After having been accused of sexual assault by no less than 55 women, Bill Cosby was finally arrested for one of his many crimes against women (a 2004 incident).  And though I’m sure it was easy for him to put up the million dollars bail, and he’s not going to sit in a cell until trial, he will have to go before a judge and jury and answer, goddamn it for what he’s done.

Changing your name to cover up what you’ve done, you can only get away with it for so long 


The BDSM COLORING BOOK, by Michael Makai.  I’ve had it for awhile now and yeah, I enjoy it.  I’m a grown woman with a sex drive and an immigination and hey, I like the kinky stuff.  I heard of Michael Mikai as a Texas-based artist and broadcaster, but living in NYC and not getting out to Texas, I didn’t really know the man.  He was just the guy who put out the “dirty coloring book for grown ups”.  

Well I know the real truth now.  Michael Mikai is actually is actually a pseudonym or pen name for Charles Michael Segaloff.  And Charles Michael Segaloff needs a pseudonym, because under his real name he’s a 

convicted sex offender.

See, Mr. Segaloff likes underage girls.  Underage girls, as we rational adults know, cannot legally consent to sex with adults.  But Mr. Segaloff doesn’t care that they can’t consent.  He’s on the Internet, using social media to 

Tell them whatever he needs to tell them to persuade these young girls to leave their homes and families and join him, where he will tell them what to do.  

Mr. Segaloff’s most recent victim, according to FBI affidavits, is a 17 year old girl from Greenwich, NY.  He met her on the Internet and drove from Oklahoma to NY to get her and took her across state lines.  

I’ve burned my copy of the BDSM COLORING BOOK.  I don’t condone the abuse of children, the use of the Internet to lure minors and entice them into unsafe situations, I don’t condone Mr. Segaloff (or anyone else for that matter) using a pseudonym to hide his or her heinous crimes (especially crimes against children).  

Surviving Christmas 

So Christmas eve was at my sister’s mother in law, a tiny ranch style house in Howard Beach, Queens.  We were 12 adults, two toddlers, an ornery housecat, a lot of tchtkche crap, some Christmas music, a dinner that was late but good.  My sister’s husband’s brother (who drinks heavily and used to be my holiday drinking partner) kept goading me to drink.  He was kind of angry I wouldn’t do after dinner shots of Limoncello with him.

Christmas day was at my sister’s place in Garden City.  Once again we were 12 adults, two toddlers, a lot of things that “Santa” left for the kids, a tree, a dinner that was beyond late, but it was worth it to see my sister finally use her oven.  

I got more presents than I deserve.  The clothes my mother gave me are all too tight, “to motivate you to pose weight” she said.  The three handbags she gave me are a non-sexual wet dream come true (because I don’t just dream about sex, I dream about having the sort of bag that would enable me to walk down 18th Avenue and let all those bitches have it), the macys gift card my sister and her husband gave me was thoughtful, and I like the tickets to see Colin Quinn my other sister gave me.  All in all, it’s an embarrassment of riches.  

The highlight of the day is when I was playing with my niece and nephew.  My niece was so cute in her dress and my nephew laughed and he’s finally (at nearly 21 months old) starting to talk.  

TMI Tuesday: Playing Doctor

  1.     Have you had major surgery?  What type?  I had two eye surgeries (right eye in May 2014, left eye in August 2014) because I have kerataconus, a condition where my corneas, which are supposed to be flat, are cone-shaped.  It wasn’t major surgery in that I was awake for both procedures, and the procedure which I had done on both eyes is known as “collagen cross linking”, an experimental (non-FDA approved) procedure here in the States, but they’ve been doing it in Germany and other European countries for ten years or so.  Anyway, yeah, I was awake both times, I wasn’t admitted to the hospital, the doctor who performed the procedure(s) wanted to give me Percocet for the pain (instead of localized anasthesia) but I’m a sober woman and Percocet is not part of being sober, so I declined that.  So I was awake, unmedicated both times they put an eye speculum (and yeah, there’s such a thing as an eye speculum, and it doesn’t tickle) in me, and I had to stay very still, and both times the procedure was a success in that it stopped the progression of the condition.
  2.      Have you died and been resuscitated?  Technically NO, although in the bad ol’ days, when I was a binge/blackout drunk, I almost died of alcohol poisoning a couple times.
  3.      Do you have surgery scars that embarrass you?  Where?  I have zero surgical scars.  You cannot tell by looking at me that I’ve had two eye surgeries.  I wear contact lenses that keep me from being blind as a goddamn bat, but if and when I take them out, I’m pretty blind.
  4.      Do you have a scar, on your body, of which you are proud?  I have several scars on my body, but I am proud of none of them.  There’s no heroic story of “yeah, I  got that scar saving a baby from a burning building” behind any of my scars, it’s more of “well, I was drunk, in heels, and I fell down and that’s how that happened”.  So no, I’m not proud of that.
  5.      Have you ever played doctor and nurse as foreplay for sex?  Which were you, the doctor or nurse?  Ummmmmmm, does having been told by a former so-called Daddy Dom that “you have to take your pills, young lady, or ELSE…” count?  if not, than NO. I never have.

Bonus:   Do you like BDSM medical play?  What about it excites you?  I fantasize about it at times, I mean, I’m on Tumblr, I see things people post and I’m curious.  I guess I’m excited by BDSM medical play because I don’t know much about it, don’t have experience with it.  It would be this new, unfamiliar thing, and there’s always an element of excitement with a new thing.

It’s one of those things that has to be said,

Whether I like it or not.  You see the thing is that my ITALIAN-AMERICAN mother, is, at 70 years old, in addition to being a narcissistic borderline personality, kind of a racist.  She won’t let the black batista at Starbucks make her coffee, but has to ask “Is there anyone else (and by anyone else, she means “is there anyone white”)? She won’t let the black bellboy carry her bags at a hotel because he might steel (and you and me both know that a black guy would look ridiculous in her cashmere sweater and pearls and so he wouldn’t bother taking them) and so on and so forth.  She loves pointing out “mixed” kids on the subway, and she’ll whisper (well she’ll THINK she’s whispering but she’s really not) “D’you see those kids, across from us…they’re ‘mixed'”.  I have no idea why she feels the need to whisper, the mixed kids (teenagers actually) know they’re mixed (and yes, I know biracial is the correct term), and I don’t know why she insists on pointing out biracial teenagers on subways either.  She oughta know the rule about minding your own goddamn business in subways, but anyway.  She also loves to point out interracial couples, as in “Do you see THAT, a white girl with a black guy”, and I could just punch her when she does it because more often than not, she calls my attention to a fat white woman who happens to be with a black guy.  And I know what she’s saying (I know what she’s saying by not saying it) is that she thinks if I continue to be fat, I’ll end up with a black man.  And she can’t have that.  She’d rather I spend eternity alone than go with anyone outside my race.  

1 Liner Wednesday: Really Short Story

“So did you hear about Dave,” my sister said.

“Hear what about Dave?” I asked.

“He got married,” she said.

“No shit,” I dropped the magazine I’d only been half-looking at.  “Dave got married?  To an actual woman?”

“Yup,” my sister said, “some twenty year old model type.”

“That sounds about right,” I said.