March 14th, 2000

Argh.

In my Other Career, as an underpaid medical professional, there's the good and there's the bad. Last night, the 12 hour shift just done, was terrible. One of the worst ever, I felt like an emotional punching bag for every patient who was unhappy [and few were happy]. Makes me wanna work even harder to make Janes Guide bigger and stronger and an adult industry Force To Be Reckoned With... and to make it so I can work full time in sex positive work. Jane and Jim and I are all in agreement that would be a nice thing, but it's also not a 'now' thing. So, onward with being a healer 3 days a week, and a slut four days a week. Sigh.

But, when I came home this morning I found email from Marion [the librarian masters thesis gal mentioned in my last entry]. I'd sent her a draft of that journal entry, as we hadn't discussed her wishes on journal confidentiality and I wanted to know before publishing. Her response was flattering, thoughtful, and excited me. I'll be doggoned if we haven't ended up producing a nice mixture of work [her masters research on how I catalog my smut] and play [we definitely have interests in common and the shared inclination to pursue them]. And, just to show how much Loki has to do with everyone, Norse or not, I get to build anticipation even more as she is leaving town for 10 days of vacation with her primary partner.

Ah well.


You know, when you're as out as I am in life, my family grown and aware of every aspect of my kinkdom, home becomes a comfortable little hermitage. When my 75 year old father visits he reads my smut and borrows videos. I don't worry about the pump bottle of lube on the end table. The picture of the pierced suspension hangs on the wall over top of the altar. The sling never comes down from the overhead O-rings.

This is all well and good, but craftsmen and such can be interesting. I have a man coming in sent by my landlady this week to repair a hole left in the kitchen ceiling by the plumber last year [things move slow around here in the Northwest]. The landlady knows most everything about me, likes me anyhow, and cashes my rent checks. This ceiling patcher guy probably won't see much of the place, and I'm not going to worry about what he sees.

Howsomever. I have lifelong been a pack rat. I am also in recovery from four years in an ultra strict military academy and many adult years in uniform, and chose to hate housework religiously. Unfortunately, I like to live in a clean house & chose to live alone with the cats. It wouldn't be fair to solicit for a service bottom [someone whose particular phila is to provide service to others -- a good friend of mine is exquisitely happy wearing his butler's outfit at kinky parties and providing all of Jeeves' services]. I'd feel like I was taking advantage of someone else's kink.

You can't really call Maid Services in the Yellow Pages and state your wishes clearly; they'll think you're trying to get a cutie in a skimpy maid's outfit and a willing disposition. I really do want my plumbing scrubbed and the cat dish scoured. I just don't want any grief about my life and it's trinkets.

So, I advertised on a local BDSM mailing list for a kinky maid. I made it clear I needed housekeeping on a regular basis, but by someone who would not freak out at the stack of butt plugs on the headboard of the bed. Someone who would vacuum under the sling and wipe down the chains it is hung on. I heard from a couple of folks, and one lady - I'll call her Hazel here - has worked out well.

Not only is my kitchen floor squeaky clean, that pile of old mail sorted and trashed, the oven cleaned, the shower walls back to their original color, but I moved a chest of drawers into the playroom, which had fallen into a state of disrepute and neglect. She organized things with all the restraints in one drawer, all the scalpels and needles in another, whips in yet another.

And there's more! She dug into my CD collection one day. Not only are they all back in their proper cases, but organized! The cases for the 40 I keep in a binder to use at the Wet Spot parties are set aside. And the rest! Blind Boys of Alabama next to the Boys Choir of Harlem. Ute Lemper along side Sarah Brightman. Sheila Chandra in the same section as Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Feodor Challiapin right there with Pavarotti. I'm still not sure why Joann Castle ended up between Riders in the Sky and Cephas & Wiggins instead of up with the Myron Floren and the Those Darn Accordians section, but not everyone has quite the eclectic tastes I do. She did pretty darned good.

Considering how lousy I felt when I sat down to write this entry, I've worked myself up to a pretty darn sincere Life is Good!

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