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2003-11-26
Standing Upright, Lying Down
I'm not a big fan of sex in the shower. I like the idea in principle, and kissing and caressing each other in that hot, steamy atmosphere with the warm water sprinkling down on us from above is heavenly. But I find actual sex in the shower a somewhat impractical proposition, at least with the showers available to us for that purpose. My sense of balance is quite reliable, a possible consequence of me having done judo as a kid and shotokan karate as a teenager, but I have a sufficiently hard time trying to keep gravity and slipperiness from ganging up on me and bringing me back to the cold hard floor of reality when I'm having sex with myself under the shower, that adding a second, somewhat less sure-footed human in the shape of my wife into the already volatile mix looks like a sure-fire recipe for disaster to me. (cue Sedalina's post from some time ago...)
So it was that blessed time of the month again, and we were rather predictably a wee bit hornier than is usual. Me hugging her under the shower quickly developed into kisses, starting at her left ear, lingering at the side of her neck, in that spot which she so likes to have kissed, moving down to her breast. At which point she pulled me back up again, asked me if it weren't better to continue this in a less cramped and slippery place, and promptly got out of the shower. I quickly followed her, and we towelled each other down, taking perhaps a bit more time and care at a few places than would have been strictly necessary to dry the skin in the area, and then made for the bed, where we continued right were we had left off.
Soon, she announced that her nose was stuffed again, and feeling no inclination to drip all over the place got up and went over to the kleenex box, while I sat up on the edge of the bed. When she came back, she stopped before me, her belly button right in front of me and her butt in easy grabbing distance. So I grabbed her beautiful behind with both hands, pulled her close, and started showering her gorgeous belly with kisses and licks and the occasional lightly sucking bite.Soon her breathing had deepened, and while I continued giving her stomach a tongue bath, my hands started kneading her behind.
It didn't take her long to spread her legs and lead my right hand to her pussy, where I let it roam across her nether lips and her clit hood. The little man in the boat (thanks, Helen!) soon woke up and had a look at all the commotion going on outside, so I slid down to my knees and started kissing and licking the little guy while continuing to caress her labia as well as her butt. Which is when she surprised me a little by asking for lube, which she normally doesn't like although she tends to be a bit drier than we would like, due to the feeling of cool wetness that spreading lube on her nether regions produces.
Being a proponent of the the-wetter-the-merrier school of thought I gladly obliged, all the while continuing the caressing, and returning to the belly kisses. When she started grinding her hip against my hand I plunged a finger in, quickly adding a second to massages her g-spot while keeping my thumb on her love button and placing my pinkie so that it massaged her anus.
When all those ministrations made her pant and sweat, the whole situation - me on my knees, she standing above me, panting with lust while I pleasured her - was deeply satisfying to the submissive part of my sexual personality. So we continued in bliss for a while until her knees got week and jelly-like. I placed her on the bed and continued massaging her g-spot, sucking and licking her clit for additional stimulation while she bucked her hips against me. Soon she gave the small shudder and the rythmic contractions of her vagina that are usually the only signs of her orgasm.
And then she surprised me again by asking for Bobby Sue, thus giving me a hint how worked up and horny she really was. I quickly obliged, wetted the shapely piece of silicon, plunged it into her moist and still slightly contracting grotto, and felt the familiar sensation of my wife phasing out into complete bliss. She doesn't orgasm easily, but after a few more shudders had passed over her, my arms tired of the strain of constantly keeping up the pressure on her g-spot, so I pulled the dildo out, substituting my own meat instead.
She kissed me deeply, then put her head back on the bed and just lay there panting with that angelic smile of orgasmic lust on her face, while I moved in and out of her. After I had spent myself in my own paroxysms of lust, she pulled me down close to her face, kissed me again, then put her legs and arms around me and turned us sidewards, were we lay, content and spent in the afterglow of lovemaking, our sexes still joined.
2003-11-21
Tech Support 101 Or We Are Here to Serve
Due to the fact that Gudy Two Shoes politely requests that search engines not index or cache it, I am denied the questionable fun of lampooning the mind boggling search strings which might otherwise have led people to this site. Still, I occasionally find something worth noting in my referrer logs.
Like, say, the person who is obviously one of the handful of regular - read daily - readers of my blog, but apparently always comes here by entering "gudy.blogspot.com" on the canadian MSN search page, then clicking on the appropriate link on the result page. Seeing as this is a somewhat roundabout way of getting here, especially if done every day, I can't help wondering about the motivation of this somewhat strange sequence.
And just in case there isn't an excellent reason for doing it that way: Hey, you, yes you, can just enter "gudy.blogspot.com" in the location bar of whatever web-browser you are using, and the browser will more than likely figure out that this is where you want to go, and load up my blog - no need to go to MSN Canada's search page first. And once you've arrived here, adding the page to your bookmarks/favorites with the appropriately named action from the menu of the same name will allow you to come here by opening said menu again, then clicking the link named "Gudy Two Shoes" at the bottom of the menu.
