Mercurial Girl

2009-07-06T04:06:00.001+02:00

My brother-in-law Robert contends that the most entertaining thing about marrying into to our family is the intra-family debates about personally inconsequential issues. His reasoning being that they combine just the proper mixture of erudition and snarkiness to be entertaining. At this years family gathering my brother Kenny and I were the main event, with the subject being government’s role in fighting the recession. Let’s leave it at saying that I advocated the Keynesian position and Kenny a conservative, dare I say neo-conservative position. God, Grace and Leah are right; our parents did bring the wrong child home from the hospital.

We went back and forth for a while to everyone’s amusement and then he began making comments about investors etc. He stopped when Robert began chortling, and tried to backtrack. But I’d have none of it, he was out on a limb and I intended to saw it off. “You’re right, I guess I wouldn’t know anything about investing in a business,” I said. Since college Kenny has either worked in government, those research institutes where apparatchiks of the party out of power go, or he has taught. “And I know that you gained tremendous insight into the private sector from the three years that you worked at the C-store while in college.” We all had a good laugh at his expense and he took it well.

Kim

2009-07-01T18:20:00.000+02:00

Wags is quite happy to have two humans in his house, twice the opportunity to get his little needs met. If he can’t get what he wants from me he seeks Christine out. When he does get what he wants from one of us, he tries to get it again from the other.

This weekend I’m going to Maryland for our family gathering and Christine volunteered to take care of not only Wags, but Dad’s pugs also. They will run her ragged.

Kim

2009-06-27T08:58:00.000+02:00

Christine rushed in and slipped into the chair, apologizing for being late. She placed the Birkin, my Birkin on an empty seat. I had an appointment near where she is interning and called and asked if she wanted to meet for lunch.

She caught me glancing at the bag and somewhat guiltily and said, “What?” “Is that m...,” I started and she interrupted me saying, “you said I could use it.” I had, last summer. I couldn’t stifle a smile. Last summer I was cleaning off a shelf in the wardrobe and tossed the Birkin onto the bed. C spotted it and snapped it up. “How’d you get this? Don’t tell me, I know.” She sat there holding it and I half expected that she would begin muttering, precious, my precious.

She asked me if I used it and I told her not often, but that she could if she wanted. When I told her that at some point I planned to sell it, she looked up and with her most endearing smile and said, “You could give it to me!” I probably will.

Early in our relationship we were having one of those disclosure conversations and she told me that occasionally she would get an unreasonable desire to acquire some wildly expensive, unnecessary something, which would cause hardship down the road. Her then current albatross was a Land Rover that she leased on a whim and needed to keep dancing for a year longer than she wanted to in order to make the payment.

What does she carry in the Birkin? Her backpack and within that, her wallet (a small purse really), plus a sketch pad, books, pieces of cloth and thread, a needlepoint that she’s working on and probably a couple of moldy sandwiches. I’d want HAZMAT gear before poking around in there.

Kim

2009-06-21T09:09:00.000+02:00

2009-06-17T18:56:00.000+02:00

Le Mans is different than other races I’ve been to, starting with the time in most races when intensity amongst the crowd grows in anticipation of the finish, at Le Mans the fans begin wandering off to dinner, the arcade or perhaps to ride the ferris wheel. Having 22 hours till the completion has that effect. Around seven I went to dinner with a driver’s spouse, the team jackets we wore didn’t help in getting seated but the credentials hanging around our necks did.

I was curious about what it was like being the wife of a racer, but figured that then wasn’t the time to bring that up. In fact we didn’t speak of racing or Le Mans, but of movies and TV shows, anything but the race. After dinner she needed to rush back to her duties, but I wandered through the carnival and making a mental note to return and ride the ferris wheel after dark (a great view).

