So – yeah. Hope your Easter was lovely. Mine was! I got to spend time with my family and church services were DELIGHTFUL! I seriously love Easter and Spring and new beginnings, and even the gentle send off of harsh winter, ice, and deathly cold. I know, I know, I live in California. But trust me, we all have our winters to endure – no one is immune.

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve updated in here. I’ve been extremely busy. I’m working on a few projects and there’s school and family, and new friends (who have beach houses!). Stay tuned though – lots of changes in my life and I definitely want all of you to be a part of it. :X.

Oooh – there’s my phone! More later! xo.

I just got done emailing some of my friends from my last writing class at school. I had to tell them I wouldn’t be returning to campus as a student. I’ll still be doing some volunteer work (because, hey, I need these things on my application for schools!), but I won’t be attending school there. I’ll be working on my math class. Trying to get the damn stuff done already. I have one final math class, and I’m taking it off campus with my tutor.

A few years ago, I came across this porn movie with Gauge in it. She’s this blonde that is exceptionally gifted at anal sex. Actually she stands on her head and gets fucked in the ass which, hats off to you, Gauge, is impressive! The movie I first saw her in had the title Bring em Young. They said it was a university, and I thought it was just a porn thing. Clever, too, I thought. Cuz it actually sounded like it could be a real school. BYU.

Imagine my surprise when my tutor enrolled me in an independent studies class at BYU – Brigham Young University. I told Sarah Nanette last night that I didn’t think it was a real school! As a result, I keep saying the name wrong. Bringum Young. Ugh. My tutor is going to think I’m a bigger freak than he realized.

It was super hard not signing up for any classes. But I don’t need them. I signed up for classes last semester because I needed them and they would count towards my major. But enough is enough. I gotta get out of the small college in this now small town and head for greener pastures. And it’s really scary. I didn’t realize before how much I was clinging to the school. I didn’t realize how it had become a crutch for me. And I didn’t realize how sometimes, when bad things happen, it kind of keeps you stuck. Even if you’re miserable, there is a safety in being miserable and stuck. There are tons of reasons why I want to continue taking classes at my old school, but none of them are healthy reasons, I’ve realized. So… I’m moving on.

What this means for niteflirt is, I’ll probably have better hours. I’ll be more flexible during the next few months. And I’ll be working more because BYU ain’t cheap, to be honest. One class is costing the same as 4 classes at my old school. And that’s not including the books that I’ll need. I’m reviewing a previous class at the moment so I’m covered, but by next month I want to be enrolled.

This is the most adult thing I’ve done in a long time.
And it feels good.

I know that I have not been around for years. Or a year. It’s been a hell of a long time. But I made a pact with myself. I’m not going to tell you what that pact is. Because as many of you know, I often make pacts with myself, others, and occasionally the devil, and I very rarely keep those pacts which explains why I have currently have no soul and my first 3 children will be Satan’s. I kid. Sort of.

So here we are again. I’ve missed you. And, oddly enough, I’ve missed this blog. It’s always been a bit of an outlet for me. But sometimes, when I put enough unneeded pressure on myself, it becomes a chore. And then I avoid it. Or, enough time goes by and I forget how cathartic it is to write and then pretty soon it’s been a year. Or, I find myself being extremely negative and really outlandishly rude and debbie downer-ish and can’t stand the words coming from my fingers and make a vow to only write when I’m feeling more positive and pretty soon a year has gone by. It’s amazing how fast time goes by. And it’s just not when you’re old, young people often feel the blur of the seasons, too. We’re just in denial, drunk, or preoccupied on other things and don’t mention it. In my literature class 2 semesters ago I came across a lovely quote: Optima dies . . . prima fugit — “The best days are the first to flew”. Yeah. I’m still trying to grasp the full meaning of that, too. Bonus points if you know which novel has this quote as its epigraph.

The past few months – ok…the past year has been filled with many things obsessive. Many of you probably already are familiar with my obsession with all things cosmetic. I kind of OD’d a bit on the whole make up thing, although I will willingly take any Inglot palettes anyone wishes to donate to the cause. I sort of found myself in a nail polish flurry the past few months where I found my modest collection of 20 nail polishes proliferate into a collection of just about at last count 600. A few days ago I stumbled onto a new obsession.

