Browsing Tag

deja vu

lost boys

Hearts and Moons

June 25, 2017

 

One of the more liberating things I have ever heard in my entire lifetime is that I am allowed to feel more than one thing at once.

I think I had the same sense of relief way back when I realized that bisexual was a thing I could be and was.

Still am to a degree. I admire and celebrate my girls girly bits a lil more than is normal I suppose but Manda Bear has got the butteriest-butter skin, Panda and Shae have got the booties like pow pow pow…and honestly, I think every stripper after a time learns to appreciate the female form in a way most women don’t. Naked is our normal.

I haven’t slept with a woman in years. Sisterwife kinda beat that want out of me. But hey, moving forward.

Where was I?

Oh ya. More than one thing at once.

Story of my life.

Double edged epiphanies. For the first forever of this blog I always started out “So two things happened”…because that is just how it is. I don’t tend to catch on the first time so I get two earth shaking signs from above, or below, depending.

I gotta try things more than once, reread books, rewatch movies because I might have missed something.

I am Jacob Two Two, forever repeating myself because I feel/felt unheard.

My newest noticeable MO/ blog phenomenon is writing an article, hitting publish and realizing I have WAY more to say and then writing part two.

To be totally honest all my articles have sucked donkey balls the last little while. Why not suck twice as hard in twice as many words…

I admit it. Massive drop in quantity and quality.

I used to have this schedule. Tuesday Thursday Sunday. Write for 3 hours or so, sometimes 16, sometimes the piece would just fall out pretty perfect in under an hour. But lately, I am of two minds about everything. My schedule has gone to shit. I need some structure and discipline dammit. I need to decide what I want to say before I say it. But alas, this is going to be yet another bit of free flow drivel.

I write better in the mornings and I have been sleeping til noon. Not okay.

I need to be a little bit easier on myself. I realize now, when speaking of newer boys or situations, I did not yet have all the facts, or their true nature hadn’t revealed itself or shit just changed as it always does.

Fuck, I used to write nicely about ex hubby. Can’t now really except to say he still continues to be a better father figure to my kid than my kid’s actual dad. So there’s that then.

It’s been a year and a day since Panda and I made our first pilgrimage to the beach and found me exactly what I had asked for the night before.  A nice and easy summer fling.

And for a time it actually was.

Just like for a time everything else was good.

Until it wasn’t.

I posted to Facebook a year ago today  “I do so love it when they open their mouths and by speaking become exponentially hotter.”
I read that and grinned. T’was the truth. Just because he is gone doesn’t make it less true.

I was never overly smitten with him. He was just a band-aid. Did his job quite nicely. I found out 6 months later that he had been engaged the whole time, but if I put on his giant size 13 work boots and walk a mile…I wouldn’t have said no to me either. Who wouldn’t want dinner and a good fuck after a 16 hour work day a million miles from home.

I don’t hate him.

 

 

 

I don’t hate much of anything. Never have. Pineapple on pizza, but I will pick them off and not make a fuss over it, it is pizza after all.

I have been accused of reading too much into things, thinking too much so I suppose that is a sort of fussing and possibly over analyzing. But that is kinda who I am as a person.

I can be happy for them moving on and forward and still be sad that they left me behind.

I end up alone with gaping holes in the landscape of my life, the spaces they used to fill. It’s a matter of time really. Suddenly I have more of it and less of him.

My heart looks like the moon. Craters everywhere from being smashed into. Hard to walk around sometimes. Everyone leaves a hole I gotta navigate around. And sometimes I fall back in.

regular lust

50 Ways to Stay with your Lover

April 18, 2017

 

We aren’t. Wish granted.

Ta da

Abracadabra.

How bow dat?

The gods always smile on brave women.
Granted sometimes they are smiling because they can’t control their laughter when we forget ourselves and we turn into shadows of what we are and become nagging, bitchy things with teeth and claws and tears.

And then my period stops and ya, sorry bout dat.

Consider my shit together.

Everything is as it should be, as it always is. (Dalai Lama)

I lived without him before he showed up, I can do it again.

But the more I push, the sooner that is going to happen. So no more pushing.

Easy peasy. Like Sunday morning with or without pancakes.

No more clinging onto shit that doesn’t matter either.

Granted there was a rough patch, akin to a quick bend in the river, a drop in elevation creating rapids roiling and rolling, but that was then.

Back to our regularly scheduled ebb and flow, I got caught up on some rocks for a bit.

I am back in the water, here I float, unencumbered.

God I need to get back in the water. Willing the summer to get here quicker is futile, it will come when it comes and it is my job to make sure it is thoroughly enjoyed and glorious.

