It’s the force of the music as it drives through loud speakers.

It’s my eyes focused and almost not looking at the instructor who urges the class forward.

It’s the sound of exhausted grunts, pleading sighs, and faint "oh God’s" that respond to the request to turn up our tension.

Occasionally I scream — not a scream out of some horror flick but some "wooo hoooo!" sort of call to announce the adrenalin bursting out of the newly elated and overjoyed me.

There are towels beneath my bike soaking up the droplets of sweat pouring off of me - baptizing the floor.

At some point I become aware of the seat beneath me.  I squeeze the saddle with inner thighs while I climb Mount Everest, and the curve of the seat slaps against my buttocks reminding me that rest is going to come.

Sweat seems erotic during the hour.  It carves little paths along the most fit bikers in the class, outlining muscles and curves and dips.  It completely ruins hairdos; leaving pony tails limp and wet and plasters bangs against foreheads wrinkled in concentration and exertion.  I notice my own sweat - soaking through the neck of my T-shirt, slowly moving down the spine of my back to the waist band of my panties. down the thong occupied crack of my ass.  My thighs sweat, my arms sweat, my shins sweat. I’m wet.

When we’re allowed to peddle a bit and sit straight up in our saddles, I shift slightly and lean back so that the saddle doesn’t rub against my inner lips. I guzzle down water - tempted to pour it over me and shake my head back and forth like the guys do in the Just Do It commercials. 

Do you ever just want to fuck someone after you’re done at the gym, I ask  the only one I can.

"Hell, yes!" He replies with an excruciatingly silent "No Shit!". I breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes I worry that I forcibly knit sex into every fiber of my life which yields some crappy, artificial penthouse letter blanket.

The truth is that during a particular groove filled song I lean a bit forward and rock a little back and forth and though I don’t cum - the feeling of the sudden burst of energy combined with the sweat and grunts and heat and music and throbbing and pushing and driven beats to the ultimate goal makes me feel like I could …

I just might …

I kind of would if it were at all possible to do with out falling from the platform onto the cold hard sweaty tile floor…

cum.

 

I don’t creatively write as much as I’d like…but tonight I felt inspired to put it into words in a way that even the most exercise weary person could get excited about. :)   Thank you for indulging me.  I’m going to bed but will be logging in tomorrow once again … probably a little bit in the afternoon and then I’ll come back on late at night.  I think I’ll even blog again (watches her readers faint one by one… lol!) and give an update of my week OTHER than the gym.  I know. It’s truly amazing and brings a tear to my eye, too! 

Have a great evening/morning/weekend!

I could use a massage.  A deep tissue - God I’m going to weep - Will you please marry me and father my children - Oh God It Hurts So Fuckin Good - Massage.  It has been a long time since I felt like this.  I get tired from working out at the gym - but I rarely get that deep sore feeling.  I feel it in my hips, butt, and muscles that I didn’t realize were even part of the anatomy of humans.  And I’m going back to spin tomorrow.

Listen, it’s not my fault.  I could stop if I wanted to.  I just don’t want to right now.  I was minding my own business when my cousin asked me if I was going to go to spin again tomorrow.  I suddenly thought to myself - wait a second - if I don’t go she’ll go and she’ll get the "burn" with out me and I’ll be jealous.  Before I could stop myself I said yes. And that, my friends, is the final step to my addiction.

Don’t worry.  I’ll be fine.  I’m more complaining just to complain and draw attention to the fact that I hurt.  But I signed up for it.  I knew that on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays I would be spinning and then about 7 hours later returning back to the scene of the crimes and having the nazi trainer kick my ass.  I knew this - and yet I continued on.  My reasoning?  I need to get cardio in somehow.  So why not?  Just a second, my arms are telling me the many reasons why not…

The good news is: I haven’t felt better.  I really have not.  I think since the moment I stopped smoking I have been funky inside.  Just feeling kind of blecky and not quite right.  I definitely feel a big difference and much more myself now after the gym. I know I get a bit obsessive about certain things and I’ll try to even things out a bit by next week, I promise.  I know I’m all jock heavy right now and you’re all wondering if I’m planning on beefing up and competing for the title of most outrageous muscles on a girl type contest.  I totally don’t want buff - I want the slight jiggle I gained when I stopped smoking to tone up under my arm right there.  I want the little back fat pocket right there to go away and never return.  I want a firmer ass and more toned arms. More than that, I want to be able to run on the treadmill one day just cuz I can, I want my endurance to carry me further than I thought it could.  I want to be able to fill my lungs up with air and not start coughing from asthma or left over tar in my getting pinker by the day lungs. I want to beat my trainer in planks on Friday.  Today I held mine for 1 minute 30 seconds.  My goal is 2 minutes. I’m gonna beat her ass and make her cry on Friday.  Yeah.  (no - there aren’t tickets available or audio quite yet…)