I’m not exactly sure how it happens – these fetishes. I find it insightful, alluring, entertaining, intriguing, …. to ask my callers at times where a particular “like” came from. It seems obvious for some things – a panty fetish is revealed to be connected to first seeing panties and instantly sprouting a hard on connecting the two things together in fantasy matrimony till death do you part. Other things a bit more complex. Balloon popping? Gas Pedals? asphyxiation? I can connect every thing I’ve wanted to collect into a single solitary moment, suspended in my mind by pleasure seeking threads. When I was quite young I remember having dreams of colored tights in my dresser. Every night I would go to bed and dream of them – pink, yellow, blue, every color of the rainbow. I would wake, run to my dresser, and to my disappointment find that my dreams never came true. When I see make up in rainbow color order I feel powerless. I need to have every color, regardless if it’s in my right color group or not. If I start collecting a specific brand of nail polish, I have to have ROYGBIV colors first before embarking on the other glitters and other spectrums of colors. It’s a rule – one that my friends find amusing but that I find a bit like being in a self inflicted expensive prison.

A few days ago I remembered playing on a friend’s typewriter she had “inherited” from her grandfather. It was a big, clunky black heavy thing – and we would hunt and peck out silly words on pieces of white construction paper, not knowing any better. When a mistake was made we would backspace backspace backspace and x, x, x over the offending word or words and then start over. Our typed words became a sort of distressed piece of art I suppose, but to us it was just a funny, old thing that smelled like mold, that would make funny click clack ding noises that we would play on. Until a few days ago.

In my creative writing class we had to come up with an author we wanted to study and then we were to research him or her and write like them. I picked, of course, Carrie Bradshaw. She wrote on a MAC lap top in front of her window of her New York Brownstone Apartment. And she wrote about sex. It really was a no brainer. But I still looked up other author’s I admired – real authors – not figments of the author’s imagination, as Carrie Bradshaw is to Candace Bushnell. Some wrote long hand on yellow legal pads (Toni Morrison). Some wrote on their computers and others, like Hemmingway, Burroughs, Plath, wrote their masterpieces on manual typewriters.

And so the search has begun. I’m determined to find a manual typewriter. Perhaps a Remington. This one has colored glass keys. She’s lovely!

Or maybe a Royal.

There is, for me at least, the holy grail which is the Hermes 3000, a mint green manual typewriter, rumored to type like a dream.
.
I’d like a few electric typewriters from the 60′s or 70′s, too. Something that might sit on the desk in the office of Madmen, perhaps.

I have no desire to have a typewriter that doesn’t function. I don’t want it to be for looks. I want to use it. I want to hear it. I want to smell it. So there you have it. You’re the first to know of this new collection that I have been drawn to. A door in to my newest fetish. I figured I’d invite you in, as many of you have invited me in through your front doors to your fetishes through out the years. Take your shoes off. Stay a bit. Let’s talk of the best days. Before they flee.

I could write a post about that. But I won’t. Although at this point, I’m sure many of you are just happy to be reading anything I write about!

What I want to say is that I’m knee deep in finals week. Today will be my very first final. And if you all could just take a moment out of your day and say a little prayer for me (Dionne Warrick style) around 1:00PM PST, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be attempting to write 3 short essays in about 80 minutes for my English Literature class. Hopefully I’ll be successful, but I’m not good at writing under pressure (obviously).

All in all, this semester of school has gone extremely well. I’m sitting on a 100 percent right now in Math class. Yeah. 100 percent. Which means on every test I’ve done I’ve gotten 100 percent on. Can I say that any more times? Meanwhile in my upper level English class I’ve received a B on my last essay. Which really isn’t THAT surprising considering I suck at essays. Well, I don’t suck, they just aren’t my ‘thing’. I’ve really enjoyed this class though, and I’d love to nail the final and walk out of the class with an A. I deserve it. And then there’s the Anthropology class, that even with an excellent tutor (thank you Dr. Benway!) I’m still struggling with all the terms and stuff I’m forced to learn. Axis. Coccyx, Tarsus, Occipital, Gracile, Robust, Sternum, Calcaneus, phalanges, metatarsals, temporal, deciduous… seriously. It’s a damn 1 credit lab class and I feel like I’m in medical school. Haven’t been surrounded by that many skeletons and skulls in – well, forever, really. When I’m done cramming all of this information into my head I’ll impress you with some of the things I’ve learned (do you know why your clavicle is S shaped? I do. ). It really is fascinating, this human body. And I am really (despite my bitching and complaining) so excited to be in a position to learn all about so many different things. Going to school is by far one of the smartest things I’ve ever done and I’m so absolutely blessed and thankful to have a ‘job’ that allows me to continue my educational goals. That was what I would have written in November. A big huge Thank You to all of my clients and friends.
But yeah… I didn’t.

