Finding my best friend from grade 7 and debating whether to contact her

I don't write as much as I used to here. It's partly life. It's partly because I am not in an intimate relationship.

I have topics to write about. I haven't prioritized posting them.

I do have some news to share. It's good news. I'm just not sure if I should take the bold step and reach out, or let the past stay in the past.

In grade 7, I was best friends with a person. I'll call her Candy. She was awesome, except that she was teased whenever someone would tap her on the shoulder or give her a hug.

I don't think we ever hugged. I didn't want to trigger anything. I never asked why she was so sensitive. I figured it out in grade 8.

We were in extended French class. We had an exercise to reveal a secret by writing it on a piece of paper. It would then be placed in a jar. Each one of us would fish out an entry, read it, and figure out who it was.

Candy asked how to say abuse in French. It caught my attention. It also caught the attention of two of our classmates.

We reported it to our French teacher. She spent a lot of time talking to counsellors after she shared what had happened to her. Our friendship started to change, well into grades 9 and 10.

She became a feminist. She didn't like eating lunch with our usual friends in the cafeteria. She preferred to eat lunch in the washroom.

We used to walk up to school and home together. All that stopped.

She changed high schools. We drifted apart. We saw each other a couple of times in Toronto. Once was when we were in grade 12. The last time was when I was in my second year of undergraduate studies. We met in a store on Yonge Street. She called my name. I said hi. That was it.

I have thought about her often over the years. I'd try searching for her online. Nothing.

I gave it a try today. Somehow, my persistence worked. It also helped that she openly stated her birthday on her Web site, right down to the year. I looked at her birthmark on her forehead and immediately knew that it was her.

She is definitely more verbally articulate than she used to be. She is far more open about being abused and her past. I didn't realize that she automatically grew up in a cult and ran away from home shortly after she changed school.

She changed her last name after she ran away from home. It explains one reason why I had a tough time finding her.

I'd like to contact her and say hi. I don't know whether that's a good idea. The abuse that she endured happened while we were best friends. She couldn't tell me anything because her abusers threatened to kill her, which is understandable.

Part of me wants to because I care that she's alive and seems to be doing well. Part of me thinks that if I do reach out, I will be resurrecting the horrible abuse flashbacks that was happening. 

I would like to think that our friendship was maybe an escape from this abuse. I just don't know.

I will sit on it and think some more. I am happy that she's doing great. She seems healthy. She is an author and an artist. 

Supporting two local businesses

On Saturday, a couple of cool things happened to me. Both deal with small local businesses.

For one business, it had a campaign that invited folks to suggest new flavours for teas and shakes that have no to low sugar. I suggested German chocolate cake. The business tested out the flavour suggestions, and names one tea and one shake after the person who suggested it. I now have a German chocolate cake shake named after me. It's on the place's permanent menu starting on Monday.

I am thrilled to bits to have a menu item named after me. 

The second business is closing its store and strictly operating online to save costs. Its last day is today before the store closes down for good. I went there to visit it one last time.

I am a loyal customer. It's to the point where the owner recognizes me when I walk in and knows my name. 

We had a good chat today. I bought a sugar cookie in the past and she asked me whether I enjoyed it. She also showed me a secret project that she's working on. It was lovely to get that inside scoop from her. I am excited for what she will be offering down the road.

Although I'll miss dropping by this store, I am happy that it's still in business and I can continue supporting it.

Positivity snacks and a jerk who got what he deserved

Some places in the States do not ship to Canada. Recently, I contributed my thoughts about positivity on a company's Instagram account. This company ended up sending me a huge box of snacks as a gift. It was an extremely generous gesture.

Sadly, this place doesn't ship to Canada. However, I have a way to have items shipped up here through a shipping service.

There is one person at this shipping place who has been a pain to deal with. The first time I dealt with him, he asked for my ID. I was fine and asked if I needed to present it all the time, as none of the other staff members had asked me for it. He said no and that it was a one-time thing.

I dropped by a month later and he asked for ID. I reminded him that last time, he said it was a one-time thing. He made up a reason on-the-fly by saying that he will stop asking until he knows me. Um, I have been dealing with your business for four years. I'm a regular. You happen to be new and are making rules up as you go.