I keep forgetting what my job is.

Currently I am juggling two paying jobs, writing, being a mother, a girlfriend and whatever version of myself I feel like being today.

I am all of those things.

I decided this.

I decided on him, he decided on me.

The only thing making things complicated was an unconscious decision I made to make it so.

I forgot for a week or two that I am my own Captain Jean Luc Picard, this is my starship. I get to decide how this goes.

I walked into this first actual relationship in 4 years adamantly deciding that I wasn’t going to lose myself this time.

But I found myself slipping.
Spending time in places I don’t belong with people I don’t know.
Time I could have been writing, napping, working, with my girls.
Or just being home alone.

That familiar tearing feeling of being pulled in too many directions which makes me balk and want to hide.

I wanted to be with him, he’s awesome. The sex is prolific perfection. He is funny and strange and above all sweet to me.

I was saying one thing, thinking something completely different and doing the polar opposite of both.

Never ending search for the fulcrum.

The secret is all inside your head she said to me, the answer is easy if you take it logically.
Paul Simon 50 Ways to Leave your Lover.

I am not leaving my lover. Quite like him actually.

The answer is logical though. ‘No’ is a complete sentence. So is ‘Okay Baby’. Just gotta find that balance.

There is nothing wrong with him going to the bar and me being home asleep. He’s away right now and sooooo happy. So am I, both for him and for the time spent alone. I was so desperate for me time that I was spending my tiny allotments in unproductive ways. Overthinking being one of them.

We’re good together and we are good apart.

I wouldn’t stand for him demanding I go out, so why should he tolerate me demanding he stay home.

He shouldn’t.

Doesn’t work that way.

But somehow we work.

 

 

lost boys

Erasing My Fault Lines

April 11, 2017

Um, all of them Rob
ALL. OF. THEM.

GEMINI (May 21-June 20):
Now is an excellent time to FREE YOUR MEMORIES. What comes to mind when I suggest that? Here are my thoughts on the subject. To FREE YOUR MEMORIES, you could change the way you talk and feel about your past. Re-examine your assumptions about your old stories, and dream up fresh interpretations to explain how and why they happened. Here’s another way to FREE YOUR MEMORIES: If you’re holding on to an insult someone hurled at you once upon a time, let it go. In fact, declare a general amnesty for everyone who ever did you wrong. By the way, the coming weeks will also be a favorable phase to FREE YOURSELF OF MEMORIES that hold you back. Are there any tales you tell yourself about the past that undermine your dreams about the future? Stop telling yourself those tales.

https://www.facebook.com/Rob-Brezsnys-Free-Will-Astrology-133041234078/

 

 

But that is what I do. Isn’t it? Post-game analysis, see where I went wrong…

I was wrong…right?

Rob says stop, so stop I must.

This is the end, my only friend the end. The Doors

I haven’t been that emotionally down in a long time.

How about ‘every new beginning comes from some other beginnings end’ (Semi Sonic)

That works.

I never write about endings on here, or very rarely I guess.
Sometimes it’s because…’and then he never called me again and I have no idea why’ doesn’t really make for a gripping story.
Sometimes it’s because things just faded into a friendship, or with the ones wherein I had the revelation that I was 7 of 9 and not ‘his girl’ like they had promised.

Why would I want to archive that? I pick up the pieces and move on, sometimes slowly… then all at once.

I’ve been left and I have been hurt and I refuse to visit pain on others.

I am rarely the one to leave. End of story.

In the interest of clean breaks and tidy endings…

On a long enough timeline the truth always comes out. Still waiting on a couple but I know they’ll come.

My first foray into dating ended after 3 months of happy when I asked if we could be boyfriend/girlfriend, him saying he ‘wasn’t ready for a relationship’ and me waking from a midsummer night’s dream with a very loud voice echoing in my ear stating “her name is Kayla and she has cotton candy hair.”

It was actually K___ and her hair has been baby blue, baby pink and lilac respectively in the months and years that have passed since then.

18 months later, when she was mean to him, I consoled him. Not like that, just said nice things.

The next one fell into a deep chasm of depression and had to move away atop a mountain.
No great mystery there.
He is as happy on his side of the country as I am on mine.

There was a patented Fuckboi in there, again nothing to be solved, he just was what he was. Well, is what he is. He still pops into my inboxes from time to time. I say hello and deliberately leave it up to him to plan something, knowing he won’t. He never calls back until the amnesia wears off again and he wonders what I am doing or runs out of other girls to fuck. He has abandonment issues the reasons for and the likes of which I have never seen so I refuse to be cruel. Ain’t waiting around neither.

Thai Fighter was engaged the whole time.