I just got done reading about cigarettes - and as much as I told myself I wouldn’t be one of those ex smokers who lectured people about smoking, I’m about to be. Yeah Yeah Yeah - I know your erection just took a nose dive - but seriously - nicotine makes your dick go limp quicker anyway - so those smokers who are reading this won’t mind the familiar. ;)  This is all I’m going to say though about it.  I really liked smoking.  I wish I could do it and not get sick and have lungs that worked right and not increase my chances of cancer, but unfortunately I can’t.  So listen up all my callers that are smokers:  If you can honestly tell me that you’ll quit this year, I will give you a free relaxation mp3 that could (it hasn’t been tested so I’m not making any claims! lol) help you relax and refocus and not freak out.  I can (and Tiffy can, too - along with all the other clients I have who stopped smoking…) provide you with lots of information and cheer you on and give you incentives (like the dick that stays harder longer isn’t incentive enough???!!!). The thing is: I’m going to be that kind of ex smoker that everyone hates.  I’m going to be this cheer leader for going to the gym, working out at home, getting some exercise (to the best of your physical ability…) and quitting all those nasty little habits like cigarettes.  Masturbate instead.  I mean it.  Keep your hands busy.  If you are interested in joining the smokefree dreamers (I’ve lost my mind…) then email me on NF or at celinawetdreams at gmail dot com and I will send you a form to fill out (a friendly contract that will hold up in any court of CeCe!) and we will start our make over.  Your family will thank you — and I’m pretty sure it has something to do with global warming because EVERYTHING causes global warming!

That’s all I got for you today.  I’m exhausted and I have some things I still need to work on before I have to go to sleep and do this all over again tomorrow.  I’m taking a nap tomorrow though.  Fuck it.  My day off from the gym is Tuesday - and (sobs) Tuesday was just a few days ago which means I have a whole lotta pain to endure before my next break.  I will (I promise) log in tomorrow.  Probably afternoon.  I have to go to my writing class in the evening (remember?) so I won’t be logging in late that nite.  I WILL be logging in during the day on Friday because I have no social life basically and working out makes me horny.  It really does. I haven’t thought about fucking so much since I found the hitachi wand and named him.

Talk to you soon!

HELEN: We adore Elaine.

JERRY: She wants to say hi, she’s with her new boyfriend.

HELEN: What’s he like?

JERRY: He’s nice, bit of a close talker.

HELEN: A what?

JERRY: You’ll see.

 

Tomorrow marks my 4th spin class.  I know that I will feel differently about it when I sit on the saddle (again) but right now I would really prefer to sleep in.  I’m tired.  Spin class is tomorrow at 9:15AM and then I’ll come home and attempt to do some studying for my Health Exam.  Then I will probably do some laundry and I’ll have to play with Jack because he’s exhibiting signs of insanity from lack of playtimewithMama.  I know - who can blame him!? Then back to the gym for my session with the nazi trainer - think we’ll be working on legs tomorrow.  Oh damn.  Spin class AND legs?  Ok - so after I crawl to my car and use my hands to steer and operate the pedals I will do my examination and probably around that time I’ll remember the other millions of things I needed to do but forgot.  I should write a list.

I really have to tell everyone in the universe (left over endorphins from earlier this afternoon talking…) I absolutely LOVE spin class.  I love everything about it.  It is just enough pain to make life worthwhile.  It is just insane enough to be challenging.  It is just hard enough to keep my attention for an hour.  It is just extreme enough to give you a work out that you feel for the whole entire day and even though you’re exhausted as (can I say it?) FUCK - you still want to go back the next day and conquer the ‘hills’ again.  So I’m basically hooked.  But I get hooked to things easily.  I am a walking addiction waiting to be attached to anything that has enough of a rush to hold my attention.  Luckily alcohol never really appealed to me after the first few episodes of binge drinking in basements of girlfriends while parents were away (liquor cabinets  are never a good idea, folks).  P.S. The consequence to an addiction can’t be too horrible. But I digress.  Horribly.

