I spent most of the weekend in a hotel (more on this later), and had a fairly dramatic lump of shit hit the fan while I was there.  We’d brought the kids up to spend a few hours in the hotel pool, then afterward my (overexcited six year old) son and I ventured out to fetch some dinner.  When I started the car it made a slightly odd noise, like the whisper of a maladjusted belt, but it didn’t seem terribly alarming so I sallied forth anyway.

A few blocks down the road we stopped at the intersection of a very busy road.  The light was long, and when it finally came to be our turn, the car sputtered and coughed its way through, with me frantically praying the whole time that it wouldn’t stall.  On the other side of the intersection was a large shopping center, and I pulled into the nearest parking lot and tried to switch off the engine.  When the engine continued going full strength after I took the keys out I really got alarmed.  I called Sgt, asked him if he had any idea what the hell was going on, or what I should do about it, and the best advice he could offer was to head back to the hotel.

As I did not at all relish the idea of having to push a stalled car across that busy, busy road I elected to circle around the parking lot, in the hopes that the car would either right itself or die completely.  It chose the second option.  About halfway round the lot, just as I coasted to a halt in front of a hardware store, smoke began pouring out from under the hood.  Visions of hollywood-style flames and explosions leapt to mind as I frantically shooed my son out of the car and popped open the hood.  At least the engine stopped this time when I took the keys out!

I walked around to the front of the car and peered through the smoke as a group of interested bystanders began to gather.  Things are sparking, things are spitting, smoke is pounring from several locations, but there are no open flames.  One of the bystanders says (ever so helpfully) “Looks like you’re overheated.”  I look at him incredulously, replying “If it were overheating I don’t think the battery would be shooting out sparks like that.”  I had no idea what was going on, but it was obvious to me that this was something a little more out of the ordinary than a radiator leak.

The only thing to be done at this point was call AAA and wait, which I proceeded to do.  I changed my mind when, nearly an hour later, the towing company dispatcher called to tell me they were very sorry but they didn’t know quite when they’d be able to get to me.  Have I mentioned that my overexcited six year old was with me?  And that he was entertaining himself by banging out a tune with a stick on the nearest light pole, having been threatened with bodily harm if he tried to put his fingers in the engine one more time?

We trudged back to the hotel and there we remained until middday the next day, when my mother-in-law kindly ferried us home.  The car was easily fixed through the ministrations of our excellent mechanic and the application of about three hundred bucks.  (I was right - it was a completely unpredicatble freak problem with the starter)  Not as bad as it could have been but a definite blow to a budget that’s still reeling from a hundred percent increase in homeowner’s insurance, not to mention the new fridge we had to buy two months ago, the rising cost of gas, and all the other extra expenses that have been piling up recently.  I guess I won’t be getting caught up on the past-due bills this month.  *sigh*

Grandmother is still hanging in there; it could go either way.

The pool is still empty, but Sgt. is confident that it can be repaired, if we can find a big enough patch.

Insurance (in all its guises) is still the bane of my existence.

Well, it’s been a bloody awful day today.

Woke up to find that some asshat snuck into our yard in the night and sliced a big hole in the side of our swimming pool.  It was just one of those 3′ deep vinyl models, but it cost us the equivalent of a month’s worth of electricity AND water bills, and the kids were practically living in it they loved it so much.  I’d just like to say a big “thanks” to whoever it is that saw fit to wantonly destroy that little bit of someone else’s happiness.

{I sincerely hope, dear readers, tht I don’t need to turn on the sarcasm alert for ya’ll to recognize it in this instance.}

Then, after a refeshing visit to the insurance company where we were priviliged to sign a new homeowner’s policy costing twice as much and offering significantly less coverage than our old policy (We felt lucky that the new premium was only twice the cost of the old one; we were expecting the cost to triple.  Welcome to Florida!), I went with my Mom to visit my Grandmother in the hospital.

She’s been in for about a week already, dangerously ill with pneumonia, but when I last saw her two days ago she was improving steadily and talking about being moved from CCU into a regular room.  Today she’s unconscious, on a respirator, and receiving a total of 4 pints of plasma and 4 pints of whole blood due to having been bleeding internally from who knows where.  She’s an old bird, been in failing health for years, but…well, it’s still  a wrench.

I can’t even find it in myself to be cheerful about the fact that my lesbian friend came (and I mean that in the “biblical” sense) over this weekend.  I will try to write more about the good stuff after the bad stuff quits piling on so thickly.

Whenever things go awry in my world this blog is the first thing to suffer.  In the past month I’ve had yet another vicious ear infection, my pc was in the shop for nearly three weeks and my backup pc (the one normally used by the rest of the family) suffered a meltdown as well. 

I finally got the pc back a couple days ago so I ought at this moment to be getting caught up on all the stuff I’ve got behind on.  Instead I am here to confess that I am addicted to this new (to me anyhow) BBC show Hex, which I have just finished watching.  I am almost ashamed to admit that I’ve developed such devotion for this Degrassi-meets-Dark-Shadows trifle.  (No, I am not a Buffy fan either.)  It’s quite easy to understand why I have though - it’s the lesbian ghost sidekick.

I am past the days when the mere presence of a queer character in a tv show would send me over the moon with delight, but the late Thelma is just so, so delectable.  Witchy powers or not, Cassie doesn’t deserve her. 

 I got what you need, Thelma baby.

