassins.

Well, maybe just the Koch brothers.

And Rupert Murdoch.

(No, no… I couldn’t do any of that.)

My Mr. Big (It’s Not What You Think)

Carrie on Sex and the City dubbed the Chris Noth character ‘Mr. Big’.  Whether that had to do with the size of his genitals, I don’t know, as I don’t recall the series ever going there.  No, the dubbing of Mr. Big had more to do with the largess with which the character lived his life: he was a big time, self-made, financial wizard/tycoon who had a driver and a town car at his beck and call, lived in the most opulent condos/apartments, and wore only the finest suits.  Bottom-line: dude had more money than anyone has a right to.  But that is life in the big city, right?  That is life in the real world: the haves and the haves-not.  The one percent and the ninety-nine percent.

I definitely live my life as a ninety-nine percent-er.  I've made my peace with that.  Money, for me, has only been important if lack of it prevented me from travelling someplace, or renting a theater  or buying a new laptop, piano, or piece of software.  Clothing?  Designer names hold no allure for me.  I feel guilty if I splurge and pay fifty dollars for a pair of Levis.  My car?  I recently paid it off and I love it.  It’s one of the first Saturn Ion’s made (with the dashboard console in the middle).  It has lots of get-up-and-go, is good on gas, and has a plastic body (no rust).  I plan on keeping it up and keeping it going for as long as possible.  For me, a car is a means of getting to work without having to resort to taking a bus, or a means of getting to Chicago for a hot weekend – nothing more.  I always chuckle when I meet someone whose identity is tied to their vehicle. 

No, for me, as long as I have enough money to: eat what I want, donate to the causes I wish to support, keep my car in good working condition, keep up with current technological  advancements, travel where I want to, keep my dogs safe and healthy, keep a roof over my head, and buy a new pair of jeans and a nice pair of boots from time to time – then I am happy.   Yes, like most people, I am impressed with other people’s wealth – not the flashy, in-your-face kind of wealth (Kanye West, Donald Trump – blech), more the kind that acquire it quietly through ingenuity, hard work, and incredibly smarts and live wisely.  So, I am not immune to taking note of someone else’s good fortune.

My Mr. Big is very, very quiet about his wealth.  He lets his opulent, sparse, but well-decorated condo speak for him.  He lets his clothing – casual, expensive, modest, and in good taste - indicate just how well he’s doing.  He’s the type that hires someone to decorate his place for the holidays.  He’s the type that hops on a plane and flies to New York for an evening at the Met. 

He’s secretive.  Private.  Powerful.  And… sexy.

I don’t know how old he is.  He’s Italian. Built like a football player; broad shoulders, huge arms, big pecs, calves and thighs that amaze me, and a cute ass that I have never had the privilege of getting to know very well.  He’s handsome, too.  Manly.  I think you have to be in order to succeed in his world.  Yep, physically, Mr. Big has it all, except for one… sigh… tiny… issue.  He was not blessed with a massive appendage.  In fact, I will generously say he has a good six inches.  Hey, I’ve had to work with less.  Nice thing is… Mr. Big knows how to make what he’s got count.

Our usual scenario goes like this:  He texts me.  I text back.  We arrange a time (he typically has no more than an hour at any given time).  I show up, on time, always at his place.  I address him as SIR, and he calls me boy.  We kiss at the door and he sends me upstairs to get ready, as he has to finish up some phone call he is on.  I never wait long.  He likes to watch me take my clothes off and tells me all the time how much he loves my body.  He strips and gets into his bed, under the sheets and comforter, and then tells me to slide in next to him.  Typically I get to spend the first ten minutes with my head on his chest, kissing and cuddling, or massaging his feet (he has incredible feet).  Then he forces my head onto his dick and tells me to offer up my hole.  He likes fingering it and asking me dirty questions while I suck his dick.  I like the way he smells.  He has a funk all his own, not overpowering, but it’s there, and I like wearing it home, in my nostrils.  Then I either climb on top of him, facing him, so he can play with my dick as I gently bounce on his cock, or he turns me around and goes to town on my ass doggy-style.  Like an egg timer going off, we are ‘done’ at exactly 30 minutes.  He shoots his load up my ass and likes it when I shoot all over his chest.  We cuddle for a bit, catching our breath, before dressing.  My exit is quick and swift, efficient, with a nice peck on the mouth and a pat on the ass as I head out the door.

My Mr. Big is a relatively new acquisition of mine.  He started hitting on me on-line last summer.  I was busy sunning and enjoying the outdoors, so I kept him at arm’s length.   But in the fall, we got together for the first time, and we seemed to click.  He’s now one of my regulars.  This is new to me – having regulars.  For most of my life I have been Mr. No-Strings, and while there really is no commitment on anyone’s part to continue to play – seeing one another on a regular baiss is the unspoken (and sometimes explicit) agreement.  So, the amount of strange that I play with these days has greatly diminished.  The concept of the fuck bud has taken its place.  I have about five, currently, and am working on a few more.  Thing is, these dudes get to know me, and I them, so when we do get together, the quality is there and everyone leaves satisfied.  I like it.  It suits me and my current lifestyle.  That’s not to say that some strange doesn’t get roped into the mix on occasion, but, as my upcoming (March 15^th) year-end sex round-up will so aptly demonstrate, I am much more comfortable now, not constantly getting a little something-something.  My down time has become as important as my… UP… time.