Black 19 was incarcerated, again.

The mystery of Lumberjack may well remain unsolved. He blocked me from everything ever and it’s not like I ever saw him. The only thing I was good at was living without him, so that’s a freebie.

Gelfling…well that is a whole other tale along the riverbank. I met his new girl recently and everything suddenly made sense, twice actually, once for him and once for another. A two-fer if you will. A perfect balance of me being too much and them feeling not enough. Can’t be helped I supposed. I refuse to shed my muchyness and they have yet to grow up. The hazards of young un’s I suppose. No great loss in retrospect. Like setting down the Holy Grail and deciding on a sippy cup instead. Better call not-Becky with the red hair.

There is a footnote here.

I am hard to explain to people. I am older and strange. By vocation I am a writer of truths and porn, plus the stripper thing. I am not not-Becky, red headed or otherwise.

To be with me, to claim me in public you have to be pretty brave. You have to give fewer fucks than most about what other people think.

Am I worth it?

I think so.

Nevertheless she persisted.

I cook, I clean, I fuck and I love. I clean up nice and can carry a conversation.

I don’t bitch, steal or lie.

I am already way ahead of most.

I know this now.

Took me a while.

I was mired down in the idea that I had to take some responsibility. But it isn’t mine. I did my part. I showed up and I cared. I contributed to their happiness and well-being. I asked for very little in return.

I’ve long held the belief that I as the common denominator must be part of the problem, even if it was so basic as ‘I felt bad about myself and thereby made bad decisions’. At least I made a god damned decision.

That scene in Good Will Hunting at the end. Robin Williams looks through Matt Damon’s file, sees the abuse and says “It’s not your fault” until Matt Damon breaks down and sobs from his core.

It’s not my fault, these things that have been done to me. It’s truly not on me that they left. I did what I was supposed to, I came all the way forward and stayed.

It’s not my fault at all.

men

Mountains, Monsters and Men

April 6, 2017

I wanted to write something.

I had it in my head and it was a good idea but…

I am on day one of flipping my schedule from days back to nights and I was up, bleary eyed at 6 this morning.

Logical me wanted to go back to bed.

Smitten kitten me wanted 5 more minutes with Mister.

I saw a thing once or a million times, in movies or on TV where the man cups his hand around the back of a girls neck, with his fingers lightly tangled in her hair and he pulls her ever so gently towards him and kisses her forehead.

Ya, that happened this morning.

I floated home.

Felt as good as it looked and seemed to me it would.

It’s funny, after everything…there are still new things that haven’t happened yet.

It’s the little things.

Always the little things for me.

Big romantic gestures make me squirm. Flowers, although lovely, end up dying. Gifts are just things, words are just words but a kiss on the forehead can feel like the whole world, when the whole world is still dark and he climbs back in bed for one more minute with me.

He pulls choice phrases and words from old posts on here.

One of them claimed that I had ‘copious amounts of sex’.

I thought I did.

Seemed like a lot at the time…but anything compared to nothing is something.

He is something else.

Copious has found new meaning.

Many things have found new meaning.

I wrote once that the only trouble with making something out of nothing is when the nothing starts to show through.

I had a whole lotta nothin’.

I used to make mountains out of molehills and monsters out of men.

“I only date beasts” I said.
“Tell the wolves I am home” I cried.
“Fairy tales and parables about monsters” I wrote.

But what kind of creatures aren’t brave enough to stick around?

Beasts, wolves and monsters don’t run. Well they do, when a hero shows up with a magic sword. And that is exactly what happened here.

These boys I made out to be something they weren’t, weren’t nothing per say…but they weren’t what I made them out to be.

Little did I know that eventually even the heaviest gilding fades, the nothing would show through.

Me and Jon Snow, still don’t know nothing.

Except now I have an inkling.

It was like when Buffalo Bill has Catherin Martell down the well, she’s snagged Precious in the fucking basket and says “I think she broke her leg on the way down…I think she’s in a lot of pain mister.” And he yells back “you don’t know what pain is.”

I used to know exactly what pain was. I also knew a hit could feel like a kiss when the body is starved for attention. (Unknown)

I used to starve.

I was Catherine Martell, living on scraps, down in a hole, in a madman’s basement just trying to find a way out. Rubbing the lotion on my skin when told to do so. Attempting to communicate and negotiate with varying someone’s who mocked my pain and dehumanized me to justify what they were doing.

Now I am out.

Been out for a while now.

But like most prisoners, I kept reoffending so I could go back to the “comfort” of what I knew. Yep, you guessed it…nothing. Or very little at least. Another word for a hole in a crazy man’s basement is oubliette, somewhere you put things you want to forget.