Spin class.  Ok - so my very first class I took I was hooked.  I walked in with cushion in hand (those bike seats are no fuckin’ joke!), gallon of water and a beach towel to soak up my sweat and had no idea what I was in for.  The first 30 minutes I was like - whoa.  I can do this.  My goal was simply to keep it moving.  If I couldn’t stand up one more time (to do the simulated hills during the spin class - high high tension and get up and act like you’re climbing a hill and pray for a truck to come along and either hit you so you’ll die, or pull over and offer you a ride) at least I would just keep it moving.  Sit my ass in the saddle and peddle hard in time with the instructor.  And I did.  I got up when I got up and I sat down when my thighs were cussing me out.

Half way into the class this guy comes in and starts the class right next to me.  Great, I thought to myself, now I can’t make those noises I was making! He smiles hello and I smile back trying not to wink as sweat pours into my left eye. For the rest of the class I inwardly grunted and panted my way through - now even more determined to make it through the class because even though I was not interested in this guy - I am not one to be a pussy.  I’m competitive and no guy is going to see me fail and act like a wuss.  Comes from having 3 older brothers who torture you every day of your existence and where "mercy" isn’t even acknowledged as a word.  So we finish - and I’m mopping up the sweat from my body, the floor, the bike, and the bike seat (oooh! that reminds me of this guy I spoke to the other day that admitted to sniffing a bike seat after a hot girl got off of it at the gym.  OMG… like how hilarious and kinky and sweet is that? lol!) trying to regain feeling in my legs.  Anyway - I leave the gym and I’m really trying hard to walk at this point.  But I feel good.  Really good.  And I go around the corner to the parking lot and there the guy is talking to a friend of his I presume.  So I say hi and keep walking and he talks really low so I stop and ask "huh?" He says something again and I still can’t hear a word he is saying so I start to walk towards him.  He starts walking and closes the gap.  And keeps on walking.  He’s now "this" far away from me and he repeats what he said.  But I don’t hear it.  Because this guy is breathing the air I’m expelling from my mouth - directly.  I mean he’s that close to me.  I finally realize he’s talking to me about the class and I back up trying to make it seem like it’s …normal. He kind of leans forward because apparently in his family you speak directly into people’s mouths when you carry on conversations.  I nod my head to something he said, say goodbye to Mr. Close Talker and his friend (who is probably thanking me for rescuing him from Mr InYourFace) and go on my way. 

I know when guys are trying to "hit" on me.  I know when people are trying to get close to me, too, and use cute little excuses to get closer.  But I also know people who are just clueless when it comes to personal space.  This guy was not trying to pick me up.  He just had no clue about personal space.  If I see him tomorrow I may need to give him a quick study on it.  ;) 

Have a great Monday everyone!  I will be logged in through out the day.  Look for me for a few hours around Noon, and then again during the early evening.  As always, if you need to make an appointment go ahead and schedule something (morning, noon, or night) and I’ll see what I can do to accommodate you.  If I don’t get the chance to blog about this later — thanks to all who made this a great and busy weekend.  It was fun meeting new callers and it’s always fun to reconnect with some of my favorite older clients too (I mean older like know you long time older not Geriatric old!).  Talk with you soon!

When I was a bit younger and a whole lot more innocent, I had a major crush on one of my older brother’s friends named …well, let’s just call him Tom Joel. He use to play the piano like … I can’t even think of a proper analogy.  He just played the piano extremely well.  Like EXTREMELY well.  He would sit and just listen to a song maybe once or twice, and then he would play it back like memorex. He use to play this one piano song (a Rag) by Billy Joel that amazed me. His fingers looked so good gliding across those keys.  *swoon*  Being a piano player myself, I quickly developed a crush on him like no other.  In order to impress him, I started to collect Billy Joel CD’s and quickly learn all the lyrics to every song I could.  I love you just the way you are (or whatever the actual title of that song is!) was one of my favorites.  "I hope you know that you will always be…the special someone that I knew…WHAT will it take till you believe in me - the way that I believe in you?"  LOL!  Classic, right?  Tell me a tear didn’t just slowly fall from your eye.

