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Matthew Hussey, Mansplainer or Romance Guru

July 18, 2017

I have 92 minutes left on the dryer and this has been on a loop in my head all day so …
let’s see if we can get this done shall we?

I am pro Matthew Hussey.

But after posting a few videos of his to my page and my profile I am realizing not everyone is.

So be it.

 

 

To be fair, this was posted by one of the strongest women I know. Who also has no interest in a relationship. So really, these aren’t the droids you’re looking for.

And there’s that word again…Should.

Ya, a lot of us should be able to do a lot of things. And yet, here we are. Lost and confused as a whole.

Some things that are blatantly obvious to some of us are not as obvious to others. Experience or ego gets in the way.

I picture myself like her when I get older. She is single, ferociously independent and happy as is. I don’t expect to find one person to live happily ever after with. I am 43 now, I am happy, I have my dog, my life, my words, my son and my friends. I am fulfilled. And yet, I do keep trying with men. I like them and I love sex.

The second coming comment reminds of this “so he can make you cum that doesn’t make him Jesus” Tori Amos

Which lends itself to “little girls shouldn’t treat little boys they happen to meet like little gods” Voice of the Beehive.

And yet, we do. I do anyways. I give control of my happiness and self-esteem over to men who can’t even handle their own shit much less me at my best or worst. Or I used to. I am getting better. A lot of that comes with finding joy in being alone. But that is another post for another day.

Another opinion on Mr. Hussey Media usually placates to the lowest common denominator. Agreed, woman need to take more control, but personal accountability isn’t something our government/society encourages. I’ve never met him, he might have his heart in the right place, but his biceps and hair…..? Anyone that tries to explain a formula for finding love has to be digging for gold. There isn’t one.

Valid points. There is no formula for something that is as varied as our hearts and life experiences.

And yes, this is a different time for women. It’s so hard to find a balance when any show of strength gets you labelled a bitch and any show of open sexuality gets you called a whore.

But if you listen to him, he talks to women like people.

It’s not the biceps or the hair, nor the accent, which by the way has been scientifically proven to put us both at ease and under the assumption the bearer of an English accent is intellectually superior and trustworthy. Weird right? England had a long standing tradition of invading other countries and fucking shit up…but maybe that’s why it’s both familiar and authoritative.

Nearly naked girls sell products, British accents sell ideas.

The world has pretty much figured this out as a whole and I cannot see it changing anytime soon. I personally like to fall asleep to David Attenborough’s snake charming grandfather timber, so there is that then.

I cannot remember the first Matthew Hussey video I saw. I think it was the one about unrequited love being worship.

Thunderpunch to the heart chakra. Here I was thinking it was romantic and pure and a testament to my piousness and devotion. Nope, nuh-uh. We shouldn’t worship people. Relationships are partnerships and when they are one-sided, it’s just sad and a waste of perfectly good effort and emotion.

I felt liberated.

I have since added this to my life practices when assessing romantic situations and writing about them. I mean I was kinda there, but the way he said it, made it click home, hard.

And therein lies the secret of his success and why I find him both refreshing and useful.

When he speaks, to me, things click.

I don’t equate this with mansplaining. Mansplaining to me is a ‘not all men’, ‘but what about men’, ‘this goes for guys too’, and the worst offenders the men who speak overtop of women and just say exactly what the woman just said and all the other men in the room all suddenly agree.

Matthew Hussey doesn’t do that.

And yes, sometimes he is Captain Obvious. But so is Dr. Phil and errrbody eats his condescending circus shit up with a spoon. To me Dr. Phil isn’t any kind of therapist, he’s just more logical than most people.

The reason for both their success?

No, not Oprah…

It is because logic becomes gospel. It’s rare.

The most commonly asked question I hear from women with man problems is “Well, what did he mean?”

To which I invariably answer, “Well what were the words he used? He meant those words in that order.”

It’s a good rule of thumb.

This isn’t always true exactly. Fuckboys speak their own language, which Matthew Hussey and I both have covered extensively, his stuff gets more hits but it’s not a competition.

Women, as a general rule, are emotional and complicated thinkers. Men as a general rule are more logical and simpler creatures. Unless it comes to building cars because heaven forfuckingbid they put them together so you only need 3 tools to fix them, nope, 27 different screwdrivers, torque wrenches, regular wrenches imperial measurements, metric measurements all on the same damned car. The fuck guys, it’s almost like you don’t want us to fix our own vehicles.