And there I sat, remembering them.

I suppose it makes sense, all I had for company was memories. Little moments and snippets of happiness stitched into a quilt to keep me warm.

Now the quilt is threadbare, slowly becoming the nothing it was made from. Pretty soon just my own indestructible, red thread will be all that’s left. As it should be.

It was a security blanket and I don’t need it anymore. I have a good man to keep me warm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

regular lust

Hey Jealousy

April 5, 2017

“The green fairy that lives in the absinthe wants your soul.” Bram Stoker’s Dracula

There is another green fairy who tries to eat your soul and succeeds sometimes, she is a scary monster and not a nice sprite at all.

Hey

jeal·ous·y ˈjeləsē/

noun

  1. the state or feeling of being jealous.

“a sharp pang of jealousy”

synonyms: envy, covetousness;

resentment, resentfulness, bitterness, spite;

informal the green-eyed monster

“he was consumed with jealousy”

suspicion, suspiciousness, distrust, mistrust, insecurity, anxiety;

possessiveness, overprotectiveness

“the jealousy of his long-suffering wife”

 

I don’t mean envy. Enviousness, to me, is something completely different.

God said Thou shall not covet.
So I don’t.
I’m happy with what I have where I am and I know that if that changes, I have to change.
I can and do love many things but I don’t need to beg, borrow or steal them from anyone else.

Jealousy is a totally different creature.

I stopped being jealous years ago.

It was one of those times where the Universe swooped in and said “oh you think you are jealous now? Lemme give you something to be jealous about.”

And she did, and it was bad, then it was over, Amen.

I hated that feeling of butterflies in my stomach turned to sharp poisoned things trying to beat their way out. Knowing another woman had been in my house, my bed, my life and wanting something that was never mine to begin with.

Had I stopped coveting what was not mine, I would have saved myself a lot of time, trouble and heartache. I know that now.

I read something once about ‘good men can’t be stolen’. This is true. If he loves you he’ll stay.

Addendum, the best revenge on a woman that stole your man is to let her have him.

Not big on revenge either. Time sorts everything out, some people like to call that karma…it’s really just time spiralling in and out, changing perspectives and a little cosmic comeuppance every now and again.

I love my life now, couldn’t have any of this without all of that.

Cruz has been reading the blog. Uh oh Spaghettios.
When we met he said he wasn’t big on reading and I sighed a big sigh of relief. That didn’t last long. One thing I asked for repeatedly when I was trying to figure out what I wanted in a man/partner/relationship was ‘someone who wants to know all of me’. And that is what he is doing. Trying to learn me, figure me out and it should be bliss, but sometimes it ain’t.

I write fondly of my exes.

Hurts my heart knowing it troubles his.

I have to say nice things, I don’t want to remember the bad bits, although they are in here too. The crying jags, the nights without sleeping trying to deal with this loss or that one. There were so many I can barely keep track and I lived through it and wrote it all down.

Once it’s down on paper I can let it go.

This is my catharsis.

I know, beyond all doubt, I don’t want to go back there.

I asked him over and over to check the dates. But honestly, I don’t think that helps.

I know if he sat down and reiterated and regaled me with tales of his exes the way I write I’d die a little inside with every syllable, every bit of praise he doted on them.

I’m being a little melodramatic, but it stings. Like putting your tongue on a 9 volt battery, you know it’s gonna hurt and yet we do it anyways.

Part of me wants to know, because I want to know him. Not just the shiny fun bits, all of it. He is honest and forthcoming in a way that occasionally knocks the wind out of me. His lack of filter matches mine and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Do not ask the price I pay, I must live with my quiet rage, tame the ghosts in my head that run wild and wish me dead.” Mumford and Sons

More melodrama. Hurts less than a paper cut really, I know he is mine. I trust him implicitly.

I know what I went through and I know how I feel. I pretty things up in here by throwing flowers on graves. Doesn’t make them any less dead to me.

I was looking for something I didn’t think existed. But in my tenacious as fuck way, I kept trying.

She thrusts her fists against the posts and still insists she sees the ghosts.

I do see my ghosts, and occasionally, when we go out, I see his too.

We talk openly about where we have been, what went right/what went wrong. At some point without discussing it, we decided on full disclosure and I wouldn’t change it.

I said to him the other day “I wish you would read the posts about what I wanted”. The posts wherein I made detailed lists of what I was looking for, hoping that if I wrote it all down the universe would listen.

And she did.

Past is gone but something might be found to takes its place (Gin Blossoms)

I wouldn’t trade him for any combination of them.