Around midnight I went back to the trailer to sleep and near three I awoke confused wondering where I was. A trip to the bathroom was in order and after I decided to see what was happening. As you walk along there are people curled up sleeping or passed out on and under benches with mounds of trash everywhere and enough empty beer and wine bottles to keep a recycling person busy for a couple of days. I arrived back to the pit area about the time that the Peugeot crashed. Word spread that the accident was serious and no one was sure about the condition of the driver. When the news came that he was conscious, but trapped in the car, you could sense the relief among the crews. But the race, for the next hour, was more like cars on the highway following a policeman.

Our car was in the garage when I arrived, the mechanics feverishly working. It went out again but later it broke for good, disappointing all. The sun came up lighting the clear skies, the threatened rains holding off for another day. As morning wore on people returned to the track and began filling the stands. By mid-day the stands were near full and the hope that Peugeot could win and win for France unleashed a wave of nationalistic (drunken) pride that made me think I was at an English football game.

So when the Peugeots crossed the finish line in formation, you would have been forgiven if you thought Napoleon had repulsed Wellington and von Blücher at Waterloo or the Maginot Line had held. At least for the day France was returned to her rightful spot at the top of the world in the minds of the French.

Kim

2009-06-15T19:32:00.001+02:00

Last week was hectic, it started in Le Mans, back to Paris, Lyon, Paris and a return to Le Mans. Business related to the race brought me to Sarthe and I also served as a mascot for one of the entries. During an earlier sponsor event, a fellow struck up a conversation, when I asked what would bring him to Le Mans he told me he was with one of the entries. This I found interesting and after a bit he asked if I wanted to join them in the team box. "Perhaps I could bring them luck," he said. Figuring that this was the auto-racing equivalent to being invited up to see a man’s etchings. I accepted, as he was interesting and attractive, a good combination.

When not conducting my own business I hung out with them as it beat the hotel. After a day I asked if there was anything I could do, figuring they’d give me clipboard and a stopwatch, like I saw the wives and girlfriends carry when I watched races with Dad and my brother, there was something I could do, "stay out of the way". Eventually I was appointed chief gopher, as in go for this and go for that, usually food, coffee or water.

As far as being a good luck charm? That depends how you look at it, the car broke, but everyone got home safely.

Kim

2009-06-11T20:37:00.001+02:00

It was after nine Wednesday, when I arrived home with only Wags to greet me. There was a note from Christine, Wags had been fed and walked earlier (now he was at the door doing the go for a walk dance) and she was out with some friends from last summer. It pleases me that she has made some a acquaintances of her own, it is good for her and it might help me in my attempt to convince her to move here when schools over.

My day was spent in Lyon for meetings; I’d taken the early train and frankly I was exhausted, but my friend had his little needs that required accommodation. A quick walk to the corner and business completed we returned and I went straight to bed. I don’t know when Chris came home, as I didn’t feel her come to bed, but when I awoke in the morning on one side I could hear her breathing and on the other Wags’, I felt contented.

Kim

2009-06-08T15:45:00.002+02:00

An outbreak of schadenfreude in my circle. Three copies of this article found the way to my mailboxes.

I love this.

...a steady number of applicants, in their late 20s, who had never held paid jobs: They were interns at a modeling agency, for example, or worked at a college radio station. In some cases, applicants have stormed out of the market after hearing the job requirements. “They say, ‘You want me to work eight hours?’ ” (emphasis added)

After all why should only sugar babies and mistresses suffer when mommy and daddy are strapped.

Kim

2009-06-07T20:28:00.000+02:00

Checked my watch, her flight landed about 30 minutes earlier and she should clear customs at anytime. I’m waiting with the other greeters, leaning against the wall my eyes fixed on the exit portal. I spot her but she hasn’t seen me yet, she looks tired. A business geek yakking on his cell phone stops directly in front of her and she almost bowls him over. She says something to him, probably ‘asshole,’ she’s irritable when tired.

Christine is here.

She sees me and a smile lights her face, we come together, a hug, a long wet kiss and another hug. She steps back and reaches out and touches the ends of my hair, “Your hair, it’s so long.” It is long, as long as I’ve worn it anytime since high school. I nod my head yes and tell her I finally got tired of vacillating between Audrey Hepburn short and young professional female, parted on the side, tucked behind the ear or pulled back and tied.