Where was I? Oh ya. Emotion versus logic and simple versus complex.

Now. When dealing with human beings in general we all carry the narcissistic trait of using our own base of emotion and experience to assess any situation. It is unfair to say its narcissistic actually. All we have is our own viewpoint and reality really. But where the problem arises is when women expect men (or vice versa) to process information, events, tasks etc. the way SHE would.

Ain’t gonna happen. Again, generalization. Some men have more empathy, have been raised by women/around women and can thereby ‘get it’ a little better than others. Same scenario with women. But for the intents and purpose of this article I am speaking of the average cisgender, sexually mature male and female human. Factory default settings I guess.

I know plenty of women and men that are terrified of the opposite sex. To the point where they will have a crush and go months without saying a word or approaching this person.

Personally? I’m not like that. If I want you, you’ll know. But, stepping outside of my own viewpoint, I can see the use for people like Matthew Hussey and other life/relationship coaches. I’ve been to therapy, I needed and adultier adult with a fresh perspective. To me, that is what Matthew Hussey does, just gives a fresh perspective to those who NEED it.

Don’t need it? Don’t watch him.

I don’t care for wine so I don’t drink it, leave it for the wine drinkers to enjoy. I don’t complain about it, I don’t question the existence of wine. I simply don’t imbibe.

I said earlier I don’t remember the first Matthew Hussey video I saw, I think it was the unrequited love is bullshit, but again, I can’t be sure.

I do know the last one I saw and I’ll post the links at the end.

Thunderpunch to the heart chakra.

He equated being in love, and losing that person, to quitting an addiction.

Fuck, yes. That is exactly what it is.

And me with my graveyard of zombified ex-lovers who just love love to randomly pop into my inboxes. I can testify it IS a rush, it IS a fix.

Hello, my name is Sarah and I am an addict.

Those messages send an opioid rush through my system, feels like sunshine to be remembered. And since I loathe unanswered messages, and I want to get high, I always message back. Usually within minutes.

He went on to talk about how healing and potentially getting that person back being the same process. If a man feels he has nothing to lose he will keep putting in the bare minimum to keep you around, after all, you are his fix too.

I have moments of awakening. At least 2 in the last few months have been because of Matthew Hussey. For that I am grateful.

I can dole out good, sound, responsible relationship advice to everyone on the planet, I’m really good at it. I rarely follow it. So I am one of those people who needs to hear what that man has to say, because for whatever reason…I actually listen.

We need more love in the world. Less fear, second guessing, less confusion and heartache.

I am behind anyone who tries to make it so.

To me he is just another logical light in the chaotic dark.

 

http://www.howtogettheguy.com

 

https://www.facebook.com/pg/CoachMatthewHussey/videos/?ref=page_internal

 

 

 

 

men

Goose and Gander

April 14, 2017

I sat upon the balcony yesterday, early evening watching the sky change colors.

Sitting, smoking, waiting.

Just enjoying the warm and the quiet, well almost quiet. Indie playlist on Spotify coming through the screen door. Squirrels arguing over pinecones, woodpecker knocking his face against a tree, grackles cackling and kids playing at the playground.

Couldn’t tell you exactly what I was thinking about, possibly nothing, but unlikely. I am always contemplating something. It’s just my way.

I adulted ultra-super-mega hard all day and needed a brief moment of respite so I took it.

Something caught my eye and I looked up from my phone. A blue jay, glancing over his wing at me, caught my eye and stared at me, as if to say ‘focus girl’. So I focused. I thought I knew what his particular winged portent meant. And I did. “Speak your mind”.
This is the omen blue jays bring. Speak up speak out clear your throat and just say it.

A few hours later I did.

And it was unpleasant.

In the moment I believed I was right.

Adamantly so.

Blue jay shoulda told me to pick my battles. This was nothing but a small skirmish, not a war.

But I suited up and to war I went.

Much ado about nothing but I didn’t see it that way. I was blinded by prior events.

I hate having tantrums, my stomach ties itself into knots, my eyes sting and my throat burns.

But a tantrum I had. Missed the foot stomping part. Sat on the top step and begged instead. Equally as gross.