Now is blessed, the rest remembered. Jim Morrison

regular lust

Hard to Swallow

March 31, 2017

I have come to realize my sin is pride. It was not I who drove the wolves away, it was God.
(Mother Abigail, The Stand by Stephen King)

Massive paraphrasing but you get the idea.

We all partake in the seven deadlies, my favorite being lust, least favorite being a tossup between gluttony and envy. Although with anything but food, I do indulge in some things to excess, especially lusty things.
Envy ain’t my thing. I have attained a state of being that is truly happy when others are happy. I make my own green pastures and lie down in them, I shall not want.

I did allow myself to be proud, or maybe I was rejoicing in the pride someone else felt about me a little too much.

And it was definitely not I who kept the wolves at bay, I know this now.
It was god…and I swung the door wide open and let them come a runnin’ back in.

Maybe not wolves…hyenas maybe? Wolves I have been known to love and howl with. These are something else. Carrion eaters mayhap.

I stopped taking scissors to the parts of me that others don’t like.
I am what I am.
Take it or leave it.

Sidenote: I am also not an asshole and can glean when a few of those things need trimming or amending especially when making the transition from single to taken.

What I’ve found myself doing instead is wiggling. Trying to shimmy and squish myself into spaces made for me by others. See how well that worked out for James Franco in 127 Hours, he had to cut off his arm for being somewhere he didn’t fit.

Second verse same as the first.

Sleeping limbs from hands being tied.

Pins and needles.

Those are traditionally used for sewing things together. So why am I feeling torn apart.

Well you see Dear Reader, I forgot how bad I am on paper.

So bad, all ink stains and scribbles. Parables and prose and porn, lots and lots of porn.

This is why the men who leave me find cardboard cut-out versions of me that cook hamburger helper and can’t fuck right.
It’s easier than trying to explain me.

But what happens when someone stays, appreciates the little things, takes my tantrums in stride, sits with me after a stage show and says he’s proud of me and scours the blog so he can learn me better. Even with all of the sharp bits and risks of paper cuts…

Suddenly and by proxy, I am kinda proud of me too.

It’s funny, I always wondered what I looked like through the eyes of others.

Some think I am awful, dangerous even. I know this, its fine.

The ones who know me know I am clumsy and kind.

He thinks I am beautiful.

I think I am all of those things. I wear different faces in different places…but with him I get to take my masks off and just feel at home.

I have strived to be this loving accepting creature. Creative and unafraid. Naked and okay with it in a society where we are told to cover up, calm down, fit in and bleat like the rest of the sheep.

They say the things we despise in others are the things we despise about ourselves and it’s true. But I think it can go the other way too, when we find ourselves reflected in others.

He looks at me and I can see the good things about myself.

I am not wrong, I am just rare, and so is he.

regular lust

I Only Date Beasts

March 21, 2017

Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Tale as old as time
Beauty and the Beast

He fucked me 6 times yesterday and still thought I was hot enough to mention it at 6am, on our way to MacDonald’s drive thru on his way to drop me off on his way to work.

He called me beautiful and he is a beast.

Been looking for one of those for a long time and up until now they have been weighed, measured and I was left wanting.

Not anymore.

I thought I had one once, upon a time not that long ago, but he was all talk and no time for me.

So I left.

Why does it always have to be ‘I have you or I hate you.’???

Weren’t we just friends? Didn’t we trust each other a few weeks ago? We talked every day. Now I have to walk around this hole in my life. It’s just a puddle not a crater. I’ll live.

I was just one girl out of several on his roster.

I never understood the phenomenon of “You aren’t behaving the way I expect you too so I shall name thee whore, cast you out and never talk to you again.”

But honey…

I am a whore and damned proud of it. He was proud of me once. Showed me off to his friends with pics, but I never met them. Apparently I was the hottest of the girlfriends.

I didn’t win anything.

One would think that if a guy has a hot girlfriend said friends would hound him to do something about it. But what do I know?

His business partner managed to drive to Milton nightly, in the dead of winter to bang some random flavor of the month chick, repeatedly and raw.
I lived a lot closer and I got ignored so hard that I questioned my own existence.

When I said I couldn’t wait anymore Lumberjack said ‘You knew what you were getting into. I’m over it. You wasted my time.’

Wait…what?

You plucked a nympho out of thin air, basically winning the lottery and fucked me…4 times in 9 months? With 2 blowies and a finger bang thrown in, for what?

To be blocked on everything?

His last one left him because they never went out. So I never asked to go out.

I didn’t ask for much.

I tried to be understanding. I waited and waited and waited.

“She didn’t understand I work so much so I can have this house, she can come over any time.”
But I wasn’t allowed in that very same house after he moved upstairs.

It was over then and I hung on for 5 more months.

