Monthly Archives: December 2011

Compound Expletives

I think I was about seven years old when I said my first swear.   Maybe it was “shit” or something.   I can’t remember.   But I know that I got my mouth washed out with soap.

By the time I was fifteen, my dad had dragged me by the pony tail into the bathroom to wash my mouth out with soap too many times to count.  This one time he was so pissed off because after he had stuck the bar in my mouth I said, “I think I prefer the Dove to the Irish Spring.”   He got red in the face and just stormed off.  Then came the ritual of carefully removing the soap chips from behind my teeth.   And then brushing your teeth several times to get the taste out.

The soap didn’t do shit to clean up my mouth.  It was just more of a nuisance and the only lesson it taught me was not to swear at home.

I STILL SWEAR LIKE A SAILOR  in places where I know it’s “appropriate.”   Obviously, not in the library, at the opera, or some cultured event or in front of the elderly et cetera.  But I let the swears fly in certain situations despite a large repertoire of vocabulary at my disposal.

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A compound expletive is formed when the first expletive serves as an adjective to modifiy the expletive noun in the sentence.

Example of simple expletive (noun):             My ex  is an asshole.

Example of a compound expletive (adj + noun) :   My ex is a mother-fucking asshole.

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sidebar:  I despise the use of expletives, wish the soap had worked


(stock image- not mine)

When a person puts down their drug of choice, they enter withdrawal.

Sometimes the drug is a chemical like alcohol, cocaine, heroin, nicotine.

Other times the drug may be a behavior like gambling, compulsive shopping, sex-addiction, anorexia, or relationships.

In my case, it is the latter.

Codependency is a form of addiction and is complex.  The codependent has feelings of love for their person of affection, but also has hyper-dependency on that person which is extremely unhealthy and maladaptive.  Sifting that out and sorting out how much is what, takes time and a lot of work.  But the codependent does need to go through withdrawal.  A period where they have no contact (NC) with their partner or person has become their drug of choice.  That person, has become what the codependent uses as a salve to escape from pain and uncomfortable feelings, because they lack the ability to self-soothe.    This usually is because most codependent come from trauma and denied the basic love and care they needed to learn how to self-soothe.  So they turn to alcohol and drugs and eventually people/relationship(s) to feel better/okay.

A Recovery Partner passed this along to me last night and it blew me away because it totally spoke to a deep place within me when I heard it.


The experience is  you… The experience is you a part of you which has been trying to surface for a long time.  You have been avoiding or postponing this pain for a long time now, yet you have never been able to lastingly outrun it.  You need to go through withdrawal in order to become a whole person.  You need to meet your self.  Behind the terror of what you fear, withdrawal contains the seeds of your wholeness.  It must be experienced for you to realize, or make real, that potential for you and your life which has been stored there for so long.


I am still ticking the days off.

It feels like one day in recovery is like 7 dog years or some shit.

I have met so  many wonderful Recovery Partners (RP).     They are my life lines.  They help me and save me from my screwed up brain, talk me down off the ceiling when I am triggered.  Talk me out of my unhealthy deluded thoughts, denial, or gently help me with reality checks so I don’t end up making mistakes that could cost tremendous pain, or worst yet, my recovery.

My first RP I met on this blog.  She will always be special, for she is the one who brought me to the meetings which are saving my life.   She suggested to me to try 90 days of NC and see how I do.  Rather than me focusing on “forever” that suggestion seemed “do-able.”   I am so glad I did.   The fog is already beginning to lift.  I have the infancy of clarity happening.

Today marks two weeks of NC (No contact) with the ex.


I have always been sort of a tomboy, I guess.

Doesn’t make for easy dating experience.

Especially first dates.

“So what interests you Lexi?” some date will ask.

 “Guns” I say,   “as in going to a firing range.”  ( Which for me would be like an ideal first date)  I go on “watching serial killer movies and thrillers, yanno that sort of thing.”  I would continue responding to the question, ” studying homicide investigations and the criminal mind, psychopathology overall is of huge interest to me.”      Driving my car really fast down the free way, racing with another car would be ideal but it’s illegal.  Yanno shit like that.  I would love to learn to horse-back ride someday.”

But when you tell the truth, you don’t get a second date.

Because it’s not feminine.   I guess men are looking for June Cleaver with the apron strings and shit.  Men don’t want a chick who digs manly things.  But that’s not me.  I don’t like to cook, sew, bake, quilt, crochet and all that crap.  I don’t know why.  I just don’t.

