More Summery Thoughts: Peeing in the Pool

I was obsessively checking my logs this morning (yes I know from whence you've surfed or searched to me) and found this chick. I so looooove her latest entry, entitled: Do You Pee In The Pool?
Have you wanted to, but never did because you were told that there's a blue, purple, or red dye that will colour the water if you do? I don't know if you've heard it, but I was told that line as a kid. I always believed it, too.

I probably wouldn't have done it myself, but I used to look around in the pool as a kid passed by to see if a coloured streak followed the kid while swimming. That way, I'd know if they peed in the pool, and I'd know to avoid that area while swimming.

She maintains that she never put it to the test. I, however was not the same type of child. I was about 5 or 6 and my mother and Aunt June were playing cards (most likely canasta or may I, why don't I have weekly card games?) in her glassed in back deck. So they had a basic view of me, but had I started drowning, it would have taken some time to get to me. Before I got in the pool, Aunt June told me that peeing was not permitted in her pool. She said I better not, because if I did, a big black circle would form in the water right around me and she would know. I solemnly nodded my head and then bounced off into the backyard to get in the pool. Approximately twenty minutes later I burst into the room where they were playing cards and shrieked, "You lied Aunt June! You lied! There wasn't any black ring!" Luckily, rather than being angry at me, they laughed and asked why I had peed in the pool and I readily admitted that I wanted to see the black ring. THAT was the type of child I was.



Those of you who actually know me (or have been trying to book an appointment with me), know that I've spent the bulk of this summer in the Hamptons. No, I'm not out here to party, I'm a nanny, remember? I've had an amazing summer! Do you realize I'm getting paid to build sandcastles and go swimming? My bosses have given me relatively free reign on a house on the beach with a heated pool. Ummm, yeah, it does rock. Sometimes the kids stay over with me, but most nights I'm alone. Which means skinny dipping, smoking and reading. There's no real appropriate segue here. I guess I was just thinking about summer and work after reading this article. I have yet to meet Troy Orleans, but I've consistently heard great things about her. I understand the heat being problematic, but where the hell is she renting space that the air conditioning isn't cranked to the max? I spent an hour and a half encased in leather on Friday for an interrogation/torture scene and um, well, I was fine. Whatever, maybe that's just me. Things were slow earlier in the summer, and maybe it is partially that I'm only in the city and available a few days a week, but business is booming lately. Or maybe it is this amazing snapshot of my legs:


When your landlord's lawyer is submissive, another only me anecdote

So many stories to tell. The first actually happened several months ago. I knew it was blogworthy but I never got around to it. Being the fiscally irresponsible adult (?!?!) that I am, I often end up in court with my landlord. We arrange a stipulation agreement and everything is fine in the end. Except when I miss stip payments and come home to find a marshall's notice of pending eviction. Oops. Back to court I go. This time a touch nervous, as I have really pushed things a bit farther than might be acceptable and the judge could actually elect to allow my landlord to throw me out. Such was the situation about two months ago. I arrived for court in a denim miniskirt (my summer uniform), a black v-necked shirt and cowboy boots. I meet with my landlord's lawyer in the hallway of the court building. He's cordial, friendly even. He begins filling out paperwork but is interrupted by some other lawyers for a round of gossip. In a teasing tone, certainly not as though I were barking an order, I told him to get back to work. It seems that triggered a response. Negotiations began. In no uncertain terms I spell out the terms that I want, knowing full well that my landlord will never agree, but hoping for a point to begin bargaining from. He agreed to everything I requested. Put it through the court without calling my landlord for approval!!! As we finished up, he asked what I did for a living. I was evasive, I said that I have a few different freelance jobs. He replied, "I'm submissive to my wife. Are you a Domme?" I was so shocked, I just told him the truth. He said, "I KNEW IT!" I asked how and he referred back to me telling him to get back to work. I suspect he may have recognized me or maybe his submissive sixth sense was just responding to me.


Five Days Naked in the Desert

Yes, it is true. I went on another naturist vacation. This time it was to a resort in Palm Springs, CA called Desert Shadows. It was, as I expected, magnificent; I met some wonderful people and had a great relaxing time. With one exception. I had an accident while I was there. Before you all freak out, I will preface this story by saying that I have suffered no permanent damage or disfigurement, though I surely could have. Most of you know that I am a smoker. I am rather committed to my camel lights. So it is perfectly understandable that when I went to the pool that first day, I brought a towel, my smokes, a lighter and the book I was reading (Cryptonomicon by Neal Stephenson ). Having never been to Cali before, I had no concept of just how damn hot it gets there. I left my stuff on a table beside a lounge chair and got in the pool. Less than an hour later there was loud shotgunish sound and we discovered that my lighter had exploded from the heat. OK. no worries. Lesson learned, DO NOT leave a lighter exposed to direct sunlight when temperatures are above 100 degrees. You think this story's over, but it's ready to begin. I adopt the habit of covering my lighter with a towel or my book. Two days later, I pull a lighter from my purse and place a cigarette between my lips. As I flicked it on, it exploded in my face. There was a ball of fire directly in front of me. I stepped back, waved my hands back and forth and ran into my room to splash water on my face. I lost several curls, singed my eyebrows and lashes, but the real pain was inside my nose. The heat and fire had gone up my nostrils. No nose hair here! I iced it for an hour and then obtained some Ayr with Aloe gel which relieved the dryness and pain. It wasn't until a day or so later when scabs began to form along the edges of my nostrils and septum that I realized how badly I had been burned. Needless to say I used matches for the remainder of the trip. I repeat, I'm fine now. It was scary when it happened but I'm over it and I'm just grateful that the damage was minimal and that I recovered so quickly.

Obviously that had nothing to do with the fact that I was naked. But then other than the fact that I'm lacking tan lines, a naked vacation is the same as a clothed one. As my friend who organizes these trips is fond of saying, anything you can do clothed you can do naked. Nudity juxtaposed with atypical activity highlights included a celebrity homes bus tour (when someone emails it to me, I'll post a pic of myself and a friend in front of Elvis Presley's honeymoon home) and a naked dance/karaoke party. I had a great time at the party. I don't think I've ever danced nude before. And while I typically not only hate karaoke, but the people who actually do karaoke, I guess I was caught up in the spirit of things and was roped into participating in a group rendition of The B-52's Love Shack. No, I can't really believe I did it either.


Back from the desert, en route to the beach

Sleep deprived and caffeinated to the gills, I really shouldn't be awake right now. However, the gentleman beside me on the Jitney is wearing an outfit that deserves to be immortalized. Brown leather loafers, HOT PINK (or shall I say fuschia) socks, canary yellow slacks with a purple Ralph Lauren polo shirt, complete with a green embroidered polo player. Were he a 22 year-old hipster, I'd laugh at how hard he was trying. But this guy is in his 60's. Shouldn't he know better by now?