He stopped trying as soon as I put out.

That’s the norm.

Or it was…

Ever just the same
Ever a surprise

From trashed to treasured.

My ex-husband called me a turboslut after he read the blog. Said he was ashamed he’d ever known me and touched me. You and me both buddy. I shudder and long for the day that my skin cells have regenerated enough times that they never knew you existed. Not long now.

We waited 3 months to sleep together and I went to prison for 7 years for honoring that probationary period.

Besides, I kinda am all those names I’ve been called.

I am not ashamed of it anymore.

Thought I had found someone who thought it was great too, but he never showed up to claim his prize.

Fuck him.

Over it.

Something wonderful happened the other day.

Something wonderful has been happening for 3 weeks now.

I told y’all I slept with a young Scorpio on the first date.

We went to see Get Out and we decided we weren’t done hanging out yet.

I was so fucking frustrated and he is so fucking hot I caved, maybe 20 minutes after I said I wasn’t gonna.

It was worth it.

I had joked that we wouldn’t last long enough to see Beauty and the Beast.
One of the previews we agreed on seeing whilst sitting in the theater. It wasn’t a joke. I figured he’d bail sooner than later. Why wouldn’t I?

They all do.

I fucked him, put my clothes on and he drove me home, all the while me thinking “that was really good, too bad I’ll never see him again.”

I even said it out loud before I shut the car door.

He came over the next night.

Not the one after that because I was working, but the next night.

Probably 15/20 days we’ve seen each other, at least for a few hours.

On the 14th day he asked me to be his girlfriend, even though he thought I’d say no. He wanted it enough that he took a chance. Of course I said yes.

When it’s been more than 24 hours since we’ve fucked he gets these lusty eyes. Or when he looks at me really. We’ve joked about fucking in bar bathrooms, it’s really only a matter of time.

I told him what ex hubby said, the turboslut thing.

He did something I wasn’t expecting, he took back the nickname and made it into a good thing.

He makes a lot of things into good things.

He said last night while we were lying in bed, pretty much out of nowhere, “I don’t know why these guys all left you.”

Honestly babe, I don’t know why they left either, but I am glad they did.

Beauty and her beast? He surprised me with tickets on Saturday. Walked nostalgically back through our first date. (You shushed me here)

The Adventures of Turboslut and her Fuck Monster.

My kind of fairy tale.

 

 

unable to even

Under Pressure (more trigger warnings)

March 17, 2017

It is so bittersweet to me when I post about the bad things we must endure as women and those are the articles that go viral.

https://www.ourladyoflustandgrace.com/pressure-sex-trigger-warning.html

Pressure Sex, an article about how sometimes/often it’s safer just to give in than fight back when some man friend thinks he has earned the right to your body. About lying there light as a feather, stiff as a board and dry as a bone just waiting for it to be over so you can go home.

Sometimes home isn’t safe either.

3000 views in 48 hours. Hundreds of comments breaking my heart.

I relate. How can I live this life? A constant fuck hole for a man who doesn’t notice my obvious repulsion.
I do it, I lay there because he is a good father to our child. I don’t know what else to do. (Anonymous)
All I could say is I hope things get better for you.

I can’t say ‘run’. If she thought she could, she would have. All I can do is hope that by me saying something, by Jen saying something, by the hundreds saying ‘me too’ that she knows she isn’t alone.

Getting groped in the night just trying to get through it.

How many times? Too many.

How many women? Seemingly all of us.

How can this be?

And the question remains…what do we tell our daughters? That ‘no is a complete sentence’. But what about when it isn’t. When some men get hard ‘no’ just sounds like a challenge. Then what do we do?

Get through the night, please don’t die and then come to me and I’ll tell you that whatever you had to do to survive was okay. But it ain’t.

I can’t go get a coffee unprotested, can’t do laundry unmolested unless I have a man with me.

“It can’t be that bad” they say. But the second they drop 10 feet behind me they hear what I hear.

“Hey baby nice tattoos”, “smile beautiful” and “I just want to talk to you”. What about what I want?

What about the other avenues by which we get violated?

Another rant about dick pics. Accompanied by the usual jokes.

How is this funny?

Imagine your wife, mother, sister, daughter opening a seemingly innocent door and having some creep whip his dick out on the other side and slap her with it.

Triggers the same fight or flight response, the same amount of fear.

I didn’t ask for this.

This is daily social media harassment for women.

My girl said “I’ve never gotten one”

I asked if she had ever opened her requested messages folder.

She hasn’t, she won’t. One more girl pulled out of the fire.

So many suggestions on how I should modify my behavior.

I was born a woman so I must hide myself away or suffer the consequences?

