Steel Teacups and Saucers

Description from the site: Set of 3 inox, stainless steel , cups and saucers, very decorative with beautiful and elegant pattern, art nouveau style.  Vintage item from the 1960s.

Found on Etsy, shop BrocanteEst, in Romania.

I like the look of them and being steel is nice, durable and unusual. But, I think they would be tricky to use. The handles are not shaped for having your finger through them and the steel could be hot to hold onto if you drink coffee or tea in them. Also, 3 is an odd number for a set. At least they have the cups and saucers for all 3 in the set.

I Broke My Favourite Glass Mug

I pulled it out of the dishwasher, still hot. Did not think but went ahead and poured in a little coffee cream, cold from the fridge. I heard that little ping and, sure enough, my glass mug had a huge crack, splitting the bottom and up each side. I am annoyed with myself. I should have had my brain on but I was working on autopilot.

I found more of them. But, they are not available for online shopping. I did find some on eBay, but the shipping is expensive,  beyond considering. So, I will just wait until I am somewhere there is an Ikea store. Funny, Ikea is so popular but this will be the first time I have ever had a plan to shop there. But, the mugs (called beer tankards) are in stock.

I’ve Become Super Noob

I started writing as Super Noob on Lindsay’s blog, Web Design for Idiots. Tonight I wrote the following as an introduction to who I am and why I’m someone who might have a reason to be writing there.

I’m posting this from my very messy desk with the TV on to my left and my nearly cold coffee at my right hand, in danger of wrecking my faithful little scanner. I’m a real woman. I’m a real, live, 40+, divorced Canadian woman, a writing legend in my own mind.

In June of 1996 I began on the Internet. I was an IRC diva for quite a long time. It was a lot of fun and most of it I really should not write about here. That’s what personal blogs are all about. I wrote for a zine first, a small print publication called The Crying Clown. From there it was all online. At one point I was producing my own newsletter for writers, InkSplatters, sent out through what is now Yahoo Groups. I was a web writer for HerPlanet, BackWash, BellaOnline, Suite 101, WZ-ard.com and other sites, forums and newsletters some still living and some not. I still write for Creative Fat Grrl on LockerGnome, a babbly blog more than anything seriously functional. Writing for a network is a different educational experience than writing for yourself. Which is one reason I keep doing it.

I’ve had sites and then blogs of my own. I didn’t begin online in the great time of blogging, I was here before that. So my first sites were put together with just HTML code as I learned and goofed it up. I’ve used software and I’ve cut and pasted code and I’ve hand coded my own pages. I’m not an expert, time alone isn’t enough to make you an expert at web design or development. I have learned however and as I learn I see how much more there is to be explored and discovered. But, don’t look to me expecting I’m a know-it-all. If I ever say that you can be sure I’m just laughing at myself.

I love creative things. I’ve done so many interesting forms of art, just to try them out. I made ASCII art for a few years. I continue to take digital photos of abandoned places here in Ontario, starting in 2006 when I bought my first digi camera. I’m also teaching myself to draw cartoons, some people even like them! This week I re-learned the art of cutting out paper doll chains so I could make them into a graphic for a blog. I really think it’s important to keep the creativity and free writing in blogging. It would be a real shame if the personal journal and creative element of blogging were lost in the rush for SEO and money making.

Anyway, I’m here to help the less experienced blogger with my experiences. I’ve got a stack of great books about web design on my bookshelf and I will be using them (finally) for more than a place to hide my dust bunnies. I seem to collect books with great good intentions and then not get very far. You can also find me writing about web writing and posting writing ideas and prompts on my blog, Word Grrls.

ThatGrrl.ca

Completely off topic… did you know that a nail file works really well if you have an itchy spot on your back that you just can’t reach? I’ve been rubbing my back on my chair tonight wishing for something to work. Then I had the great idea for the nail file (not one of those treacherous metal ones, just some cardboard type) and that worked great!

It’s Funny, but you Smell Like Sex

I joined NovelTrove last night and posted a story for their contest with the theme, swinging. My story came in last of ten. Maybe due to being entered just as the contest was closing or maybe it just wasn’t sexy/ slutty enough. I liked it. I wrote it in an hour, including the time I pulled it together in my mind before typing anything. Usually I type as I think. This delayed start was better. I had to remember all my ideas and that helped as the story developed.

Click the link to see the story on the site and give it a vote if you liked it. If you didn’t like it, just don’t bother to vote. Seems simple enough to me.

It’s Funny, but you Smell Like Sex

I am sitting alone, still enjoying ripples of an orgasm, when my husband comes back. He has our car keys and doesn’t look very pleased.

“Maybe you’re right. All this swinging is for people not like us.” He passes me my coat. I’m surprised it was right where I had left it, folded neatly on the seat next to me.

Taking my hand, something he hadn’t done in a very long time, he led me to the back door and the parking lot. He opened my door first and waited for me to get inside the car before closing the door for me. It was nice.

On the way home he talked about the woman he had ended up with. She was older than she had looked, wore a lot of make-up and he didn’t really like her eagerness for the swinging scene. Three children later and my husband still likes to think he is the sexual guru in our relationship. My disinterest in sex hasn’t really bothered him, other than being an inconvenience at times.

“It’s funny, but you smell like sex.” He says.

“So do you.” I reply.

“I guess so, we were both there after all. Want to stop for a coffee? Make it a bit more of a night out?”

Drive through coffee because neither of us feels like getting out of the car yet. He feels out of sorts and me… I’m just feeling content and languid.

I take the coffee cup and notice the bit of paper I’ve had in my fist all this time. He notices too.

“What’s that?” He asks.

I open it and then push it into my purse. “Someone gave me their phone number.”

“And you’re going to keep it?” He says, startled, a little annoyed.

“Well, I don’t want to litter in the parking lot. I’ll find it the next time I clean out my purse and toss it out then.”

He seems satisfied with that, more or less. I say nothing more about it.

At home I leave him to pay the babysitter and check on the kids, lock up the house and all those other rituals. I strip off my dress in the bathroom. My panties are gone and I’m surprised he didn’t notice my boobs swinging around half in and half out of my open bra. But, I’m the good wife, he only looks at me that way once in awhile.

My clothes go into the laundry basket. I stand looking at my naked reflection in the bathroom mirror while waiting for the shower to get hot. Tonight I want a hot shower. I don’t want anything cold touching me, taking away the feeling of being touched by strong, knowing, and patient hands. My pussy is still leaking. It feels strange after all this time. But, I like it. I’m even a little proud, or maybe it’s defiance.

His idea to go to a swingers party, not mine. His idea to leave me sitting there, the good wife. I didn’t look for anything, other than a cocktail or two. I forget what they were called now.

Stepping into the shower, the steam rises around me and the hot water pours over me. I wash away the evidence while I relive the encounter.

A kiss at the back of my neck. Strong, big fingers stroking my back, making me feel like a purring cat. Something he whispered near my ear that I didn’t really understand. Hands on my hips, under my dress, my panties slipped down. I felt a tall, wide, male body pressed against my back. Then he gently pushed me to lean forward. His fingers just a little cold but quickly warming between the lips of my pussy. Playing with my clit, slow and then a little faster and then slowing right down again as I started the first wave of orgasm. Slowing, slower and so slow I thought the orgasm would stay at the pinnacle of just starting forever. Crashing, thudding and trembling inside of me, so strong I hadn’t even noticed he was gone and I was alone again.

Another orgasm in the shower. My husband coming down the hallway to our bedroom and our king sized bed, the best way to share a bed while not sharing anything.