So this title came to me quite a few weeks ago and I didn’t get the chance to write about it.  But when another incident happened to remind me of that song, I knew that me writing a post called "Don’t Go Changin’" was inevitable. 

We all have taken… wait… let me rephrase that.

Most of us have painstakingly thought about our screen names.  Now that I’m 20 years old I realize I should have taken a little bit more care in choosing my name.  We all make mistakes.  But honestly — I know that most of you have screen names on NF that really MEAN something to you.  Sometimes you’re delighted when a flirt asks you about your name because your name is from a book you love, or a movie character you look up to, or the name of the street where you parked to get your first blow job from that chick you had a crush on or whatever.  The point is - names are special for the majority of you and I completely understand. Hell,  I completely agree.  A name is everything.  I have one "client"/friend/lovah who has my name as part of his screen name.  That is pretty much because, as I explained to him, he’s smart enough to make another name for himself should he ever wish to speak to someone else (LOL!).  It happened a very long time ago and it’s really way beyond even the confines of NF so I can’t even really discuss it that much because I start getting embarrassed and fidget and talk too much.  Let’s just say that it’s a one time deal and I have, since then, separated myself from the practice of informing anyone or suggesting that anyone be CeCe’s ANYTHING.  It’s just a bit too much attention for me, and as much as I am all out there and bold like floats during GAY PRIDE in West Hollywood, I am really actually very shy when it comes to affections.  So - don’t go changin’ - to try to please me.  I love your name just the way it…are.

The other day I was glancing through my customers when I see my name attached to a person’s name.  I recognized this person’s name from an order he had placed with me.  Nice fellow.  I rather liked him.  I don’t think ill of him and I wish him well (wink).  He had found someone on NF that … floated his boat, let’s say, and he changed his name to suit his preference which meant that the names on my customer list and feedbacks changed to reflect his newest devotions.  Again - no biggie.  I am not available enough to claim anyone’s loyalty.  And when nature calls us we must answer the call by any means necessary.  I get that.  I am honestly not insulted.  But there is a slight rumor, I think, that is going around the halls of NF that this type of devotion is what some of us ladies love.  A few more of my feelings on using my name as your moniker:

• You can call yourself Tatu, or even Jesus if you’d like.  Just get on the phone and give me a call and have a great time.  You can name yourself MarysJesus if need be - you’re giving me a call and that is what matters to me at that moment. 
• I don’t impress easily.  Tattoo my name on your body and I might be!
• Nothing says devotion like a few dozen roses in her favorite color (I love pink)
• Nothing says devotion like a few gifts off a wish list (I’m thinking that purple Ipod Shuffle needs to be mine).

I believe I’ve made my point.

Earlier today I get an email asking me to break some major rule on NF, and the individual has changed his name to include a part of mine.  As if I’m going to look at that sign of "devotion" and think - hell yeah.  Anything for you, "cece"dude.  It takes seconds to change your name to reflect my name in it, but it takes many days and hours of devotion to earn a place in my heart. It’s far more important to find a place in my heart.  ;)  So please.  I beg of you.  Listen to what Billy Joel is saying (WWBJD?) and don’t go changing to try to please me.  I love your name just the way it … are. 

Before I leave you and … pass out, I think.  (looks at time… maybe I can hang for a few more hours….) I need to make a public service announcement in regards to my blog and the comments held with in.  The comments do not in any way reflect the opinions of this chick (points to self).  The comments on my blog (the replies I’m talkin ‘ about) are the individual’s thoughts and as such, I will not be held accountable for anything that anyone says in my blog - and I will not um … how do I say it… ?  If they claim somethin and it turns out to be false… sowwy.  Not my fault either.  (just put it in lawyer speak to make it sound fancier if you’d like).   I say all of this because it has come to my attention that there are people who are afraid to comment in my blog after reading some of the exchanges between readers and myself - or readers and innocent bystanders/commenters.  Many have been bullied by a nazi named Rolf, and  a few have been befriended (Nazis need love, too!).  Some have gotten through the wrath of many of my more adoring ‘fans’, and others have left weeping never to return again.  A few customer’s told me that they would not be commenting in my blog ever — and some of these customer’s are very tough and intelligent people (maybe that’s why they will not comment - ilut!).  One of my customer’s today told me that after reading some of my feedback and comments he realized that he might be jumped into some secret society gang type thing and had a dream that he actually was accosted by one of my submissive fans.  This submissive turned Dom - tied up my new customer, blind folded him, took his wallet and credit card, and proceeded to use his information to pay for his calls to me on NF.  He called me up from his phone, and I laughed at him while being impressed by my submissive turned Dom caller.  My switch customer then later tortured him by showing up at his door in ski masks and the like.  I have to get into it all a little later, but wanted to touch on it today as it relates to my topic.  It does.  The connection is there!   Listen - do not be scared of any thing you read.  I don’t think that any of my callers will hurt you, tie you up and blind fold you, steal your credit cards and use them to pay for their sex calls to me, or anything else.  But just in case, don’t leave your real email address when replying.  And you may want to use an alias.  Just use one with out my name in it because… (sing it with me now!)