So I’m almost done. And then I’m going to take a little bit of a vacation. Twice. But more on that later. For now know that I’m thinking of all of you, and even though my schedule is a bit fucked at the moment, it should get a bit clearer in less than a week. I am still logging on during the evenings, and lately I’ve been staying on overnight. I can’t promise I’ll hear the phone ring at 3:00AM, but I have been getting up regularly around 5:30 thanks to my alarm clock (wink wink nudge nudge to you know who for being my alarm clock every morning practically!) I’ll update some things around here after Thursday’s last final and settle down long enough to put up a working schedule. At least. I hope.

Oh, and Manic Make up Monday became more of a Manic Finals Mayhem. I’ll postpone that until maybe next Monday. Or not. It’s Christmas time, maybe I’ll have every Monday in December be Make Up Monday! ahaha. Remind me to tell you all about my massive makeup collection. I make it seem all innocent and cute and in some little make up case with a zipper, but in reality my make up collection takes up more drawers than my t-shirt, panty, bra and sock drawers combined. Some people collect cars, dolls, coins, stamps, or bones (that’s a small nod to my Anthropology Professor who I think has a crush on me. She’s a girl. More on that later!). I collect lipstick, nail polish, eyeshadows, and other stuff. *shrugs* What can I say?

I can say bye. That’s what I can say. Gotta run and prepare for my final, and go to my prep for my math final that I can fail and still get an A in the class. It’s the small light at the end of a long tunnel – like many of you have been these past few weeks of cramming and studying and crying and moaning and screaming and … oh – wait – that was my last call. My bad. But in all seriousness, thanks for all you have done to make this semester a great one. You’ve kept me sane. I’ll make you proud.

“Are you going up?” A kind older gentleman asked me from a elevator.

“Sure!” I said – lightly jogging to the doors, my computer bag thumping gently against my thighs.

“Floor?”

“Um – 5th, please.”

He pushed the button next to his 4 and the doors gently closed. I didn’t know what kind of room would greet me when I stepped off the elevator. Holding my card that would be the key I walked towards my room and stuck the card in the little slot. A red light blinked back at me and I jiggled the handle of the door. Turning the card over I tried again. Several times I wiggled and jiggled that card in the slot before finally glancing again at the door number. Walking down the corridor I tried again. Green light. Entrance was granted. Hopefully I didn’t freak out the person in the other room too badly. I hurried through the door of my room just in case.

To the left was the closet doors – a safe (If I had brought any porn or toys with me I would have stored it there. No one wants the maid to see their stash!)- hangers, coffee maker, iron board, ice thingee, cups, shelves. A bathroom, with a mirrored door capturing my amazement, was across from the closet. In it, a good size tub and a nice shower and the best part? Immaculate. The living area housed a Huge King Size Bed – with pillows galore, overstuffed chair in the corner – a big desk – a ginormous (that’s gigantic and enormous combined) television on top of a chest of drawers (2 bottled waters on top. $3.50 ea. Are you fuckin serious?!)Floor to ceiling drapes – one layer sheer, second layer heavy upholstery that can block out a fire storm. Behind the drapes? Sliding glass doors leading to a balcony over looking outside eating area, pool, and hot tub.

I dropped my bags (carefully) on the floor and ran and flung myself on the king size bed. “1 FULL NIGHT WITH ROOM SERVICE!!!”, I screamed into the pillow, hands and feet kicking, swimming, joyful. Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling, then took in the paintings on the wall, then noticed a package on the desk. Walking towards it cautiously, I noticed that it was addressed to me with the address of the hotel. “Eddie?” I’m sure he wasn’t in the room…but how did he plan all this? I opened up the package, read the note, leaned against the desk and looked at the gifts piled in the palm of my hand. This had to be a dream. If so, the ring of the phone didn’t wake me from it.