The only reason I don’t have a bunch of tattoos and piercings is sheer lack of money. Most of my life that’s been a thing in extremely short supply, and even now it’s squeaky-tight.  Then again, I suppose that if those things were really important to me I would have found a way of procuring them. I have favored other, less permanently visible, expenditures.  Still, I really do want a tattoo.  But every time I mention it it seems like the overwhelming response of my fans is “No! Don’t do it! We like you all-natural!”

{tattoo trivia - did you know that Winston Churchill’s mum, following the vogue for tattoos among refined Victorian Ladies, had a serpent bracelet tattoo?}

I think I’ve figured out how to get the body art I want in a Cherie-subtle manner. I always thought I wanted a tat of a lizard curled around my belly button with one tiny paw grasping the edge and it’s head tilted to look out at you. (So difficult to execute!) Then I thought I might like a “pornstar” tattoo, a big colorful peacock, tail spread, covering the small of my back. (So expensive! So blatant!) But this morning it occured to me that it might be cool to get a leetle teeny tat of a peacock, in brilliant color of course, right at the top of my ass-crack. Tiny enough to be (nearly) covered by my smallest panties. (Now picture me in the tattoo parlour, a breathless audience watching as the artist traces around that itsy-bitsy triangle to define his/her working area.) Then I could truly use the “wanna see my tattoo?” schtick!  *grin*

Later it occured to me that I could take it a little further and have tattoos deliberately positioned in my fat folds, in places that would never ordinarily show. Under the hanging part of my belly, under my breasts, perhaps even in the crease where plump thigh meets big labia. I could have my lizard observing the observer from under my left tit, and “have I shown you my tattoo?” would REALLY mean something! *BIGgrin*

These are the panties my peacock tattoo should (almost) fit under.

p.s.  Notice that I do not mention the pain as a deterring factor - actually, I rather suspect I’d enjoy the process.  That sort of thing usually feels good to me.

Once again big changes for my little empire.  My Mom’s moving in with us, which means I’ll no longer have the privacy I need for the weekly CamZ shows.  But on the other hand, Sgt and I will have a much easier time getting away together, for the evening or even the weekend.

I’ll miss the camshows, but I’ve also begun having daily scheduled chats in my own chatroom, which is fun too.  I’ve just finished moving to a new host as well, and, as you may have noticed, I’ve migrated from Blogger to WordPress, a change I’d been planning for a long time and hadn’t gotten around to.  I’ll pretty the place up and fix my links just as soon as I can.

Finally, the best news is that my application was approved and I can now take Visa cards, hooray!

 Some good rants and fun pics have been forgotten in the midst of all these changes, but hopefully I’ll be back on form soon. :-p 

The week from hell turned out to have a rather glorious ending. After several months of hard overtime, during which Sgt Knickers has not been available to take naughty pictures of me, I was way behind and had literally nothing left in my photo stockpile. Then, just when the OT was supposed to be ending, Sgt came down with a REALLY bad stomach virus (I was quite worried). So instead of an extra pair of hands with kids & housework I had an invalid to tend and extra laundry. Then to top it all off, my pc succumbed to some equally noxious bug (think it was a spyware issue), which took me the better part of two days to sort out.

The turning point came on Friday, when Sgt was still too wiped out to work but not too ill to hold a camera. I got to get my hair & nails done - a rare treat as good as a vacation! - and we shot some great pics.

Sgt really liked the series of me as a southern belle in a minidress, but my personal favorites were the series of me “at work” in my garden, my pride and joy.

Have I mentioned that planting things turns me on?

I’ve had a noxious ear infection growing all weekend (silly me for not going to the doctor last Friday!) which has kept me from doing damn near anything. Including sleeping. That’s the bad news.

How much does it hurt you ask? Well, you know how in horror movies there’s always somebody with a huge, throbbing boil that at some point explodes, spraying gore everywhere and releasing some kind of horrid beastie? I suspect one of those beasties has taken up residence in the vicinity of my right ear.

The good news is that about the only thing I’ve been able to do is stare mindlessly (and without moving my head too much) at the computer screen, and since Sgt’s been around to play houseboy I have spent the whole weekend in bed doing so. Progress is slow as I am about as doped up as I can be with non-prescription medications, but I’ve managed to finish (more or less) my boudoir redesign.

It’s nice to see how my coding skills have grown over the last year.

Anybody who thinks a woman can top 200lbs without having stretch marks at least on her belly and probably on her thighs, tits, and arms as well, is a right nutter. Still I have noticed that most bbw porn websites and magazines will airbrush them out. It’s all about the fantasy after all, isn’t it?

When I started out doing this a year ago I airbrushed the fuck out of every little blemish. Of course, at the time I was very conscious of competing with a bunch of skinny coeds for the worn-panty market. Nowadays I’ve gotten a lot more relaxed. Oh, there’s plenty of stuff I still touch up - with my fair skin every bruise and bug bite is dreadfully visible - but I no longer bother about the stretch marks snaking down my belly or the little furrow between my brows. I still hate that wrinkle (and I’d get it “done” in a heartbeat if I could afford it!) but I always rather liked my stretch marks. They remind me of lizards, little pinkish salamanders sunning themselves on my skin.

I haven’t posted much lately because I’ve been busting ass trying to figure out the marketing end of this business. This last year has been a whirlwind of stuffing my head full of new things; html and php coding, graphic design, photography…and, of course, everything I can cram into my skull about marketing in general, porn marketing in particular, and bbw porn marketing in very particular (yes, the rules are different!). Unfortunately for my bank balance and my sanity, selling has never been my strong point.

To that end I have added a new “Hot Links” page and am busily searching out other unique, (preferably) elegant, and arousing sites to hit up for link trades. I’ve also applied for a couple of reviews. Wish me luck.