I love you just the way you are!

I’m on until 1:00AM or so.  Fading fast though.  Will be back on tomorrow evening — feel free to make an appointment if you need to.

The beginning of this post might read like a scene from some criminal trial.  Where were you on the nights of_______?  What can you tell us about the nights of _____ and _____ and ______ of January, Miss CeCe?  What you mean you don’t recall?  You don’t recall or you don’t wish to disclose the events of the evening of the …well, you know where this is all leading.  I do not have a clue where the time went which is typical CeCe.  I can tell you that a few evenings ago I was captured by my television set and could not tear myself away from the pomp and circumstance except to pee, work out, and eat — probably in that exact order.  I can tell you that when at last I removed myself from the tube o death and brain freeze, I realized that I had not logged in for more than 72 hours and had not spoken/twittered/emailed friends and loved ones (waves to Tiffy) in like forever.  Before that I have no idea what the hell I was doing.  And now it’s the season of "parental visitation" and you may only see me one more time before Easter.  I’m setting your sights low so as to ward off any extreme disappointments.

I can also tell you that I decided, while apparently impaired on some illicit and highly addictive drug, to sign up for an online class and a half.  The half is a class I signed up for to assist me in succeeding in my online class, and the other 1 online class is Health.  And yes, I’m learning about drugs currently.  Illicit ones.  And Tobacco (why didn’t anyone tell me how horrible that shit is for you?  I’ll thank you in 30 years when the risk of me developing lung cancer returns to ‘normal’.  Shesh!  Ever heard of TOUGH LOVE, readers?!).  I learned about penis’ and vaginas last week and was quite taken aback by a rather large ink drawing of a vulva. I had no idea. (makes a mental note to bring hand mirror to bed with her this evening).  Pretty damn interesting.  And I’m a bit more familiar with testes and prostrates, too.  I’d be happy to explain and demonstrate with any of my callers.  All fun aside - this class is truly kicking my ass worse than my nazi trainer at my gym.  Every other day I have to have a chapter read, a quiz taken, and a paper written on some message board where typical students write 3 paragraphs to 10 questions, but CeCe, the over achiever maximum, writes a paragraph PER question, complete with correct citing and … well… punctuation.  For the most part. Then on every Sunday, which is suppose to be a day of rest, football, and relaxation - we have a 75 point test on the chapters we covered during the week.  I’m pulling an A right now in that class - but if I don’t start acing some tests again soon I will be in a bit of a panic.  And even though health isn’t my major and who cares if I get a "B" anyway - I still want to get a good grade in this class because it’s with in my ability to do so. (Eyes her medication with extreme resentment).  I remember the days when I would drop out of that class by now.  Damn it all.  So because of my keen ability to procrastinate like no other, I’m usually reading and writing like an idiot up until 11:59PM the day the assignments are due.  So let’s just say for now that Wednesdays & Fridays are pretty much fucked until around midnight as far as calls are concerned. Even though the tests are all open book, the tests are harder than they would be if I were in a traditional classroom.  30 pages of material, and my instructor will find at least 5 questions that require Google assistance.  Yes, I’m serious. I have a few more weeks of this madness and then the real madness will start when Spring Semester begins.  While I’m only taking a few classes - one of those classes is a Math class.  I’m taking applications for tutors now.  Must be available for last minute questions and must be immune to serious temper tantrums and other disruptive acting out behaviors.  Payment is my happiness.  School costs went up - I can’t afford to pay you…I’ll come to your office and maybe we can work out some other payment arrangements (enter porn music track here).  Speaking of which…