My phone call with Edward was filled with giggles and sighs and too many thank yous. “You don’t need to thank me.” He said with a smile in his voice. But I did. Because I have never had such an experience. Ever. And while I’ve had some really awesome gifts, this present was — unexpectedly sweet and romantic.

For a little more than 24 hours I lived in a clutter free, stress proofed, climate controlled, paradise. Everything was paid for, Eddie had told me, just tip well. I gave the waiter a 200% tip, partially because I didn’t have anything smaller, and partially because I didn’t notice the bill that clearly had a spot to put in the tip. Tips and room service would all be covered, billed to the room, picked up by him.

“Did I do something right?”

“What?” I asked the waiter.

“Did I do something right?” he repeated, holding up the bill I had given him.

“I guess we both did.” I told him, assuring him that the tip was, in fact, for him.

Word traveled fast. By that evening I was Miss CeCe. As in, Miss CeCe is everything ok?, Miss CeCe is there anything else we can get you?, Miss CeCe would you like this billed to your room? Miss CeCe…

I could write about this high for the rest of my life, and still I would miss some intricate detail, some look, some touch…one of my senses would be jealous of the other. I’m going to miss something. I’ve worked on this post now for 2 weeks, turning it over again and again in my mind, and I can still see the look on the waiter’s face when I gave him that tip. I still taste the french toast the next morning, and my legs still remember how they stretched across the king size bed with no puppy, lap top, or text books getting in the way of my stretch. My body still tingles from the bubble bath I took while speaking to him later that evening, I can still hear the complete joy in his voice knowing I was having a great time and the surprise the next morning when he completed the check out on line. “You practiced restraint” He had said. 1 movie, 2 meals, a few drinks for a girlfriend who came to visit, Internet Access…It seemed a lot on top of the gift, the room, the peace. You know, I might not have fully understood why he did it, had it not been for the waiter and the look of surprise on his face. “Did I do something right?” he had asked me when I gave him the 20 dollar bill for the 10 dollar cheeseburger with too little ketchup.

Seeing the joy on someone’s face from an act of pure generosity is amazing. Understanding that more than once I have been the one in the position of the waiter — that is, providing a service for someone and hoping that it is significant and pleasing. More times than not I am given 200 percent more than what I have given. But I have never been in the position of being able to be as generous as I was that day. I will not forget that feeling and because of it, I will more than likely find a way to have it happen again albeit on a smaller scale, like on the phone with you.

So there it is. My high. Floating down a little bit the past few weeks, but still there, happily floating along and thankful for the ones who see the right I do. Often.

I’m not sure what this weekend is going to hold – but it is going to be an adventure. One of my callers (He is going to be called Edward Lewis – I just NOW decided. He’ll know why) treated me SPECIFICALLY to a night in a rather upscale hotel with the only conditions being… I must first have hot phone sex with him from the hotel. Movies. Room service. Sauna. Pool. An evening away from home. I invited a friend for a bit – and she will more than likely stay for a long time. She hates hearing people breathing when she sleeps (omg – I have the quirkiest friends!) so she won’t stay the night because I do happen to breathe when I sleep. If she does spend the night, am I wrong to worry about my safety? Anyway, I decided that when she leaves, it might be a great time for me to either catch up on my sleep and take a long hot bath or watch some tv naked on the bed…OR… I could share part of the great time with all of you and log in on Saturday night and have some loud don’t need to hold anything back lets get a little crazy phone sex on Niteflirt. What do you think? Yeah. I decided it was too good an opportunity to not share with you all. So – I’ll know better what the time frame will be but more than likely I’ll sign in sometime around midnight ready to play. Check out time is 10am, isn’t it Edward? If so I’ll probably work 3 hours … 4 if I am able to… and then I will fall into bed, happy, content, and relaxed. Of course I’ll be on sometime tomorrow, too. After first taking a nap as it appears to be one of those all nighters for me. Let’s finish this up.