I am exhausted.

“If I have to listen to one more grey-faced man with a $2 haircut explain to me what rape is, I’m going to lose my mind.” Tina Fey

Then there are these odd moments of hope wherein I say “no, this isn’t funny, it happens and it sucks” and someone listens.

One man out of thousands.

The rest?

These are the men we know and love, the ones we trusted, until we didn’t.

It got worse you know.

That girl who got assaulted, once in the flesh and once shortly after via social media.

I didn’t know when I wrote the article that it wasn’t a couple of ill-timed dick pics that ended up in her inbox. It was videos, fully nude, jerking off with a come-fuck-me face on top. This was his response to her assault. Like some poisoned cherry on a shit covered sundae.

Like what happened to her was a source of arousal for him.

Too many men thinking women are just toys, vehicles for their orgasms.

He sent them on Snap Chat, all evidence of his vile behavior burned into her brain but disappearing leaving no proof.

Why does it make you hard when I cry? (Boss Hog)

Good God make it stop.

I am wondering if maybe there is a God and he is still pissed about Eden. Seems like a man, not able to let things go.

They think that women are insane but have you ever seen a man go from “Hey gorgeous” to “fucking bitch, I’ll kill you” in under a minute for refusing to reply?

I told one I was leaving and had my mouth punched into oblivion for saying something he didn’t want to hear.

The last one called me a whore for saying I was done.

I am a whore, just not yours anymore.

I have a new one now. A good man and a chaperone. For the foreseeable future I don’t have to worry about walking alone, and if for some reason I say no, I know he’ll listen.

lost boys

Raising the Dead

March 10, 2017

Poor Panda.

I rolled in way too early this morning.
There was a hungover girl on our couch.
I tried  to be quiet.
I failed.
Woke ‘em both up.

She had been up drinking last night and did leg day at the gym yesterday.

Shoulda been the good roommate/hostess and made them coffee, fetched them Advil, listened to their misadventures from last night.

Well, I did do those things.

Then Panda asked how I was doing and I couldn’t hold back that high-pitched, keening wail that I do when I go full white girl and cannot even.
I know it scares the shit out of her and I couldn’t stop.

Funny enough, I was speaking completely rationally through the sobs.

I am being emotionally blackmailed by my uterus right now and it is making me feel like a crazy person.

Rational me knows this.

Irrational me is imagining Doomsday scenarios.

The trip switch has been flipped and I just gotta ride it out.

I realized something, and articulated it through my hiccupping crying jag.

I write shit down in here to bury it.

I make it into a story so it doesn’t hurt me anymore.

Until…

Remember that scene in the Mummy where the expedition guide dude yells out “You must not read from the book!”

He is not wrong. Bad idea.

The seas are about to run red anyways and I went and triggered the other 6 plagues of Egypt.

I have called this blog a giant coffin, named my heart a graveyard, I admit that I am haunted.

I am the white people in the horror movie that hear ghosts whisper ‘get out’ and I stay anyways.

I opened the Necronomicon.  For reasons unknown I thought it was safe to say shit out loud.

It ain’t.

“Oh for a moment of forgetting, is a moment of bliss.” Peter Gabriel

I got 11 days of forgetting and it was bliss.

I was so scared that I had hurt someone that I went and ripped all my bandages off, showed all my scars, explained how I had been hurt…and fuck, it hurt.

“I had feelings for them and they left me and it really sucked.”

And just like that, inner peace shattered.

90% of the time I have a handle on all this.
Everything is temporary, everything is as it should be blah blah Buddha blah.

Then I remember.

I wrote an article called “Open Letter to my Exes” and I fucking thanked them.

Seriously?

Admittedly I am really happy with who and where I am, but come on. I am not a Saint nor a martyr.

So on that note…

Seriously, fuck you guys.

Fuck you fuck you fuck you.

I am so fucking hand-shy now I start waiting for them to leave before the second date.

Fuck you.

Every plan beyond a day or two later makes my stomach roll with fear. I should have butterflies dammit. But nope. My hopes go up for a split second and I have to smash them down. I’ve heard that before. I have heard all of it before.

Fuck you.

This uterus of mine has me feeling ugly and worthless a few days a month. These exes of mine have me feeling ugly and worthless every time I think about when they left.

I know this will pass but for now I’ll write it out and bury it.

Maybe this time it won’t come back to haunt and hurt.

 

unable to even

Wedding Rings and Other Things

October 6, 2016

 

0018

 

 

 

Him: “We’re just waiting for Sarah’s family to arrive”

Me: (oh Jesus no)

Random wedding guest: “Who?”

Him: “Sarah’s parents”

Me: “Sean, what did you just say?”