I even feel out-of-place wearing high heels.   First off it’s hard walking in them and I’ll be honest, they’re uncomfortable as fuck to wear.  I only do it at the request of the person I have been with, but even then I hate it.

I DO like getting all dolled up for the right man, but it’s only as a means to an end.  It’s because of the effect it has on him.  I do it despite hating it because I know it turns him on.  But honestly, I will never, and yes I will use the word never, EVER, wear my nails some porno length again for a man.  They look like claws and it’s just not me.   I hated it.   I think it looks nasty.    I HATE wearing nail polish, all the upkeep it’s a lot of bullshit.   Maybe that makes me a tomboy? who knows reader, you will have to reach your own conclusions.

Maybe it will render me living alone for rest of my life.  But I can promise you it won’t be me living with a bunch of cats (sorry cat lovers) I just don’t dig cats.

But I will be authentic from here on in.   I can’t fake being some cupey doll for someone else.  It takes too much energy trying to pretend I”m something I am not.  And it looks like I am tomboy-ish.

Oh well, there it is.   They say there’s someone for everyone out there.   After I get my shit straight in a few years who knows.  Maybe my Higher Power will put a man in my life who likes tomboy-ish women?

10 days

10 days.

I cried today.

in the shower.

my tears blended in with the water.

with the knowledge that he’s never coming back.

there’s a finality.

grief hurts.

healing begins.

10 days.




(stock photo- not mine)

My new addiction

My name is Lexi and I am powerless over watching “An American Horror Story”

It’s true.

Stellar Cast.

Jessica Fucking Lange.

Can we say brilliant fucking screenwriters?

Gifted actors/actresses.

What character development/plot (no pun intended)

And it encompasses all the darkness that seduces us all, along with the struggle for good to conquer that evil:

BDSM, homicide, deceit, manipulation, the interplay between good and evil (even within one character), sex, rape, drugs, necrophilia, rubber suit, mass murder, self-mutilation, suicide, paranormal, medium, ghosts.

This show has it all.

This show had me hooked from the pilot.    I don’t know what I am going to do if they cancel it……….*shivers*

Photo Opportunity

I contacted him.

It’s always follows the same fucking pattern.

It begins well.

Starts out civilised.

Moves into discord and tension building.

Old wounds flare up and more tension mounts.

He blows his stack, screams at me at the top of his lungs and calls me denigrating names and humiliates me,

I burst into tears.

He yells at me for crying then says he has to go because he has another hook up to get to.

Which always leads to excruciating pain, and me feeling  emotionally kicked.


Everytime I think I have hit bottom,

there’s a new bottom.

Statistical Improbability

I was standing in line today at the Suprette.  Is that even a word anymore? Superette?  No, nowadays it’s called a convenience store.  No, actually now it’s just 7-11, Cumbies or Store 24 here in New England.  Who the hell knows what it is in the Midwest or West Coast.

And I look behind the large protective glass case that contains all the lottery tickets.  And I say to the clerk as she rings me up:


me:   I so want to win, but I never play; I mean I never buy any tickets yanno

clerk:   me too, I think about it, see’ em all day but never buy ’em

me:    It’s always some tooth-less old man livin’ in a double-wide trailer that wins like the big two-million jackpot

clerk:   I know right LOL

me:    and he’s always like only 2 years away from death and has no relatives

clerk:   it’s so true

me:    I wonder who gets the money after that?

clerk:   how bout it

me:    what’s wrong with me,  the poor bastard, I should be happy for him, now he can buy false teeth and shit

clerk:   but he won’t though, he’ll probably just get a huge plasma TV and watch porno all day

me:    and upgrade to a triple-wide trailer

(we both laugh)

I don’t buy scratch tickets.   My first  fiancé E,  was an economics and philosophy major.  We purchased 2 shares of BRK-B  together.  (Hey, we were only in our twenties and that’s all we could afford)  He was an individual investor and forced me to read  “Investment Biker: Around the World with Jim Rogers”, study Warren Buffet.  Then E forced me up late nights teaching me about the market.  If I hadn’t been in love with him, I would have choked him to death it was so fucking dry and boring.  But E taught me the importance of being a long-term share holder.  Spending money on scratch tickets would have gotten me choked to death.   When I broke off our engagement in 98′ E offered me my share of the BRK-B, but out of animosity I declined.  I considered it blood assets, so I stood on my lofty moral principle.   I wonder if I would still make the same choice today…  Nevertheless, the stock has done so well, my decision…it just stings a bit.  LOL.

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