Yep. It's a whole new year, which means I have loads of time ahead of me to fuck up. Yay...

But Naaaaaahhh. I'm going to be sooooo good this year. *snort*

I fell off the edge of the world there for a bit.

Aaaaah, tis good to be back...

 My ferrets have been mated correctly...I think.  With any luck I should have some polecats and some black-eyed whites.  I guess I'll have some Chocolate/silvermits too- If all goes well.

I didn't know that ferrets were so pervy.  If you've ever seen them mated you'll know what I mean.  They 'lock' together for some time until its all over, and the male is usually panting his head off.  I can see why breeders retire their male hobs from breeding because of their health!

Mum and dad are back from overseas and the kids loved seeing them again, as much as mum and dad loved seeing the kids again.  I'm really glad they had this opportunity to travel again.  They've earned the right to stop and look around now, they didn't have the opportunity to travel the world like I did when they were younger - and it was because of them that I had such a fabulous trip myself!

The kids are over the flu, as am I, though I have to say I never thought when the swineflu was first discovered that any of us would end up with it.  You just never know, eh?  Thank the gods that it was easy enough to get over.

Starting my 10,000 steps tomorrow in the hopes of obtaining ultimate fitness now that I'm no spring chicken anymore...

 I dug this up today and figured I'd post it here.  It was for a Valentines Day trigger topic.

Title - How It Ends
Author - slythchick 
Rating - MA

 

 

 

How It Ends

 

 

The first drink is because I’m nervous; I’ve fretted over this date all week.  He seemed to really like me when he asked me out, but then, he doesn’t really know me.

 

 

The second is a chaser that will kick start the high.  I want to be at least comfortable when my Valentine gets here. 

 

The third is because I am starting to enjoy the taste of the wine as it settles on my tongue.  It sends a pleasant buzz through me and the reflection that peers back at me as I run a finger under my eye, removing a smudge of mascara, even looks prettier somehow.

 

I am actually looking forward to his arrival by the fourth glass of wine.  I check my look in the mirror, smoothing down my clothing and wondering how long it’ll take him to realize he’s made a mistake; that upon second glance, I’m not what he wants.  But then he knocks on my door and we exchange awkward greetings and are on our way.

 

The fifth drink is brought to the table by a waiter attired in crisp white and black.  It’s been almost an hour without the bittersweet liquid and I reach out for it with a practiced hand; not eagerly, (I don’t wish to appear a lush) just smoothly and efficiently, sipping lightly, yet deceptively frequently as I strive to be witty and entertaining.

 

The sixth is where I begin to lose count.  Not because I’m stonkered.  No, I still have the majority of my wits about me. (After all, I drink to gain confidence, to be fun and interesting.  I didn’t come out with the plan to embarrass myself by getting legless.)  No, I lose count because my oversized glass is continuously refilled by unassuming staff that is trained to respect privacy. 

 

We are well into our second bottle by the time our dessert plates disappear, and I have had more than my fair share, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.  Perhaps he puts it down to nerves.  Or maybe he feels he doesn’t have to try as hard as me.  I find that thought attractive, and anyway, I’ve tried hard enough for the both of us. 

 

The bill is paid and now I owe him, (he did pick me to take out when he could have chosen someone better) so after emptying the last of the wine into my glass, I thank him and drink it without hesitation for once, on the premise of not keeping him waiting

 

He suggests we continue the evening elsewhere and I show my pleasure at the idea, for I am pleased; the possibility that he likes my company enough, likes me enough, to not want the night to end, adds buoyancy to the trickle of hope that treacherously escaped my earlier notice - hope that I would otherwise of quashed because I know that he will not find lasting happiness with me.  I already know how this will end.

 

I past tipsy more than two hours ago by the time we leave the second establishment of the night.  I think I may also have past flirting and have the vague, yet gnawing feeling I’m behaving far more like a whore.  But then, by this time of night, I understand that there could be only one reason he’s still here, and I’m not going to let him go home thinking that the evening had been a waste of time – that I had been a waste of time.  I’m undressing him as soon as I can and using everything I’ve ever leaned about pleasing a man (no insignificant list since its one of my few assets) to make sure he knows the dinner and drinks and hours of banter were worth it.

 

It’s loud and wet and sloppy and frantic all at the same time, and when we’re finished there are the usual appreciative comments between slowing pants and then finally… the vast, un-fillable silence that makes it unavoidably obvious I am lying naked next to a stranger. 

 

The stranger takes his cue and reaches for his pants.

 

And then I’m alone.  Sweaty and sticky and a mess and tired.  Really tired.

 

In the morning while suffering a dry mouth and nursing a headache I’m already thinking of ways to evade him to get out of going out with him again.  Now that I’ve started the sex, he’ll expect it from me again.  That’s why he’ll ask me out again after all.  Come to think of it, that’s why he asked me in the first place or he would have abstained and said he respected me too much.  Or something.  I knew I was right not to hope for something more, something magical or romantic.  Something lasting.  These things never turn out well for me, just one disaster after another.  I mean, if I can’t make it on Valentines Day, when my date is automatically predisposed to romance, then what hope have I got?  It’s really no wonder I drink.  

 Angel has been successfully mated with Boo Boo, and now its just a 42 day wait to see if she's going to have kits!  Of course, now Mrs Magoo is is swelling and will need to be paired off.  I've noticed Rocko taking more than a passing interest in the girls.  Maybe he'll be ready for Goobie after all.  Cross my fingers.

In other news, my two kids seem to have contracted the flu.  The swine flu has been detected in some of the students at their school, so I'll be keeping an eye on that.  They've been home from school for two days now.  I hope they don't get any sicker.  I hate seeing them so miserable. :(

 Oh, I really have no idea what I'm doing as far as the whole mating thing goes. 0.0

I finally put Boo and Angel together, but the big sod locked onto her and stayed that way for about an hour.  Sometimes she squeeled in obvious pain but Boo wouldn't let go.  He was panting like mad though.  I even thought he might go the way of Hugh Hefner's dreams and have a heart attack whilst doing IT, but eventually he settled down and when I next checked after I realised everything had gone quiet Boo and Angel were curled up together sleeping.  ???

I separated them.  I thought maybe I'd put them together again tomorrow... if her swelling hasn't obviously gone down.  I feel sorry for Angel though cos the back of her head/neck is read and a little scabbed over. *sigh*  I hope she'll be a good mum.  If so, its worth it in the end.

Ferrets are funny!

My girl, Angel is coming into season and she keeps flirting with Boo, my full Male.  I've had to separate them for the time being, however I will mate them soon.  That means little kits on the go soon.  :)

I was hoping that my little boy Rocko would be ready to mate with Mrs. Magoo, but I don't think he'll be sexually ready by then.  He's just so cute though!