I lost the fight, if you could even call it that.

I didn’t get my way.

Revelations chapter one.

Why should I?

He said very plainly “You’re and introvert and I’m an extrovert, I want to go out.”

In the din of my internal struggle against panic and worry, I didn’t hear him right away.

I was left alone to gather my thoughts. I get left a lot. It struck a chord in me and not a good one, like a guitar out of tune with a reverb pedal. But eventually the noise faded and my thoughts became clear.

Alone.

Alone I like.

I’ve been craving it, stealing moments when I can. Being late for things just so I can spend a few more minutes with myself. Getting up at 6 am so I can sit on the very same balcony where the blue jay paid me a visit and just have some solitude before I head back into the world.

Herein lay the epiphany that presented itself rather gently as I laid in the bed, my body held comfortably by the divot we’ve made.

I like being alone.

He doesn’t.

What is good for the goose isn’t always what is good for the gander.

And that’s okay.

I sent a text saying “I was wrong” and promptly and peacefully fell asleep.

He made good on his promise and came home on time. No harm, no foul.

Kissing me and tucking himself into me and the aforementioned divot.

I’ve never been one to mind being woken up, especially that way. I rarely have trouble falling asleep or getting back to it.

All of my no’s from earlier were been replaced with ‘okay baby’.

My natural state of being.

I smiled in my half sleep.

There was no conflict other than what existed in me.

He walked away exactly long enough for me to figure things out on my own and then did something entirely foreign to me.

He came back.

And I let it go.

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

men

Amalgam

March 23, 2017

It is strange to me to have to be in a position to ask and or discuss what I write with someone else.

I never felt like I owed anyone anything, and even waist deep in the pseudo-relationships I was in I still felt alone.

Alone most of the time, to figure things out etc.

I sat on Cruz’s couch yesterday and vomited up a huge portion of my past. All stories I have told before but not all at once and not all connected in the way they flowed off my tongue this time.

I really hadn’t put it all together that way before. In a way that made some sense.

How I started dancing, almost losing Rowan, doing drugs to cope and having that make me feel even worse about myself if that was even possible. A detailed description of my decent. All of these things that happened to me that sound like bad chapters from novels.

Oh god I wanted to bolt so bad. Sitting there teary eyed, feeling dirty and vulnerable. But I stayed.
Told him I wanted to bolt.

I did it once before. Bolted I mean, he didn’t like it.

He said it hurt him, the things I had been through.

Back then, the girl I was, didn’t know any better.

I am tired of saying “ya that happened” about the bad stuff.

I would rather count my blessings.

They can be summed up in one sentence “I’m still here.”

I should have been a junkie, I should have been a hooker, I should have been a statistic. But I wasn’t.

Sisterwife called me ‘enduring’ once.

That is EXACTLY what I am.

Even though I couldn’t see it, something in me must have believed that there was something better than where I was.

I used to get scared when I was happy, when things were going too well.

I also used to put my happiness in the hands of others. Therefore they could take it away. Now it’s just mine, and when I fall or fly I own it.

It happened again. I got real fucking happy and I got worried.

I am still the sum of all my parts, all the things that happened to me, the good bad and the ugly.

An amalgam.

He is too, but in the weirdest way.

He is the sum of the others subtracting the bad bits. The youth, the beauty, the sex, the energy multiplied exponentially. I had fleeting moments wherein I was feeling safe enough to tell some of them some of what I am. But with him it’s all of it, all of the time. I can’t help myself, it all comes tumbling out.

We’re seeing Tool and John Mayer 4 days apart. Resort vacation in the Dominican and a trip to a school in rural Cambodia. He is this weird juxtaposition that doesn’t conflict with mine.

He said last night that he is worried because it feels too good to be true.

Oh honey I know. I have been wandering a lot longer, feeling out of place and strange.

I’ve also realized, there is no such thing as too good, if you can keep yourself open to how limitless this life can be. If it can go as bad as it has, it can go the other way too.

I wrote once, not long ago actually, about the idea of luck and how I planned on appeasing the gods by asking ‘why not me?’ with a smirk.

I think they heard me and I am so very grateful.

He really does feel like winning the lottery.

This is just me, as is, and I believe you are just you and somehow it just works.