Later at the apartment I needed to run out for a bit, when I returned she was asleep on the couch, Wags cradled in crook of her arm. He looked at me, guiltily, he’s not allowed on the furniture and he knows it. I let them be.

Kim

2009-06-03T15:36:00.000+02:00

Where is borderline between reasonable caution and irrational fear?

The cause of the Flight 447 tragedy may never be known. The flight data and voice recorders might not be found, nor enough of the wreckage. There will be educated guesses of course but none of the certainty that comes from a thorough investigation. In the news yesterday an accident investigator not involved in this crash, mentioned that two Qantas flights experienced uncontrolled loss of altitude due to a malfunction in the fly-by-wire system. Did something similar contribute to the 447 accident?

I fly Air France several times a year, and mainly on flights to the US. The Airbus 330 is on those routes. Perhaps I need to add a third criterion to my planning with schedule and cost.

Kim

2009-06-01T21:58:00.000+02:00

My relationship with Jacques is complicated, I’ve been his whore, he became a mentor and adviser, and now we’re friends. All overlaid by he also being a patron of Kim & Co through the companies he controls. We talked once of an additional relationship call it mistress, or companion what ever. Our expectations were too different, my wanting an out front public relationship. He wanted me to come and go by the back stairs, the explanation being in the opening sentence.

I hadn’t seen him in a couple of months when he called to say that he was looking at a vintage car Sunday and did I want to join him. A drive in the country sounded appealing and I do enjoy his company. He picked me up in a BMW coupe that I’d not seen before. I told him that I expected the red rocket ship and found out it had been sold, perhaps to be replaced with another. He inquired what I thought of the BMW and I was not committal. “You don’t care for it,” he asked. Not particularly I admitted.

The car was located on an estate a couple of hours from Paris, when we arrived it was parked, staged really outside the garage. We got out and walked around it. A Facel Vega, Jacques had told me, I’d never heard of it. He gave me a little history, more information than I needed now. The owner and his son, a tall gawky kid of about 15 joined us, the keys were offered and soon we were off on a test drive. A few miles down the road, Jacques pulled off, got out and looked under the hood. He poked around there for a few minutes and then we continued.

When we arrived back, the usual buyer-seller posturing began and I asked the boy to show me the other cars. He jumped at the chance. There were a dozen cars, all European from the 50’s and 60’s; the last was an MG, which would be the boys when he received his license he told me excitedly. I asked if I could sit in it and he rushed to open the door for me. I found it kind of appealing. Over lunch, I told Jacques that and he suggested that I get one, that I wouldn’t regret it. I told him I’d think about it, all the time thinking about how much it cost to keep Waldo.

The day was sunny and mild so we found a café with a patio for lunch, after which he asked if I minded if we stopped at his cousins on our way back to Paris. I’d met this cousin and other family members before but as pulled up the drive, he told me that I’d probably be meeting his aunt.

Sure enough, we were whisked into her study and the introductions were made and soon Jacques exited with his cousin, leaving me with the aunt. The aunt is the matriarch of the family and the surviving member of her generation. I hope that at 40 I can be as intimidating as she is at 80. We talked, more like she asked me questions with out actually stating a question. I suspect, well I know, that she knows her nephew, the exchequer of the family fortune, is a sucker for a pretty face and she was checking to see if damage control was in order.

If I didn’t pass her test, it would be Jacques problem, not mine.

Kim

2009-06-01T15:54:00.002+02:00

It's been a hard day, a friend has been in Rio and I believed she was returning today, she did but on a different flight.

2009-05-20T19:29:00.000+02:00

Poor Waldo was in for plastic surgery after being assaulted by a brutish delivery van a couple of weeks ago while parked near my office. A fender was nearly ripped off the poor dear. The body shop, being a pillar of Gallic efficiency needed to keep him all week, just to bolt on a new fender. It’s not like they have to paint it even. I did resist the temptation to give him a new look by replacing all the body panels, money best saved.