That is especially true of my hole.

I never take my hole for granted.  When it comes to sex, it is my bread and butter.  Getting it fucked is my ultimate payday.  I do special glut exercises to keep the globes from dripping down to my knees.  I have also been fairly adamant about not getting fisted.  However, my hole, and in particular forcing things into it, is one of Mr. Big’s favorite things.  He is constantly pushing the envelope, or in his case – three to four fingers – up my hole.  When I resist, he tells me I have to take it.  At one point I told him I was no longer going to play with him if he did not honor my two-finger maximum rule.  He promised to be good.  And he was… for our next three playtimes.  And then, this last time we got together?  He kind of went gonzo on my hole, leaving me sore.  It really put a cramp on my plans for the weekend and I don’t like being uncomfortable.

So, I’m not sure what to do.  Cut him off?  Say adios?  It is such a minor thing, right?  But given that it is the ONLY demand I make of him, I think it succinctly demonstrates a lack of respect for me on his part.  Don’t get me wrong… he treats me really well; like a peer, a friend, a lover.  I dig his little kinks (the SIR/boy thing, the cuddling) and we always have a good, satisfying 30 minutes together.  I don’t want more.   His tastes are… a little high end for my taste.

He loves opera.  I think he has season tickets at the Met, because he is always flying to New York to see something.  And, during my last visit, as I was getting dressed, I started to look at some of the art in his bedroom and bathroom.  It’s the real deal.  And not modern, by any means.  It’s all very classical, very old-school, and worth a lot of money.  As in, there is a piece that hangs opposite the bed that I bet I could retire on.  Don’t get me wrong… I ‘m not discounting his taste; the art is good.  It’s just that I have just rarely been in the presence of someone who can AFFORD his taste.  I actually find this rather endearing about him.

I would like to say that I don’t see what he sees in me… but he has been very vocal about what he appreciates – he loves my body.  He loves my hole.  And I think I am compliant enough that even though we are either the same age, or he is a bit younger than me, I still can make the SIR/boy thing work well enough for him to get off at the thirty-minute mark every time.

I love his body.  His dark, thick hair.  His boyish, aww shucks smile.  He’s so masculine.  And really, physically beautiful.  I love his slight funk.  I like the way I feel in his arms.  I love how we get to cuddle UNDER the covers and that he is rarely stingy with the kisses.   There has yet to be a time when I did not walk away from one of our stolen moments with a smile on my face.  I walk back to my car feeling like… someone desirable and coddled.

I don’t expect anything more than what we have.  Nor does he.  And I think he likes that a lot.  I make no demands on his time.  I am just a willing hole, something for him to fill from time to time.   

When we first met he used to threaten to shave the treasure trail I have manscaped on my chest and abs.  I told him no, and he hasn’t pushed the issue.  Otherwise, he likes me shaved, and as that just happens to be my preference of late, I never disappoint him.  He surprised me recently.  He didn't balk when I showed up with a trimmed, full beard.  If he doesn't like it, he has yet to say so. 

On occasion, as part of our cuddling foreplay, I will tell him how much I want him to pimp out my ass, and have dozens of men watch him take control of and fuck my ass.  He likes that – the idea of it.  But I think we have pretty much established our repertoire, and I don’t see any additions making the set list anytime soon. 

Me?  I want him to stand over me, wearing a jock strap.  I love looking at his beefy, muscled body from below.  I want him to place one of his perfectly pedicured manly feet on my crotch or face.  And yes, I would love it if he pissed on me some time, but that ain’t gonna happen.  He’s not ‘that way’. 

I started to suspect that he is married.  There are two bedrooms, and the other bed is always messed up.  I saw a long black trench coat in the downstairs closet the other day and thought it might be a woman’s.  But, no.  Mr. Big may not be a flag-waver, but he is gay.  Also, his condo?  It doesn't have even a hint of a woman’s touch to it.   

Though, there has been one recent, rather feminine addition to the household: he got a cat!  Her name is… well, I won’t share that.  She’s a very sweet, pretty looking tabby.  I’d told him about my rescue dogs.  It made him want to rescue a cat.  I think the cat will be a very good influence on him. He coddles her and talks sweetly to her.  He would have made a great father.  Granted, one of those distant, can’t make your ballgame, missed your birthday, kind of Dad’s who is always working, but a great one none the less.

So what does this all add up to?  Nothing more than what it is… a couple of fuck buds that get together on a regular basis.  And, yes, something more, too… he makes me feel special.   I walk away from each tryst with a romantic glow.  Like I am worthy.  Of someone like him, someone of his caliber.  It makes me feel expensive.

Ah, as the saying goes… he’s on a whole ‘nother level.

And that’s okay with me.

I like the view from down here.