Health

According to the medical model accepted by mainstream Western society, health is the absence of a diagnosable disease; however, good health is not the same as optimal health. Optimal health refers to being in peak physical, emotional, intellectual, social, and spiritual form, which is fostered through the regular practice of life-enhancing habits, including regular exercise, eating nutritious foods, avoiding tobacco and excess alcohol, managing stress, enhancing social networks, pursuing of a spiritual path, and achieving a sense of fulfillment in intellectual and occupational vocations.

(This text shamelessly stolen from Mary Hartley RD, on caloriecount.about.com)

I just felt that this was relevant, because it is nearly the New Year, and I hope to become truly healthy in 2010. Yes, it is resolution time. I read back over last year's resolutions and wow, I used to be a good writer. 2009 really was sink or swim, and what do you know, I managed to swim my ass right outta town. 2010 is a whole new decade, a whole new phase of my life. I'm a real adult now.

I need to avoid putting so many high expectations on myself that I end up crashing and burning and giving up. Health, creativity and spirituality (yeah, I'm a hippy, go fuck yourself) are my selfish goals.

Being a good little kitten for Owner is the other main plan. For mine and his benefit. I love him, and I want to make him happy, and if that means being slightly less of an insufferably selfish brat-creature, then so be it. A little less selfishness will probably help with every part of life.

Strongbow tastes better with piss in it.

I do not like Strongbow. Nor do I like James.

Last night we had one of our infamous drunken gatherings, where for some reason, much manly wrestling occured. Michael and Andy drew as the strongest, and James was the weakest. I beat him. Even though he pulled my hair. Yes, me, the patheticest piece of low muscle mass to ever walk the planet, beat somebody at a thing involving strength.
Anyway, for some other reason that probably seemed really good at the time, the boys got the floggers out for some kinky fun to manfully test their pain thresholds. At this point, I finished my bottle of wine and Mike gave me a can of cider. After I had drunk it, James decided to finally own up that he had pissed in the can to try and get Mike.

It was at this point that I threw up. In the bathroom, I hasten to add. I don't go round puking in public, whatever the provocation. James' prank seriously backfired on him. His hot girlfriend, and everyone else in the room, suddenly hated him. After much arguing, I decided to hide upstairs, and the arguing continued for a while longer. Eventually it was decided that he should take lashes. It was supposed to be 20 from a ten tailed rubber flogger, but this was cut down to 15 due to pussyness. His back was livid, bright bruises and even a little blood. And then him and Dan continued to argue for a long long while, as his girlfriend got bored and got a taxi home. He did not even notice. I assume he is today suffering the pain of an angry woman. Women are possibly the worst thing to ever have angry at you. With the possible exception of sharks, but lucky for us sharks are cold-blooded fishmonsters incapable of emotion.

Anyway, everyone was angry and moaning and so we decided to go to bed. This was a good move. All the drama had made me kinda sulky. And me being in a bad mood while drunk rarely ends well. Luckily tonight it ended ok. We snuggled up, all drunk and giggly, and watched Red Dwarf and ate cheese. So everything turned out ok in the end. It usually does.

Sod you, Sod and your stupid sodding Law

As soon as I got back to blogging, my laptop died. Lucky for me, being an unbearable middle-class brat, my parents bought me a new one. I'm just having to wait for it to be delivered, as it gets posted first to their house and then sent down here for me.
Having no laptop made me realise how much I need the internet. The entire modern world is based online. Right now I'm using a borrowed laptop because Zoe was lovely enough to let me use hers while she's at work. Now I must try to cram two weeks worth of internet into this day.

House Sharing

This is the first time I ever lived away from my parents (awwww, bless, etc. etc.) so everything started out as an awesome novelty. This house also started out with only four people living in it. M/Michael/my boyfriend/owner (yay nominal confusion), John, Jade and Dan. I moved in after about two months, and then Jade left, helpfully leaving us all of her kitchen utensils. To replace her, Gary moved in. Gary requires some explanation. A 24 year old virgin who owns a few thousand video games from every era, Gary is possibly the nicest person IN THE WORLD. If you asked him nicely, he would give you all his money, and let you stamp on his face. The poor guy wound up living in this house, and I'm not sure what that is doing to his sanity.

Yes, this house. This infamous pit of depravity. Mostly having its bad reputation because Michael lives here. Everybody knows that he is a Deparaved and Evil Human Being™, which basically means that our parties are always really awesome. They also frequently end with nudity, whips, butter (ok that only happened once), facepaints, violence (courtesy of lil' old me, the legendary psycho drunk), lesbians (me again) and terrible things happening to whichever poor fool passes out. So far our greatest achievement has been the 3 day Halloween party, involving 5 litres of vodka, 90 cans, various other miscellaneous alcohols, facepaints, and lots and lots of boobies. Yay for boobies!

So, What Do We Do?

We have a business. M quit his job (which he hated) and now he works for himself, and I work for him. We make collars. Or, he makes collars, and I help sometimes, in my unique and not that helpful way.

The company is called The Collar Box. We have a website!

Yeah, I am a corporate tool.

Lilly Scabette is Back!

Yes, I have returned to the blogosphere (whatever the fuck that is) and I have a lot to report.

Firstly, I, the free-range icon of commitment-phobic whoredom, am now in a commited and long term relationship. I am now living with M. Yes, I packed up and moved 200 miles to live with him. I've been here more than 6 months now.

Also, after years as an independent feral creature, I am now a domesticated pet slave. Not a particularly obedient pet, more the kind that scratches holes in the sofa while you're not looking, but still. I have an owner, and he does a pretty good job of not just putting up with me, but actually being nice and making things better. I am looked after and loved and in love. Which is all very nice and sickly-sweet, but not exactly interesting for you, dearest reader. Yes, I am considering your needs, so be grateful.

Luckily for you, stuff also happens here. We live in a houseshare, have friends and social life and such, and there is always plenty of petty drama and sexual deviance going on. You will be so glad that I came back.

I Got My Adventure

I went to see him for a week. It was amazing. He bought me flowers. Lilies for Lilly. 

We played and fucked and he mde me cry and it was good. 

I met his housemates and we got very drunk. I kissed a girl and I liked it so we fucked. Her boyfriend liked it too. So did M. 

We can lie in bed and talk for ages. Kisses and snuggles and all the things I couldn't let myself want. He likes me.  

I'm going back soon.