We’re both nice and easy.

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.

 

 

Uncategorized

The Blame Game

March 11, 2017

Serendipitously, as I was writing this, my Facebook notifications were binging like fucking mad.

I stopped what I was doing and looked to see what the ruckus was all about.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/1786802551638950/permalink/1792364367749435/?pnref=story

My friend John asked me to be involved in a project he was working on a few weeks ago. #theloveproject.
The video is up, or a sneak peek at least. I am in it. At 1:28, saying “Maybe if I am good enough, someone will love me.” Cue the tears.

I had this discussion with my new friend Clifford Myers http://www.cliffordmyers.ca/ the other day wherein we were talking about enlightenment. I expressed my irritation with people who attain a certain level of awareness and then stop, thinking they know everything. Arrested development.

The things we despise in others are the things we feel shame or guilt about in ourselves.

I do that shit too. I plateau, I back pedal and I fall apart.

I yammer on and on about how everything changes, life itself is in a state of constant flux, preach on and on about unconditional love and being unapologetically yourself yada yada, blah blah blah.

And what did I do?

Yesterday I ran away from my perfectly amazing Fuck Monster at 8 in the morning.
Why?
Because 12 hours before he said he didn’t like my hat which somehow became this avalanche of negativity that I got buried under, even though I was tucked safely in the cocoon of his bed, under his duvet and he had his arms around me.
(He is a cuddle monster too.)

Like literally put my pants on and bolted out the door with this loop in my head that said ‘run’.

I’m over simplifying. It didn’t just say ‘run’. ‘It’s going to hurt when he leaves, he is gonna leave, they all leave.’ And some more screeching panicked noises that sounded a rabbit caught in a snare. It was hard to make all of it out, but you get the gist.

Now, this is the point where the others would say ‘this isn’t my problem’, ‘you are crazy’ or my personal favorite, the anthem of the fuck boy ‘think whatever you want.’

He didn’t do that.

Had he said ‘this is not my problem/fault’, he would have been bang on.

It really isn’t. I knew the hat looked bad and I wore it anyways, I was cold.

So whose fault is it?

I hate playing the blame game. I truly do.

I internalize every fucking thing ever. It’s all my fault.

Sure I have read the memes that say
You are not responsible for how other people treat you.
Hurt people hurt people.
Real human beings don’t go around destroying people.
You are not what they did to you.
etc…
And for a minute I believe them.
Then I go right back to trying to figure out what I did wrong.

I’ve made bad choices…that might be where my responsibility ends.

I was conditioned, from a very young age, that my behavior dictated the amount of affection I earned.

Not okay for a girl like me.

Never enough unless I was too much.

I was never told I was attractive or overly intelligent. I have no idea what I look like to other people.

At age 40, I started figuring out how to forgive and accept myself, love myself even. I don’t apologize, I own my shit, I am loud and proud, loving, funny, sweet and smart.
I am also fallible. I fuck up, and it’s okay.

Add a boy.

All that shit goes out the window. I second guess myself, tone myself down, worry, fuss, cry. Yuck.

I stop evolving.

I become that thing I don’t like.

“Whatever I think” is negative.

I bolted because I knew I was going to cry. I knew it was hormones. I knew I was scared. I knew I didn’t have enough control to get through the morning without turning into a puddle. So I bailed.

Most guys would have been relieved and grateful not to be stuck with a crying girl on their couch.

He didn’t like that.

I told him I panicked, I told him it was irrational and I couldn’t explain it.

He said “it’s anxiety from something that’s happened to you in the past, hurt you, so now you assume something bad is gunna happen because you’re vulnerable and so familiar with the feeling.”

Damn baby. Fucking nailed it.

He also said it sounded like I had “been with a bunch of dickheads”.

Yep, I really have.

Guys who say they want a girl with a high sex drive then shame me for the amount of sex I actually want.
(He gets hard being near me and follows through every single time)

Guys who are stingy with affection and compliments.
(His eyes light up when I walk in the door and I never have to reach very far to grab his hand)

I took a deep breath and went back over last night.
His eyes lit up when I walked in the door.
He fucked me 3 times in 18 hours.
We smiled and touched and talked.

As much as people can be a reflection of the things we don’t like about ourselves, I think if we are really lucky, we can find someone that reflects back all the good things we are too.