My intent was to rent a car, but Dad suggested taking his Porsche, as he’d be out of town anyway. Now I know why he wanted one for so long, and does make his denying himself even sillier. The first day I learned that a Porsche has more cred at the valet stand than a Smart. A trip to Lyon was in my schedule and rather than take the train I drove and found out that it attracts a lot of attention.

On the autoroute I met the nicest motorcycle policeman, he was so polite and handsome in his uniform. He explained how concerned the government was for my safety and that, though I may not have noticed, I was exceeding the posted limit. I considered trying the girl-card, but figured I’m too old, so I tried penitence. That didn’t seem to work as I still received an invitation to make 100€ contribution to the state. Next time I’ll flirt.

Kim

2009-05-14T22:07:00.000+02:00

Prior to leaving the beach house in August, we placed a reservation for this year with the agent. In March he returned it, the house had been sold and he would not represent the new owner, who would act on his own behalf. Nathalie contacted the owner and reported to the rest of us that he was increasing the rent by 20%. We talked about it and decided to look around.

Last month Chloe and Nathalie went to the coast and looked at property with the agent we’d worked with. They found a couple of likely places for the same money we’d paid last year, both a bit smaller but the same number of bedrooms, though one had an additional bath. With 10 women sometimes sharing a house an additional bath would be nice. After discussing it again we decided to negotiate with the owner of the initial property who said was amenable to the idea; the negotiation being my job. That was fine, I enjoy the give and take of negotiation and I’m good at it and last weekend Anne Marie and combined business with surfing.

Sunday afternoon, while AM shopped, I met with him. It was a waste of time as he spent most of the time talking about how much interest there was in the property, but I threw him off when I asked if there was so much interest, why it wasn’t rented. Finally I gave him our opening offer, which was last years rental fee. Opening the folder that contained the information on all the properties, I looked over each one and finally his last and then looked at him and gave him the number. He prevaricated for a few minutes and when my phone rang, I excused myself and said I needed to take the call. It was only AM wondering if I was finished, but I ignored her and simply said, “I’m almost finished here, I’ll meet you where we agreed in about 20 minutes.” I thought I saw him flinch but if he did he covered well.

He never made a counter and I guessed he did have another offer, so I ended the meeting and left a bit pissed. Partly because he wouldn’t negotiate when he said he’d entertain an offer, partly because he was a jerk, and partly that I didn’t win a concession.

Earlier this evening while walking Wags, an email came in from him with a counter. “Sorry,” I replied, “We have an agreement, perhaps next year.”

BTW we took the additional bath.

Kim

2009-05-05T22:13:00.001+02:00

I'd like Jo and Gillette to comment on this. All I can say is, no way and at no time on my table. In fact, I won't look at paté the same way ever again.

Kim

2009-05-04T22:36:00.002+02:00

Over time I’ve collected bits of possible posts, mostly erotic, but for various reasons they’ve never made it into the blog. Usually I found something else to write about or was never in the mood to finish them. I’ve decided to complete some of them and post them as an off and on series. They’ll be divorced of context, time and place, and may be from past professional engagements or my sexual wanderings.

When people think of the Paris suburbs, they usually think of fetid housing projects where France warehouses their immigrants. But most are not like that and many are quite wealthy. Typically they have densities that American’s would be unaccustomed but in some ways would be familiar.

Paris is a metropolitan area of about 10M people, but only about 2M live in Paris proper. While the city has a reputation of being crowded, with small houses and apartments, it lacks the density of New York and is more like Boston. And like Boston its architecture is low rise and of a classic vernacular. There are high rise buildings in Paris, but they tend to grouped or on the periphery. When a high rise development is proposed, vocal camps supporting and opposed quickly form. Interestingly the expat community tends to oppose, while natives are often open to the development.