The third time I had to deal with him, he stopped asking me for my ID. Yay! The jerk, however, said my last name wrong. It's not a difficult last name or word to pronounce. I happily corrected him, staring sternly at hime. He actually apologized for a change.

On Saturday, I went in to pick up my box of snacks. This jerk was dealing with another customer who was yelling at him and dropped the f-word several times. I grinned. What goes around, comes around.

Luckily, I dealt with his female counterpart who was respectful and nice. She recognized me as a regular. I got my shipment, said thanks, wished her a good day, and left.

It helps to be kind to folks. If you're a jerk, there will be consequences to your attitude and behaviour.

Borrowing a degree

My guy and I can practically talk about anything. I don't think that we have stumbled across a topic in which we have steered clear of discussing.

We are educated folks. Between the two of us, we have a ridiculous number of degrees. My guy was and still is an overachiever. I fit in the same realm, except that I do not have a doctorate.

We talked about whether we'd like to teach at a university. We both like that idea, but would ease into it by teaching a course a semester. The problem is finding a course to teach. The demand to teach a sessional course is high.

We then had this conversation:

"Can I borrow your PhD?" I asked him.
"Sure, if you want to change your name to mine," he said.
"I can do that. I'd also have to take testosterone pills to get my voice down a couple of octaves and tell horrible jokes," I joked.
"Oh, man," he said, laughing.
"Well, I think I have mastered telling horrible jokes, so I just have to worry about more cosmetic things," I said, smiling.

It's far more fun to borrow a degree than it is to slave over research for five years and be broke!

My guy is back!

My guy's flight was scheduled to land at 18:30 on Saturday. I got a call from him at 18:05.

"Hey! Your flight must be early," I said to him.
"Yes, I just landed," he said, with a tone in his voice implying that he was happy to hear my voice.
"Oh, no! I'm not at the office yet," I indicated to him.
"It sounds like you're driving. Take your time, sweetie," he told me.
"Okay! I'll see you soon, sweetie."

It's a good thing that I am a pretty punctual person. I managed to get there before he did. He walked over to my car and opened the passenger-side door.

"Hey!" I exclaimed.
"Hey," he replied. I reached out to hold his hand.
"You're woolly!" I replied, admiring his maroon wool sweater under his jacket.
"Yes, I am. I see that you are wearing a skirt... or are they shorts?" he asked me.
"It's a skirt," I said.

We got into the backseat, which would be the first time that we are truly christening the new treehouse.

My guy handed me a bag of goodies:

• From Budapest, he got me a boomerang. I will obviously need to try it outdoors. 
• From Ireland, he got me a Shaun the Sheep plush toy and a doorplate with my name. He thought that the former would be perfect for me to cuddle with. The doorplate is nice, as it has Ireland on it. 
• From Cairo, he bought me more Egyptian Turkish delight, which looks like a dong, but it's really fresh walnuts with Turkish delight wrapped around it.

My guy is sweet. We spent a bit of time hugging and kissing before my spanking.

A number of spanking tidbits

Geez, it has been quite some time since I last wrote. I just want to say thanks to Brucie for posting a couple of messages a few weeks ago. I appreciate your taking the time to add insight to my posts and for sharing your experiences with me. It means a lot, considering that I'm new to the spanking blog world.

Well, this post refers to a couple of things that DJ, a colleague at work, said last week. He is on a strict diet and has since lost nearly fifty pounds in roughly four months. He looks great. However, he's getting tired of his low-carb diet.

He told me that he might get off it soon and be a "naughty boy." He then made the comment that he'd be "whipped." I have suspected that he's a closet spanko. The whole naughty boy scenario is such a turn-on.

My hubby likes when I take him over my knee and call him a naughty little boy as I give him a sound spanking. As for when I'm over his knee, I do a bit of a reversal. I'll protest that I'm not a naughty girl, but a good one. The smacks on my bare bottom generally get more intense, which I love.

As for recent spankings in our household, I recently found a paddle that I had purchased a few years back. It has a few holes in it. It's more like a wide ruler with holes that you can put in a three-ring binder. Anyway, it was used on my bottom. I loved it, although it hurt like crazy to get paddled a number of times on my unclothed backside. Still, I enjoy feeling the effects of a sound spanking, particularly the day after. Try sitting on a park bench for ten minutes the day after such a spanking. You'll understand. It's all good.