I got another 100 percent on my Math test today. I got 49 out of 56, but my homework points boosted my 49 to a 56. *whew* See? Why was I so worried. Can I just say that 3 of the questions I got wrong were completely stupid mistakes. I’m not saying I’m stupid, Tiffers, I’m just saying that I made some really careless mistakes. I need to watch those errors. Even my professor was surprised when I got 2 wrong on the first page. “CeCe – you got two wrong on the first page?!?” He said. I took my medicine. I don’t know what happened. So that’s done with. Later today I’ll get my philosophy test back. I’m hoping for a B.

I did have another test that I took. 4 hours of testing to see about my spatial and processing and memory skills. All my test scores came back above average except for my reading comprehension, writing, verbal, spelling (yeah – I’m laughing over that one, too) and … one other one I can’t remember (remember … aha. That will be funny in a few more sentences), in those areas I was far above average into the “gifted” realm. Yeah. Tiffy was fuckin right. I am brilliant. My memory and processing … a little below average. So you see. If I happen to forget who you are the next time you call, it’s not that I wasn’t paying attention, it’s that my memory really isn’t good! Ha! I have a very GOOD excuse/reason. Nah – it goes hand in hand with A.D.D. Bottom line? The Psychologist said I should aim to go to school and get my Master’s degree if I want. That I’m very capable and that I should have no problems with being a successful student. Even my Math competency was above average. yeah. Me and math – who woulda thunk.

So things are beginning to fall into place as far as my plan is concerned. I found out that I probably need to take a foreign language – and most English majors take Spanish for some reason. It’s recommended by one of the schools I’m considering – so… I also have a few more science classes that I need to complete along with my Math courses. Looks like another year and a half AT LEAST – probably 2 years due to the math requirement needed to transfer. Of course, I may get into the school with out having completed all of my math – but before I get a degree I gotta have it somewhere. I’m okay with the time frame. Slow and steady wins the race. Right?

So – I think I’ve pretty much caught everyone up on my life – and sufficiently dwindled more time away from having to write this essay that I don’t even know where to begin. It’s not even an essay, really, because if it was, I’d be done with it already. It’s more of some kind of report. I don’t know what the bleep it is. It’s a pain in my ass is what it is. haha!

Spin tomorrow morning, then class, then training in the late afternoon with the Nazi. Will log in when I’m awake – hopefully before Midnight. Email me before then if you need to. Oh wait – I have an appointment with my D. before then – and THEN training at the gym, nap, then log in. One day I’ll update that schedule of mine. Just remember how you can legally stalk me on twitter and I’ll try to update my niteflirt plans as they become clearer to me.

Talk soon – and thanks all – for the great chats/talks/emails. Mostly, thanks for keeping close watch. It feels good.

After my spin class I stopped by the bike store and picked up my first pair of bike shoes (I tried them out for the first time on Wednesday.  What a difference they make.  Of course I was immediately stuck on the pedals and couldn’t get unstuck for a minute which was embarrassing…).  As I was going home, I passed a dog care center and stopped in for a look.

Jackson will need to fill out an application (I mean I will have to fill out an application) and then go through a screen process (Jackson will – I am pretty sure I would be able to play nicely with others, even if they are dogs) and if accepted he will be allowed to play in the play group.  I’m thinking one day a week will be a good thing for him.  It’s about all I can afford at this point, and I just want him to get out some of his aggressions.  Oh … let me stop lying.  I seriously want Jackson to get his furry ass beat.  I think if Jackson gets beat a little bit he’ll understand he doesn’t rule the world as I have told him from day one.  *shrugs*  A nice ass beating is all anyone really needs when they get full of themselves is my theory.  Someone has to put his furry little ass in his place — towards the back of the line.  I’m by no means dominant, but even I have had better luck with turning men into submissive subjects than I have had with Jackson.  He’s determined to be the boss no matter what I say.  See if the great dane can teach Jackson a thing or two about being alpha dog.  Grabbing the application and a few brochures, I was pretty sure this was the place for Jackson and I.  Wait a second…

"Do you by any chance have training here?"  I asked the kind lady.

"Yes we do.  The owner is an excellent trainer.  She works with the clicker and uses praise and never raises a hand to the dogs."

Well… that will all change once they meet Jackson, I thought to myself.