 

 

 

 

men

From Neverland to Maybesomedayland

December 4, 2016

Shit shit shit.

Daddy’s little secret, don’t you know what you came for?
And you notice where you are ~ Daniel Wesley (Ooo Oh)

Just noticed where I are. And kinda what I am.

We don’t have a ddlg relationship per say.
(Dominant daddy/little girl)
I follow a few people on Instagram and Facebook that participate in said relationships. Some of it makes my heart happy and my princess parts tingle and some of it I just don’t get.
I am a submissive because I like the lack of control, I crave it really. I love how the world just shuts up and goes away when I am with him. For a few hours I don’t think about adulting, I can just get lost in him and just…be.

The rest of it?
I can think of better things to put in my mouth than a pacifier, don’t want any stuffies, toys yes but the kind that fill me up, not teddy bears. I am grown.

I do call him Daddy when the moment calls for it, he call me good girl, I like that. I like a lot of things he says, does and is. I have rediscovered things with him that I liked before that were lost with shitty partners. I trust him implicitly with my body. My heart? I thought I did, I want to.

Fuck, I am feeling like a secret.

I do not want to feed the fears. I do not want to bring them to life. But I need them out of the dark places they dwell so I can identify them, assess and possibly kill them before they do harm.

I walked into a tattoo shop last week with my Sunshine. We both wanted little quotes, hers took so long I didn’t end up getting one but I had 2 things in mind.

Virtues grow on the graves of our sins by Matthew D Eayre

And a Michael Xavier snippet to round out the holy trinity, I already have two.

What I should have gotten (and most likely will get soon) is the one thing that has gotten me through everything since I decided to wake up and not live in my head.

Everything is as it should be. The Dalai Lama

Logically I know that all my doubts are coming from my past.
That time that my ex-husband had a whole other relationship outside of ours and did a bad job of hiding it. At the same time a girl I worked with had to survive the horror of losing her boyfriend in the most freakish of accidents and also finding out hours after his death that he had a whole other family with another woman and had for 4 years. He was better at hiding it. I don’t know how she got through it. But I guess when it comes down to it you either deal or die trying.

In the grand scheme of things I have been through shit that would have killed other people, or turned them bitter, and I am still here. Clumsy heart on my sleeve, trying one more time. And everything is really as it should be.

I know why I started feeling squirrely this time around. I did that thing again that I ought not to do, I started thinking ahead. I imagined snowy Sunday mornings making pancakes in pajamas before we made a pilgrimage to Home Depot. I envisioned waking up at 4am for some stolen snuggles before making us coffee, him leaving for work and me writing before I had to head out. Then coming home for couch snuggles and a quickie before bed.

It’s not the reality of the situation that hurts, it is always the fantasy of how we want things to be.

I want him more than I have him. I feel like with our schedules the way they are the only way to see him more than a couple times a month is to live together. I have no idea if that is in the realm of possibilities. Haven’t talked to him about it and I can’t see us having that discussion for a while.

Having never experienced anything close to a normal relationship I can only pontificate that this slow progression is actually what is supposed to be happening. I have no frame of reference for such things, but I have heard rumors. Some people actually get to know each other before they rush into things like ‘I love yous’ and co habitation.

I may yet get my wish, who knows. He is the first person in a long time, since I woke up really that I have actually wanted to be domestic with. Even ‘he who inspired the book’ had his own place in my Fantasyland. I liked sleeping over at the Giant’s house but I never wanted to live there. Gelfling talked about getting in my trailer with me and parking it on some secluded beach somewhere where we could “fuck and make art”, I smirked at the idea but it never felt quite right.

In the past these things have always been rushed, too soon and or been done for the wrong reasons. I moved in with guys in my 20’s because one or both of us had been evicted. It wasn’t out of love, but necessity. Same when I moved to the farm, to be perfectly honest it was a full on territorial pissing. Mine mine mine. I didn’t love it there and I didn’t really love him. Sure there were moments, but as a whole it was never okay.

I think I would rather be alone than trapped in another house/life with the wrong person.

Everything is actually as it should be, or it would be some other way.

Whatever happens, happens.

If it stops being good for either one of us, it will be time to let it all go.

Turn the key and engine over.
Let her go
Let somebody else lay at her feet.