And if you have a question, send me an email at dgudy@hotmail.com, or leave a comment by clicking on the link named "Comment (0)" below this text, then filling out the name and email fields, putting whatever you have to say in the big comment field, and clicking the "OK" button.
Deal?
2003-11-17
Moving in - with a wheelbarrow
We had been holding off on moving in until now, because there were some things that needed to be done first, like the bath room, the entry hall, especially the door to the living room, and the outside terrain, which has been raised to the correct level both in front of and behind the house. Yup, the dumpster is finally gone, too.
Now that the construction firm is demanding the last rate of payment and the communal construction office has been notified of the fact that our house is more or less finished (at least as far as the outside and the ground floor is concerned), we've started moving in. Which, seeing as our old and new homes are only about two hundred yards apart, basically means I'm carting stuff over with a wheelbarrow.
The bedroom is almost complete already. The massive pine wood bed, which we bought used for fifty bucks from friends who needed to move into a smaller apartment, has been assembled. So have the closets which I moved from our room in the in-laws' house. What's missing are the bed sheets and our massive wardrobe, which needs to be dissembled, carted over part for part, and then reassembled, because it's too damn heavy to move in a piece.
In somewhat related news, the new kitchen is already paying itself off: The bread we have produced in the new oven is even better than the already good stuff we have managed to bake in the old oven of the in-laws! Now I'm even more eager to stop using pre-packaged flour mixes and start producing and using our own sourdough. Which means I have to find a source for a decent quality sourdough. Most of the local bakeries have gone down the drain or have been swallowed by big chains, and thus don't sell the stuff anymore. And those very few who might, produce bread we don't like. I also mistrust the stuff which is sold in the supermarkets around here, because their aim is to sell, which leads me to suspect that the sourdough has been produced so it doesn't form stable cultures to discourage people from using it as a starter for their own longterm sourdough culture.
That basically leaves me with two choices. Either we start our own culture from scratch - a procedure with a dubious outcome that would also make us plunge into the cold water head first, instead of allowing us to slide in somewhat more conveniently and easily. Or ordering from the net, which from looking at the prices at www.sourdo.com is not really cheap or alternatively brings me back to the poor quality argument. Plus, I need a starter that can work with rye, which is a whole different story than wheat, as far as the leavening power etc. is concerned. Sadly, most of the US dominated sourdough sites I've found so far seem to ignore the fact that anyone might want to use something besides wheat for baking their bread.
Ideas, tips, links, anyone?
[Update: I may have found a cheap source for a reliable sourdough starter: Carl Griffith's 1847 Oregon Trail Sourdough Starter. For the price, I'm willing to risk the possibility of this not working too well with rye...]
2003-11-10
Note to self, or you know you are too mentally exhausted when...
Yes, the Dixie Chicks are one of your favorite bands, and Home is your favourite album by them, but you really should know better than to play "Travellin' Soldier" while you're behind the steering wheel. Especially on a Friday evening after spending the better part of the week working overtime and writing your ass off for an offer (for the Project from Hell, no less), and getting totally and absolutely mentally pooped in the process.
Driving down the highway at 75 miles per hour in the darkness of an altogether too late Friday evening while in the mental state alluded to above, with tears streaming down your face is not something I would recommend you repeat anytime soon...
When the first notes of that song started playing I knew what would happen, but I didn't fast forward over it, even when a simple button press would have accomplished this. I felt that I needed that song now, needed to cry, even if it meant switching to the rightmost lane, getting behind a truck, and trundling along, following the blurred sight of its tail lights lest my teary-eyed vision cause an accident. And amazingly enough it worked. It felt good to let those tears wash out all the frustration and exhaustion of a week that brought me no joy at work and a lot of work at home where I cared for my feverish, coughing, grumpy, refusing-to-stay-in-bed-and-instead-shlepping-herself-to-work-every-day wife.
But what is the thanks for all this? My boss berating me today that I didn't finish that offer on time (Sorry, but when I'm done in, I'm done in, and no amount of overtime will change that!), and my wife passing whatever bug has been infesting her system on to me (minus the caughing, thank god!).
But I feel better now that the worst onset of the fever has passed, my wife is getting better, and I'm finally able to get back to programming at work.
2003-11-04
Aussies do it right
As an addendum to my Ahnuld/voting machines post from a few weeks ago, I have found a story detailing how the Australian Capital Territory had called for the implementation of an electronic voting system, and the people involved actually managed to do most things right: open source, encryption and digital signatures everywhere. The one thing missing (due to budget reasons) seems to be a voter-verifiable receipt as a paper audit trail, which the developers themselves fully acknowledge as being necessary to make the system really trustworthy, and regret as not having been implemented.
Kinda makes you wonder why Diebold and Co. with their mega budgets don't plug up their gaping security holes, which have been known for years.
Honi soit, qui mal y pense...
2003-11-03
AOL sucks some more
I once, in my early internet days, was a member of AOL. They had a good deal at the time, but I soon switched to a pure ISP because using their crap software instead of a reasonable email and web browsing program turned out to be too much of a nerve wracking hassle.