Le Periph, the ring road around Paris, by and large defines the city limits and on a November evening I was headed to Neuilly-sur-Seine and a client’s home. As usual, Ahmed was my driver, so it was his job to deal with evening traffic. As we drove I looked out upon the other cars wondering where they were heading and where they came from. Occasionally I could see a driver or passenger look at the sedan and wondered who they thought was behind the blacked out windows.

Ahmed had driven for Marie for years and continued to drive for me when I became independent. Over time he built up a thriving hired car business with several employees and a number of cars. One thing we girls noticed is that only Ahmed or his brother-in-law would drive us, never his employees. We assumed he was protecting their virtue or more likely hiding our account. On the visor, Ahmed had a picture of his wife and children, of whom he was very proud. It didn’t take much prodding to get him to talk about them. On the seat next to him was his Koran, which he would read while he waited for us.

The client I’d seen a few times before and I was considering him a regular. Normally we would meet at a hotel downtown or near the airport usually for the evening, dinner or maybe a drink and then private time. A few days after last seeing him he called to schedule another meeting and asked if I met with couples. “Are you interested in meeting with two girls?” I asked, then it would have been a first for me but I had no objection. “No,” he responded, “I’d like you to meet with my wife and me.”

I knew he was married, but this request surprised me. We talked about it for a few minutes and I determined that this wouldn’t be a surprise for her that she was interested in a threesome and that she knew that I would be a prostitute, but she didn’t know of my background with him. He offered to let me think about it and I accepted.

When I started, my plan was not to see women clients, my reasoning being that my own preference was primarily women and seeing one professionally would ‘taint’ that. But then I met a man who I fell in love with, but continued to work as a companion, keeping the worlds separate wasn’t the problem I expected.

The entry to the house was set in a shared courtyard, behind a high wall. Ahmed told me to call when I was ready to leave as he would wait in a lot a few blocks away. It would be more discreet. The courtyard gate was open and I let myself in and walked up the brick sidewalk to the entry.

My client let me in; he seemed nervous, much like he did on our first meeting. I like it when the man is nervous, his guard is lowered. Showing me into the library he said that this is where we would meet and asked if I minded. I looked about the room, a large couch and a couple of overstuffed chairs and a desk; pictures of children and a dog, none of whom were in evidence. It would be fine I told him. I noticed a video camera atop table and asked about it. “Not for you,” he said, “but maybe you could…of my wife and me?” I was non-committal. As he took my coat he pointed out that there was a toilet off the room and then he excused himself and said he’d get his wife.

When they returned I found that she was an attractive blond, about forty, his age. We greeted and she seemed very nervous. He asked if we wanted drinks, she did, a martini, I had the same. While he was tending bar, we retired to the couch. “Do you want to continue?” I asked, wanting to make sure that she really was signed on and I wanted her to relax. She assured me she was and I put my hand on her knee and told her that it would be fun.

He placed our drinks on the coffee table and took one of the stuffed chairs. We’ll start, he’ll watch, I thought. We talked for a few minutes and then I leaned toward her, she offered me her lips and I took them. Generally I prefer the kisses of women to men and she was very kissable and it didn’t take me long to determine that she was no stranger to being with a woman. Articles of clothing began coming off and soon we were naked or nearly so if stockings count. We kissed prodded and licked, I kept an eye on him and he was pretty entranced and after a few minutes pulled his penis out and stroked it lightly.

I induced an orgasm from her, a moaning, gasping and shuddering O. Alas being the hired help an O for me is a sometime. Off and on I’d kept an eye on the husband who was enjoying the show. I winked at her, motioned toward him and then slipped of the couch and crawled across the floor, the wife right behind me. I took his penis and held for her, she shook her head and wanted me to go first. She began licking his balls and passed him to her, sharing a kiss to punctuate the transfer. We went on from there, each doing him orally and vaginally and then each other again.