I’ve been busy with THAT situation, too.  Last I heard they will be contacting him and bringing him in for questioning.  Great.  All of a sudden this state got REALLY fuckin small.  I really don’t want to be mentioned in this meeting, and I’m sure I will be.  I don’t understand what questions need to be answered but the more they drag this along into some g.d. Perry Mason type thing, the more I feel like I did something to warrant this - because in order to ask him the question, wouldn’t there then need to be an acceptable answer that would be good enough for "them" to keep him on board?  I’m so not happy about that.  At all.  If you all don’t know what I’m talking about - sorry.  I’m sure you can deduce what is going on from my other posts but because now I don’t know if I’m going to be needing counsel I should probably keep my mouth shut about it.  I can just see it now: CeCe - is this your blog?  Are these some of your fantasies?  Did you write this story about having sex with a Professor for a better grade?  What do you mean, fantasy?  This seems pretty REAL to me.  Did you show Professor Assholewhoshouldn’tbenamed this website?  Are you SURE, CeCe?  Maybe this is the reason for his comment on your paper.  He knew YOU would understand what he was saying, because you DO understand what he is saying, don’t you, CeCe?  Are you crying because of remorse?  Guilt?  Why don’t we just pretend this never happened and just go about our business.  You DID get an A after all.  Yeah.  All this and more goes through my head in regards to this fucked up situation.  He’s ruined a perfectly good fantasy, too.  I’ll hate him forever for that!

blah.

I’m vaguely aware that I’m working out most of my frustrations at the gym these days.  My newest obsession? Spin class.  I went the first time, limped out on wobbly legs and I was hooked.  I’m going to a spin class tomorrow today so I should really be going soon.  My goal is by the end of the week to go 3 times a week.  It’s good cardio and it kicks my ass.  What can I say?  I enjoy the challenge and I enjoy the burn.  Tiffy got me an early … how should we explain it, Tiffy? An early Valentines present and when I get it programmed (soon, Tiffy, I promise!) it will show me exactly how badly that class kicks my ass, but I heard you can burn up to 700 calories in an hour - easily.  People said that the class was better than sex and after taking it 2 times now, I can honestly say that spin class is better than sex.  The seat is hard - you get totally wet, it feels so good it hurts, and it lasts longer than most sex I’ve had.  Oh - and it comes (no pun intended) with a great soundtrack most of the time.  The best part is when you’re done you can just get up and leave with no questions asked, no awkward silence, and you don’t have to figure out what to do with the wet spot/s. ;)  Though I do have to say (to be fair) most of the online sex I get is much better than spin class. I just don’t get it enough (and who’s fault is that, CeCe?) I know I know…

Final thoughts?  I’m sorry I haven’t been on as much as I would like.  I will be logging in and keeping a better schedule. I have been on for a few hours here and there but you gotta call me or make an appointment as soon as you see me peaking my little head up; the last few days I’ve been on a power getting to know you calls that totaled over 10 hours in just 2.5 days.  Although my ‘husband’ JK will not be contacting me that extensively over the next few weeks, I do have other lovers (ooooh - that sounds so sexy and grown doesn’t it?) who I speak to for long periods of time.  A quick review: If I’m on ALERTS that means that I probably will pick up if I’m awake.  If you see me on AWAY you can certainly arrange calls.  If you see I’m BUSY, you can make an appointment to be next in line up to a specified number of hours.  If you have written me a note to see if I’m really AVAILABLE and you see that I’m on, or if you have a particular fantasy you want me to review before you call - please give me a call and let me know you’ve written me a note.  Sometimes I’m away from my computer but totally able to take calls and AVAILABLE.  I’ll comp you the minute it takes for you to tell me to check my email for your fantasy.  Mike and … there is one other person but I don’t have my notes with me:  I haven’t forgotten about your pic requests and will do so in the next few days.  I seriously didn’t have time to make this post AND find the picture I wanted to send you.  I haven’t forgotten though and thank you for your patience. 

Um … I think that is it.  I mean - there is a whole lot more - but I think that is sufficient.  Look for me tomorrow after I find feeling in my thighs - sometime in the afternoon.  I’m going out to dinner with a girlfriend and won’t be back until later Saturday evening so if you don’t see me in the afternoon look for me definitely after 11:00PM for sure.  Not sure what is going on on Sunday.  Oh - I have to do some work for my other online class, but I’ll try to hurry it on up so we can play a bit. Drop me a note if you want to request a specific time so you can catch me. Until we talk again…