I Lost Me The Google (and Almost My Temper)

Night #1: The Frenchman’s computer gives the “low or no connectivity” warning when he tries to plug his computer into the studio cable modem. My computer, however, works fine.

Night #2: Now my computer gives the “low or no connectivity” warning when I try to plug my computer into the cable modem. His computer is fine. (I’m using it to write this.)

Night #3: I’m absolutely, totally pissed. My computer refuses to work any longer with the cable modem (or whatever the hell this thing is).


Anyway, since I don’t have much time, I want to quickly congratulate my peeps who made the Final Ballot for the Bram Stoker Award. Especially Lisa Morton, although there are others. Woo! You go!


Today, I narrowly avoided setting a table of Americans on fire at my favorite cafe near Pere-Lachaise. I watched the poor French waiter very graciously try to help a table of four stupid cunts who were both mocking him and his language. He totally kept his cool, too. Then, after he left with their order, one of the stupid cunts starting going on loudly about how upset she was that she couldn’t find cheesecake in Paris.

Cheesecake. In Paris.

I came **this close** to standing up and screaming, “Put your fat, ignorant, tasteless ass on a plane back to whatever fucking crack in American soil you crawled out of. Cheesecake? You don’t even fucking deserve to be here, you stupid cow. Just…fucking…go. NOW.”

The Frenchman was so embarrassed by the women at that table, he nearly gave back his American passport. (And believe me, he loves his American passport.) I was so livid, I had a salt shaker in hand ready to hurl it.

Americans are embarrassing.


Late yesterday afternoon, we went to Cris et Chuchotements, the last standing BDSM club in France. C&C has an amazing atmosphere, as it’s a series of real caves. I wore my Philip Adeck suit and spiked heels with my hair up (picture pending). My only problem there was that it was really too dark for safe play. We started in The Writing Room, where they had this marvelous antique French writing desk complete with quill and ink. Beside it was a large ornate chair. We played quite a bit in that room with rope bondage and the cane before moving into the medical room, where I put The Frenchman in stirrups and performed all kinds of torturous “gynecological” exams on him. (Hee!) The French pervs were polite and friendly. We even met up with our pal “Iva” from the ErosZine article.

Okay, must sleep now. Will not have The Google again for a bit.

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