But somehow, some system or other still had me booked as a member of theirs when I had long ceased to use AOL. Then, somewhat later I got myself an AIM account to complement my collection of IM accounts in such a way that I was present on all major IM networks. Being somewhat attached to my nick, I used the same screen name as that of my AOL account of yore, thinking absolutely nothing about it. Which, of course, was the mistake, because that should have been impossible given the fact that my AOL member account was long dead and hence blocked from any future use, including AIM. Or rather, should have been.
I finally became aware of my oddly undead AOL membership this summer, and properly terminated the account (hopefully!) at the end of September. Which of course means that as my AIM account was linked to my AOL account by virtue of its using the same AOL screen name, my old AIM account is now dead as well.
All of this basically serves as an introduction to the announcement that with all the good ones long taken, you can now reach me under the AIM screen name "gudy1974". Boring, eh?
2003-11-02
Vienna Calling
Like all my business trips, this one started out with me getting up way too early. Like, 3:45 a.m. early. Bleh, I'm just not made for getting up any earlier than, say, 5:30. After a frugal breakfast I drove to the nearest railway station and took the train to the airport, letting it take me through the gloomy excuse of an autumn dawn. When I arrived at the airport check-in, my boss was already in the queue, so I hung back, being of no mind to talk with him right then and there. Lucky for me, he zoomed off to the nearest coffee bar after having finished his check-in procedure. So I queued up, checked in, and had a brief chat with my colleague, who had arrived by then.
The staggered check-in had a pleasant and unforeseen but not really surprising consequence: all three of us sat apart, so I had no obligation to engage in small talk, and plenty of time to look out the window, watching the landscape and even our village zoom by below, and then take a nice, long nap until our descent to Vienna airport was well underway. After our landing I had once again occasion to confirm the wisdom of the late Douglas Adams, who once had remarked that there was a reason that no language on Earth had ever developed the phrase "beautiful as an airport". I have only once seen an airport that wasn't butt ugly, and that was the brand spanking new airport in Shanghai. In other words, Vienna International Airport is ugly.
If you're expecting to arrive in one of the more architecturally beautiful European cities, this is something of a disappointment. Which is only exacerbated when, while being transported into the city by a bus driver that was positively polite and friendly when compared to the usually grumpy lot we have here in Berlin, you pass the ugly industrial landscape of an oil refinery. And no, I don't know either why they have an oil refinery on the outskirts of Vienna, far removed from any likely source for oil...
Once we arrived in the city center, my mood changed from bemusement to wonder. I'm not exactly an architecture buff, but Vienna, or at least its center, is a heaven of beautiful façades and winding roads. I immediately felt reminded of Prague, which sports a similar look to many of its older quarters. When we disembarked from the airport express bus, it became apparent that despite the architectural similarities, the overall mood of the city was different. It's an odd mix between the calmness combined with youthfulness that you can feel in Prague, the hectical unrest of Berlin, and that inexplicable, charming and polite quality that is so typical of the inhabitants of Vienna, the "Wiener Schmäh".
Sadly, there was no time to soak up more of the unique views and moods of the city, as we were a bit late for the meeting with our client. So we met up with them, and had a very productive session that lasted way into the afternoon (during which I sat quite a bit removed from our boss, which was a plus). Having our boss with us proved a definite boon for these talks, as he is a better moderator than me and my colleague, and he managed to persuade our client to do a lot of things our way instead of theirs in the upcoming project.
After the boring business talks which I won't go into at great length, lacking as I do Layne's talent to make these things sound interesting, we had still two hours to spend before getting back to the airport. And did we spend it walking through the wonderment that is Vienna's inner city, ogling the splendid aarchitecture, soaking up as much of the unique vibrations of the city? No, if course we didn't. Having uss on hand for the whole day with no means to escape, my boss wanted to have a business lunch with us to discuss our further strategy in the project we had just secured. But that's my penny-pinching boss for you.
Oh well. At least I could convince him to spend a few minutes in the St. Stephan Cathedral, an impressively splendid example of real gothic church architecture. After that, we went looking for a restaurant. Our boss immediately aimed for an italian restaurant in a side street of the cathedral. After a little complaint on my part about the lack of imagination in that choice, we went instead to a restaurant we had seen on our way from the bus stop to the cathedral. And that turned out to be a wise choice indeed. Plachutta specializes in traditional Austrian cuisine with an emphasis on all things bovine. It is one of those places where you are helped out of and into your coat, where the service is excellent, the food divine, and the tea is by Ronnefeldt (in other words, some of the best tea I've ever had the pleasure of tasting), served with a whole tablet of different choices for sweetening it. And the prices, ranging between 13 (for the excellent salted tongue in a delicious broth, served with finely roasted potato strips, my choice for the evening) and around 28 Euros for the main dishes where rather reasonable for that level of service. The one weak point I found: despite serving excellent tea, they didn't really know all that much about what they had on offer, which is a pity, as Ronnefeldt offers a good variety of teas ranging from a flowery Darjeeling to a refreshing Earl Grey and a pungently aromatic Assam. Oh well, you never have all good things together in one place, I guess.
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