Gaslight Anthem 45

Till then I’ll see what stays. Hopefully him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

men

Open Letter to my Exes

October 29, 2016

I opened an old blog post this morning called “Not Forgotten”.
I read the words, knowing that I had written them, they sounded like mine, the subject matter familiar etc…but I swear I forgot I had published it.

I am not sure if that is literal irony or just the way Alanis Morrisette uses it, which, in itself is ironic.

I think I’m at 300+ posts by now. Sometimes they get lost, then remembered.

I found another called “Rainbows and Unicorns” about finding a lovely tattooed Scorpio surfer boy on the beach the day after I’d asked for a summer fling.
He didn’t last the summer.
But I was monkey-barring, hanging on to one and reached for another.
Once I let go I fell in the nicest of ways and was caught so there is that then.

Not sure what happened. Thai Fighter went ghost. Maybe his best friend saw me on Tinder, maybe he met another girl…it’s all part of the great unknown at this point. It’s okay. I wish him well wherever he is.

I think/hope he is back in the Philippines, his happy place with his baby boy changing nappies.
We had a good run.

No harm no foul, I knew exactly what he was when I found him. I didn’t get attached. Just enjoyed the ride.

I have been turning this over in my mind a lot lately.

All of my exes have been immortalized in one way or another up in here. Some more than others.

But titling something open letter to my exes is click bait extraordinaire.

And lately I have been grateful as fuck for all of them, all things considered, so here goes…

Open letter to my exes,

Thank you. All of you.

I wouldn’t be where or who I am now without you, and I love this house and this self/life I have now.

Love,

Sarah

I know it would probably be a more popular post if I ripped into them, one by one said horrible shit, personal things, gossip and drama.

But I am not that girl.

I sat on the porch last night, drinking wine with my Sunshine and I said “Men are my drugs, doesn’t matter how bad they are for me, I do them anyways.”

It’s true.

I also said, I’ve never had a good relationship.

This is also true.

And yet, here I am, trying again.

There are no good drugs, sure they can soothe and balm for a time, but in the end, you are alone on the bathroom floor with your addiction and the drugs are gone.

We were originally speaking of addiction, and how I came to date my rapist and how she ended up with the one who hit her. We were both a little out of control with the partying with the actual drugs before we met these men who had a PhD in control, just not in a good way. But they served their purpose.

We decided to be grateful for them and I felt lighter.

I stumbled on this a while ago, touched on it lightly.

Rumi said ‘you have to keep breaking your heart until it opens’.

And I have.

I don’t know if I’m done yet, but I know I am more open than I have ever been.

I spent 4 years not being in a relationship. I was still with men, but one of us always had our arm out holding the other away.

Sometimes I made bad choices. Often I made bad choices. On occasion I would try to summon my inner girlfriend. When they were over 22 at least or not raging manwhores or admitted fuckbois they didn’t seem unattainable, until they were. But then I held on anyways.

I pretended I didn’t want to be in a relationship, but deep down I did.

What was that movie where the girl made a wish for an impossible man, one brown eye one blue, rides horses, flips pancakes?

Ah yes, Practical Magic.

I can’t remember why she didn’t want to get married, but I understand it.
Once again, never been a priority for me, we’ve talked about this.

I think my wish was a little more practical, I just wanted to be someone’s first choice, see subtext wherein I wanted them to be my first choice too.

I had that dream October 8th 2015 about finding my perfect man in a communist dystopia, all concrete, grey and right angles. I wrote about it in a post called “Dream Love”.

Not perfect, I believe in the concept of perfect like I believe in marriage. Unlikely, but possible.  Compatible with me. The two sides of his body distinctly different, giant sized tall, lounging on a couch watching movies and laughing and keeping me safe. Just being happy we found each other at all.

I think I found him, finally. He is 6’ 5” half covered in tattoos, each side of his body distinctly different.

He is away right now and I feel like I am in a relationship with my phone. But god knows I have been through worse.

I saw a meme today.
I see memes every day.
This one said ‘god heard you, be patient’.
I’m fucking trying I really am.
Huge shout out to all the boys I’ve waited for before now.
Thanks for the practice in perseverance.

 

one-day-youll-wake-up-at-11-30-am-on-a-1971279

 

 

 

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