Not in a frantic, exhausting sequence of a porno, but in a slow, relaxed pace interspersed with rest periods where we talked and (they) drank getting a bit tipsy. Shortly after mid-night we were done. She gathered her clothes and left the room. I took mine to bathroom to dress. While there, I texted Ahmed that I was ready. The husband now dressed waited for me in the library. He was happy and said his wife had a great time, which I knew. He retrieved my coat and in the pocket I found a tip.

By the time I reached the gate, Ahmed was pulling up and I opened the door and got in before he could get his seat belt off. I asked him to take me home and as we pulled on to the Perph, I took a couple of notes and slipped them under the lid of the ashtray where, he’d find them.

Kim

2009-05-04T19:07:00.001+02:00

Oh how I wish I had thought of THIS!

Here's Andrea's website.

Hat tip to Radical Vixen for the link.

Kim

2009-04-19T20:52:00.000+02:00

Friday afternoon, we sat in my office talking about business, making sure that everything was in place for May and June, April being lost as I expected. When I conceived Kim & Co. I saw three ways that we would make money. The events would be our bread and butter and they have, a second line has developed into a small but profitable business that compliments the events, but of which I’ve also come to realize requires its own fulltime champion to flourish. The last opportunity has repeatedly just escaped our grasp. That was too bad because it is the most creative business and it presents the opportunity for greater pricing flexibility and as we develop our reputation the chance that we could command a premium.

But it hadn’t happened and I was beginning to accept that it never would. Then the phone rang, a long time client who I figured was calling about an up coming project. They were and we talked through the details, Mimi and I with the client on the speaker phone.

Business done we moved on to small talk, after all it was nearly the weekend and then, off handedly the client asked, “Do you remember…?” We looked at each other. “Sure, how could we forget that?” After all, I was thinking, we only had a gazillion hours into the proposal and then nothing as the economy collapsed. “Well we’re back on track and we’ll pick up the timeline where it was dropped in September.” I almost said the timeline stopped in August, the award needed to take place before the September milestones could be achieved.

“So you’ve chosen a partner?” I asked. Yes was the reply and then some gibberish about hoping that they’d still be interested. “In this economy, they’ll be interested,” I answered. “Then”, he said, “if I send the contract over you’ll sign?

Kim

2009-04-16T05:49:00.000+02:00

My sister sent along the Times article on Nicholas Hughes. I’d seen the obituaries, more about his parents than Nicholas, rehashing the controversies, battles fought in verse. Even in the Times’ article Nicholas is at best, part of the ensemble.

I feel for the survivors, sometimes we don’t know what we’re in for, other times we know too well and can’t avoid it as he or she is our parent or sibling. Nicholas’ girlfriend who knew just where to look, if he went missing and where he could, would be found. How horrible to have to carry that knowledge and then to discover the reality.

Depression is so awful it robs you of joy, of energy, of life. It plays tricks on the ones closest, he seems happy to day his energy is so much better, enough energy to take ones life.

Kim

2009-04-11T07:53:00.000+02:00

Before Christmas, a save-this-date email was forwarded to me from a couple of sources; at the bottom was my name among a couple of dozen others under the header, Please Help Us Find Them. The event wasn’t anything that I was anticipating or would be really excited about, like Amy & Rachel’s nuptials (what’s taking those two so long anyway), but my tenth high school reunion. Alternately I think, it’s only been ten years? Or, really, it’s been ten years? When I think about it a lot has happened and I realize how different my life is now than it was then.

On our return from Senegal the formal invitation was in the mailbox that I gave them. The date is problematic as it’s in mid August and we plan to take the beach house again, plus it will require the expense of a trip the States and I’d rather not incur another expense now. But I’ve decided to wait in sending my regrets as a business reason might bring me to the US allowing me to justify the marginal cost.

One thing I was curious about though, where they would have it. The only hall in the area was the decrepit legion hall about which we joked that the reason couples lived together or eloped was to avoid having their wedding reception there. But sure enough, it will be in the newly remodeled legion hall. You mean they finally washed the curtains?