"We also have dance class."

"Oh?"

"Yes.  Dance class with the dogs.  They have a great time and it’s really great exercise for dogs and their humans." 

Dear God. "Wow… that sounds…." 

"I know.. it seems silly." Silly was not the word I was thinking, but okay. Silly.  "But the dogs really like it.  The owner has won contests with her dog.  They are really quite good."

Heading out of the door with promises that I would be back with the application & bribe money attached to it, I caught a few of the pictures on the wall.  I didn’t see any dancing dogs, but I did see quite a few happy people with their dogs.  It seemed clean and Mr. Great Dane seemed to be telling me that he’d take REAL good care of Jackson.  In a non romantic sexual way.  Not that there would be anything wrong with that. 

With animals on the brain, I spoke to Mr. Location confused Karl.  Somehow the topic came to talking with the animals, as in ‘What, Lassie? Timmy’s stuck in the well?’ talk to the animals.  We started to name the animals that spoke to humans.  Flipper, Lassie, Gentle Ben, Skippy.  Skippy?  I asked, laughing.  Skippy, Karl insisted.  And together we looked up this Skippy and found him playing the drums, playing the piano, gnawing through rope and cracking the codes on safes.  A Kangaroo that gave kisses and wrapped his razor sharp claws around a poor unsuspecting child.  Everyone should know by now that I am deathly afraid of Kangaroos.  Skippy didn’t help.  Hopping around like some Acid Tripped out Rabbit.  Ugh.

Though I caught the repeats of most of the talk to the animal shows, I still tear up every time I see gentle ben and Grizzly Adams.  It may be the beard (have a thing for those, remember?) or it might just be the Maybe song.  Whatever it is … animals sure can cheer you up even as they frustrate the hell out you, can’t they?  So in the spirit of … I dunno…Jackson getting accepted into Doggy Day Care (hopefully) I thought I would share some of the animals that we can talk to, who get us out of the jams, warn us of children stuck in wells, and entertain us with their musical and dancing abilities.

I will be logged in during the early afternoon tomorrow… then going to writing class.  You can catch me on Friday Evening for sure.  If you have a specific time you’d like to talk to me and are wondering if I’ll be around, you can always set up an appointment and I will get back to you as soon as I can to confirm.

Talk soon!

P.S.  Mr. Counselor… thank you. I still can’t quite believe it. You understand. 

P.P.S.  Everyone else:  I’ll explain in 5-7 days.

P.P.P.S.  Happy Birthday to my best girlie friend in the world, Tee. I hate myself for loving you. It’s a strange kinky type of relationship.

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.

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…

So as you can tell by this entry – I survived finals.  I tried to start early with my Geography Final – but I was still organizing my notes up until the moment I sat down to do the test.  I have this ritual, you see, of redoing all of my notes and reorganizing everything.  Before analysis (lol – doesn’t that sound so mature?!) I thought it was just another procrastination thing I did, but now that I’ve spoken to the good Dr for several months I realize that organizing and rewriting things is my way of remembering things.  The whole different color pens and pencils and illustrations and teaching other people about things I am learning, etc. is just my way of committing these things to my memory bank.  Apparently it works.  But not with out a whole lot of drama.  Because I am so visual with my learning, I made a trip to Office Depot, Staples less popular and rather geek-y younger brother.  Sorry, it’s true.  I walked into Office Depot because it was close to the gym I go to, with a goal in mind: Sticky notes.  50 dollars later I make my way to the counter where I start reassessing my purchases.  "Do you really need this, CeCe?  Nah.  Put it back.  What about these pens?  Yeah – definitely need to keep them.  But what about these?  Nah … put those back, too…"  So I set aside a few things and tell the Office Depot Clerk that I won’t be needing them but I’ll take the still substantial pile of things that looks like a good 40 bucks still, even after the "save".  This little clerk looks me in the eye, I kid you not!, and asks, "Can I ask you why you won’t be taking these items?"  …

"Pardon?!"

"Why don’t you want these?" He asks again, more boldly this time, his beady little cashier eyes burying their way into my very soul as if looking for the answer there.

…

…

Yeah.  That’s silence from me.  Because I can’t believe that in all my life I have never been questioned on my "go backs" before in a store, and I’m now considering whether or not this is a new practice in lieu of the "R" word (recession).

