I got a phone call yesterday from an unknown guy who said, "I'd like to book an appointment with you for a really hard spanking."
"That sounds fine," I answered.
"But I'm married and I can't have any marks."
"Well," I said, "that makes it more difficult. I can spank you lightly, until I think you've reached the point where I might leave red marks if I continue, and then stop. Or I can spank you very hard, and you can take the risk of having marks. But I can't do a hard spanking and promise you no marks."
"But I've heard there are ways to it so that you don't get marks."
"None that I'm aware of – at least, none that I'm willing to personally guarantee."
"But, there has to be a way!" He's sounding kind of pouty now.
"As I said - none that I'm willing to personally guarantee."
"What about clothes? What if I wear clothes?"
This is getting tedious. "Look, honey, if there were a simple way to do this, I'd know it, and I'd tell you what it was. I'm perfectly willing to spank you as hard as you want, with or without clothes. But you'll have to deal with the consequences, because there is no reliable way of ensuring that you won't have a red butt afterwards."
"But I can't have marks!"
"Then I guess you can't have a hard spanking." This is like talking to a two-year-old.
He hangs up.
It's nice to be perceived as powerful, but it's annoying when people seem to think I'm God and can alter the basic tenets of human physiology at will.

Interesting new experience today: I went to one of those tanning salons where they have the booths the spray self-tanner on you. I've done self-tanners at home before, but I've wanted to try this, and since I'm going to be prancing around in skimpy outfits -or less - this weekend, I thought now would be a good time to check it out.

The setup had a slightly kinky feel to it…you go into a room with a big metal booth it. You take off all your clothes, obviously, and step into this steel box and shut the door. You have to position yourself exactly so, and then you push a button that activated this row of nozzles. They rotate up and down, spraying a fine mist of chemicals for (I think) about thirty seconds. Then it pauses, and you turn your back to the nozzles, and then they spray your back.
The bad part: It's cold as shit, for one thing, and I was also trying to hold my breath as much as I could, so I inhaled as little of the chemical as possible. And of course I'm trying to stay in position properly so I don't get streaks or white patches. The noise of the machine is kind of loud and it reverberates around in the metal booth. So it's kinda creepy.

But I'm pleased with the results…It looks nice and even and not orange-y at all. (One small note to self: next time, lean forward slightly when getting your back sprayed, so you don't get faint white patches under your butt cheeks.)

And while self-tanners never look quite as good as a real tan, this won't turn my skin to leather and give me cancer. Unless I inhale too much of it.

Cool self-tanner resource for other vain types like me..Sunless: Your Sunless Tanning Guide

Shitshitshit I am sooo not ready to go to Portland on Thursday! RunErrandsFinishColumnFinishWorkshopSeeClientsWorkoutPack – aaaaahhhhh!

(It'll be fine, it always is, breathe, Matisse, breathe…)

Sunday is not a day of rest around here...I need to pay some bills online (I love that, so convenient), shovel out the pile of papers that's completely masking my desk, and try to do something about the many stacks of books on the floor that have turned simply walking into my office into an obstacle course.
I love books. No, I mean I really love books. And I have way, way too many of them. Every inch of wall space in my office is covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, they're all jammed full, and there are two large plastic storage boxes overflowing in a corner, and then there are several knee-high stacks against one side of my desk. If we have another earthquake, anyone standing in the room directly downstairs from my office will buried in my books as the ceiling caves in.

And this even after I just unloaded three good-sized boxes on Half Price Books earlier this week. (Of course, I bought another armful while I was there, but hey, it was substantially fewer than I came in with!)

I'm going to have to start storing some of my books in my office at the studio, but...I like having all my books with me all the time. I'm weirdly...I don't know - sentimental? Superstitious? Something. I mean, what if I'm home and I want to read one of them and it's at the studio? What if there was a fire? I know, this makes no sense. It's bibliomania. But hey, there are worse addictions to have. Like, say, teddy bears. Or unicorn figurines. That would be terrible...