Kim

2009-04-08T20:40:00.001+02:00

Priceless!

2009-04-06T21:28:00.000+02:00

Café Kim opened Sunday and we had two very special guests, Michelle and Carla, or at least cardboard facsimiles. For 10€ you could have your picture taken with them and Wags could join you for no extra cost. All proceeds to charity.

Hannah comments on the height challenged Sarko (my success in companionship is owed to men under 183cm who preferred their dates in heels and to still be shorter) and Michelle's clothing. In the pictures of Carla that I’ve seen lately she she’s wearing flats. I’m not sure that this is a change since Sarko arrived on the scene or if like her choice to shun makeup it is a folksy juxtaposition to her glamorous image.

Spring has come to Paris and little bits of green are popping up and even a little color.

Kim is proving to be trainable and Wags is doing quite well. Our walks are no longer meandering paths at his whim, but marches with all sorts of right angle turns, stops and circles. Sometimes he’s annoyed with me but mostly he goes along and is happy to receive his treat.

Kim

2009-04-04T07:45:00.000+02:00

Two posts in progress, lost to manic hard drive cleaning, I should have checked to see if they were backed up. O well.

This made me smile this morning one for the cover art, and two because Tui’s writing again. Plus she has a new pal.

Since I no longer have those posts, I’ll clean out my bookmarks.

Still need an explanation of what's happening on Wall St?

You've heard of the running of the bulls, this is the distaff edition.

New York Minute: The Running Of The Brides

Yes, really the waiter was a total chimp.

Imagine how hard this would have been before computers.

Didn't he hear about the grizzly bear guy?

Kim

2009-03-24T21:55:00.002+01:00

“Yeah and then you had Corinne. Corinne… Oh Corinne, she used to wear 4 of ‘em. Two on her shoulders and two in her bra!”

Garance Doré is an illustrator and fashion photographer here who has a blog documenting street fashions in the manner of Bill Cunningham and the Satorialist. She is as suspicious of the return of shoulder pads as I. We also aren’t crazy about large bags, though I won’t carry one as I don’t want to end up like Kieslowski’s elderly woman.

Gillette, of Ex-Courtesan in Transition, has a second blog In Gillette's Kitchen, on cooking of course, check it out.

Both Garance Doré and Gillette's Kitchen will eventually make it to my sidebar.

Kim

2009-03-23T21:02:00.000+01:00

We returned on Saturday night, given the time I decided to wait till Sunday to pick up Wags from Dad’s. With him gone the apartment seemed so empty and quiet. They sent me video clips of him and I know that I missed him more than he missed me, but he was at the door when Waldo and I pulled up in front of the house. Dad said he must have recognized the car as one second he was chewing on a toy and the next he was bolting for the door.

This week Wags and I will start obedience training, but Juliette has been working with him and when I arrived they showed off. He’s very smart and willing to please, but there’s not much of an attention span. He’ll obey the initial command, but as soon as something distracts him he’s off. She and Dad were bantering back and forth during the demonstration and she joked that Wags was as difficult to train as Dad. Which generated a thought, and a warning to my self not to go there, but it was too late and I carried that image the rest of the day.

When you own a business, you never get away from it, but I am good about not obsessing when gone. It helps to have someone like Mimi, who will deal with what needs to be dealt with and will put aside that which can wait. We do talk everyday when I’m gone, but she makes no bones about the fact that she doesn’t tell me everything that’s going on. So it’s with some trepidation that I approach my first day back. Fortunately nothing of consequence, just the same worries.

March will be our best month for billings this year, though down from last year. This is good as April is shaping up to be awful. For what ever reason, April has always been a slow month regardless of what we’ve tried. Other years we could cover our expenses but not this time, March will have to cover us. Prior to the economy collapsing I had begun to take steps to diversify our activities so that we would be less reliant on our client’s budgets. In May those efforts should begin to bear fruit. That is of course unless the tree is barren.

Kim