Him: (one more time for the kids in the back) “Sarah’s parents aren’t here yet.”

Me: “No Sean, I’m Sarah, you are marrying Erin remember?”

Him: “Oh, ya. Erin’s parents. Sorry.”

Coulda stabbed him in the heart with his boutonniere pin.

Coulda woulda shoulda.

He wasn’t sorry enough to stop himself from doing it twice more.
Not during the ceremony though, small mercies.

I had enough before the sun went down and bailed. I should never have gone.

Don’t go to your exes weddings mmmm kay?
Even if they INSIST, just don’t go, chop a limb off if you have to but just don’t go.

 

I’ve been to a few weddings.
Twice as a flower girl, those marriages are still going after 30+ years.
The next marriage ended eventually.
The first one I went to wherein I was a friend of the bride…she’d pulled me into the bathroom a week before and said “I don’t want to do this.”

“You don’t have to, you can stop this, it’ll be okay.” I said.

She didn’t stop it, she left him 3 months later.

I’ve never been a bridesmaid nor a bride.

Went to 2 weddings last year, both beautiful and wonderful.
I went to both alone and left feeling really alone.

Been engaged a handful of times. If that hand had closed around a firecracker after lighting it and was missing a digit, which is kinda a metaphor for said relationships, dummy me didn’t know when to let go.

I didn’t keep the rings.

The kind of man I want works with his hands and couldn’t wear a ring anyways.

There is a scene in Four Weddings and a Funeral wherein Duckface is speaking to Hugh Grant and says something to the effect of “You don’t have to enter every relationship thinking ‘I must get married’, but you can’t be in them thinking I mustn’t get married either.”

I was Hugh Grant. Until recently.

My dad looked at my mom and said ‘that’s the girl I am going to marry’, and he did.

His parents met as teenagers, before the war. When he came back his family actually hid my grandpa from my grandmother saying “once Neva knows he’s home we’ll never see him again.” That lasted a week, and proved to be true. They loved each other so much. So do my folks.

I met my “one I want to marry” when I was 13 years old. For 26 years I didn’t want to marry anyone except him.
Yes, I agreed to marry 3 other people, but somehow I knew it was bullshit and that it wasn’t going to happen and it seemed rude to say no so…

Anthony proposed three times between 2006 and 2011, told sisterwife he had to because I found the ring in his pocket when I was gathering laundry. Not sure how explained asking me twice more after that, not sure I care.

Survey says, whatev’s.

It was because of the Black Wedding of Sean and Erin that I came to find out how I had been ousted from my farm life years prior.
I was sleeping with Sean you see, back in the days of being engaged and enraged with Anthony and our sisterwife.
Sean’s best friend told Anthony where I had been spending my nights.
Sean made sure Anthony found out so I would get thrown out and go back to him.
That same friend made sure Anthony found out I was at the wedding too.

Ew.

None of them loved, honored nor cherished me. And they did not forsake any others and want only me, so again whatev’s.

Made me feel like shit though. Probably the worst I had ever felt. To be betrayed like that under the guise of being loved. To be forced from my home, as shitty as it was, before I was ready to go.

I think that is part of the reason I value the free will of others so much. I know what force feels like, to be cornered, abandoned, manipulated, used and tossed away with no choice in the situation other than whatever notion brought me there is the first place.

Bob Marley said there is no bigger coward than a man who awakens the love in a woman with no intention of loving her back.

On this, and most things, Bob and I are in utter agreeance.

 

Whatever they awoke in me felt like love, until it didn’t.

“Her heaven will be a love without betrayal” (Beyonce)

Yes, this.

The night I met the Giant I read his palm in the blacklight. Saw him getting married, focused on his career, can’t remember much else, but he is going to have one serious accident or illness and smooth sailing from there.

I joked that he wasn’t the one for me because I was never getting married.
I’ve never been that little girl who plotted, planned and schemed about her wedding day. I just didn’t. My parents eloped. I was 6 when Charles and Di got married, watched some of it on TV. Looked like a long expensive mess to me.

I still see it as sacred. I still want to be chosen by someone that I love, who loves me and stays.

It hurt me that the Giant thought me a joke really. He said he would stay and was gone in a week.

Just because I don’t have my head full of flowers and rings and white dresses doesn’t mean the idea of loving someone for a really long time doesn’t appeal to me. It is in my DNA after all, this forsaking of all others. I was just handshy for all of the reasons listed above.

The end of Four Weddings and a Funeral is Hugh Grant saying to Andie McDowell, would you agree to not marry me and stay not married to me for a really long time.

I like that ending.

I do.

 

 

 

 

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