"Um.  It was an impulsive moment — and I realized I didn’t need those after all."

"Oh."  He says, still looking me in the eye uncomfortably while making no move to ring up my purchases I DO want, "because I was going to offer you a discount."

It’s now apparent that we’re having a little stare down.  I uncomfortably hold his gaze.  I don’t say a word.  He hasn’t offered me a discount, I don’t think there is a discount that exists, truth be told, and if there is a discount, I should have been aware of it when I walked in the store.  I’m not buying a car, here, I’m fuckin buying sticky notes and note cards and pens!

I win. He breaks my gaze, needing both eyes to locate the scan gun and the bar codes on my items. "Okay," he says with a nervous laugh,"Your total is 40.03."

I couldn’t get the hell out of that store fast enough.  Later, at the gym, I tell my Nazi trainer what has happened and her eyes get as big as mine must have been as she wonders, too, what will happen when she goes shopping later that evening.  Her shopping experience has been, in a blink of an eye, altered.  Ruined. "It’s a different world out there."  I warn her looking at her ominously. "I would suggest hiding the things you don’t want and not bringing them to the cashier with you to be put in the ‘go backs.’"  I say "go backs" making the quotation marks in the air as if to suggest that "go backs" is a historical word like cassette tapes — something that exists only as a fond memory in the corner of your mind.

"Yeah."  She says in a quiet scared voice.  "I don’t know what to do…"

Today I was in the area and I glanced over at The Office Depot Store.  For a moment the thought of pens lined up in their little shiny plastic containers called to me and just as I found myself weakening and answering to the call of the pretty ink, I was snapped into reality by the windows covered in ugly brown paper.  STORE CLOSED was written in black sharpie on the paper.  Maybe the question was just a sign of desperation and not a new adopted method of cashiering as I had feared.  I felt a bit bad for Office Depot.  But I’d be lying if I wasn’t a little bit relieved, too.

I didn’t even use my supplies from the store.  I didn’t get to the note cards, I was still copying over my information onto my notebook paper.  I did look up my grades for both English and Geography, however, and I managed to get 2 A’s.    Yeah me.  Perverted English teacher and Wind Patterns, Wave formations, and currents couldn’t stop me from achieving my A’s I so desperately wanted!

I also survived Christmas.  I managed to survive not giving everyone everything they wanted for Christmas, and even though I still have a few presents left to mail (Hey – there ARE 12 days of Christmas, are there not?!) I didn’t do so bad.  I realized this year that I so badly wanted to show the people I love how much I really did love and care for them and sometimes you just can’t do it with money because even if you had all the money you wanted (this is a long ass sentence that is need of a comma somewhere but I’m out of school right now so I’m not gonna bother, k?) you still couldn’t show someone how much you cared and loved them with a present.  It’s just not possible.  I use to think it was.  But it isn’t.  I mean – I don’t think there is one thing on my wish list that anyone could buy that would tell me exactly how much I mean to them.  I’ve had some great presents, don’t get me wrong, but I think that presents don’t transform their way into a feeling easily.  I tried to give gifts that represented a little bit of what I felt and how the other person made me feel, but … it’s hard.  Tiffy had to remind me several times that it’s the THOUGHT really — knowing that you crossed someone’s mind on a special day — that matters most.  I thought Tiffy was full of shit — but then I started to think of the things you all have given me and the fact that no matter the size of the gift or the price of the gift – the fact that you thought enough to send me a word, picture, tribute, gift, or smile made a huge impact on my life and did my spirit wonders.   Believe that.  So thank you all for the tributes, gifts, notes, calls, and "business" this year.  You have impacted my life with things you have said, delighted me with secrets you’ve entrusted me with, cheered me with gifts of your friendship, lusts, and fantasies (giggles), and truly impressed me with your courage in trusting me to hold your secrets safe.  I hope you never have to say "Pardon" to me (wink); that you know you can always "go back" and try something different or not at all.  Most of all, I wish you a very safe and blessed New Year full of every delight you can ever imagine.  If I’m invited to be a part of that in some part next year – great – but if you discover and hold tight to the delights you receive …. all the better.

Happy New Year, Friends!